Me thinks I've forgotten how to write. Um, how does this whole 'blogging' thing work again?
Perhaps I've been less than reliable when it comes to posting. And perhaps you thought that I've had better things to do than sit in front of a computer for the last month and a half. The truth of the matter is...I
have. Europeans take the month of August off, so I figured why shouldn't I? It was the least I could do really, in order to fully enjoy the summer and properly prepare for my trip to Spain and Ireland. Dear friends, I am happy to report that I have safely returned from foreign lands after two weeks of wondrous sightseeing, girlfriend bonding, and good eating - with plenty of libations to boot.
Weeks before I left for my trip, I read somewhere that the food in Spain is some of the most delicious in the world, and it is considered one of the most underrepresented cuisines in the United States. You can only imagine how reading something like that would get me excited and evoke hype like
clatter has never seen before. Throughout our trip, my travelmates suggested on several occasions that I should 'clatter' this, or 'clatter' that...and I agreed. I came across
plenty to write about on the ol' blog. The thing is...I should have taken notes. I suffer from short term memory problems, you see. How could I be so irresponsible?! Luckily, sometimes the best things in life, like extra special food memories, won't soon be forgotten.
If there's one food I would guess that the Spaniards love the most, it's got to be
jamon.
Jamon,
jamon,
jamon - it's everywhere! Shop after shop,
jamon (the Spanish version of ham) would hang from the ceilings, in window displays, and smell, well, like a good hunk o' pig. Good luck finding a menu that doesn't have it in some form or another. I also learned the extent in which Spaniards like to ease very slowly into their day. In a typical day, they might drink espresso or a cafe con leche (mmm) until noon, lunch at 14:30, siesta from 15:30 to 17:30, snack on churros, and then eat dinner at 21:00 or 22:00. Those Spanish folks - they are creatures of the night! Not until well after the sun goes down do they truly come alive. It took a number of days, but eventually we got into the Spanish lifestyle.
Because we only had a couple of nights in Madrid (one of which we were jetlagged and worthless to the world), it seemed that in some ways our Spanish trip didn't truly begin until we arrived in San Sebastian. San Sebastian is a beach town located in the northeastern border of Spain and France. It is part of the Basque Country - which has been dubbed a culinary capital. In San Sebastian, the night is all about
txikiteo (don't ask me to pronounce that). That is, tapas bar hopping. While my dear Rick Steves, my pseudo-boyfriend on this trip (sorry, Gabe), explicitly explained in his guidebook (that I carried around like a bible) how the tapas phenomenon works in Basque Country, we failed to listen to him the first night. After that warm Mediterranean sun set, we found that the narrow streets of San Sebastian woke up from its siesta and became bustling with people. Every drinking hole and little restaurant we passed was filled with colorful small dishes and little sandwiches around the bar area. No joke - all of them! The problem was, we didn't know what to do.
We quickly learned that unless you know the language (and I mean Basque, not Spanish), you may have some trouble without the help of fellow English speakers to tell you what to do (Irish and Canadian folks we met helped us out) and sexy Rick, of course. San Sebastian is not the best place to eat as an American tourist unless you know the procedure - but as we learned, once you figure it out, it can pay off immensely. Our first night we hadn't done our homework and found ourselves much too timid to go into any of the bars. We were lame, I admit, but to us, the whole tapas bar hopping thing was very intimidating. (Was this a new kind of Spanish Inquisition - the type that forces you to eat tapas or starve to death?) By our second night in San Sebastian, however, we gave ourselves a pep talk, learned the lingo, and threw ourselves in the ring. In case you're curious, here are the quick steps to succeed in
txikiteo for four American girls:
1) After walking into a bar, ask the bartender for "
quattro platos, por favor." Until you ask for a plate, he'll only stare at you like you've walked into his home without knocking. Once the bartender knows you're interesting in eating, he'll become alive and happy.
2) Once you're given a plate, pick and choose which little sandwiches and Spanish delicacies (often on sticks) you would like to try. This was the part where
clatter got excited! There are plenty of mysterious dishes to choose from (and some that you'll see at every single bar) and I found myself overwhelmed, but I tried my best to be adventurous. Sometimes it's best not to know what you're eating.
3) Order a drink. We stuck with either "
quattro cana" (draft beer) or "
quattro sidra" (cider) because that's all we knew how to say. The usual beer on tap, San Miguel, is not very good - but it's cold and perfect to wash down any mystery tapas that don't agree with the taste buds.
4) After you're done eating and drinking, figure out how many tapas you had so you can pay. If you want to be really fancy, ask the bartender "
Zenbat da?", which apparently means "How much?" I could never manage to say it without sounding Asian, so I never actually attempted the phrase while hopping. Nevertheless,
zenbat da (with or without the question mark) became our favorite phrase to use in any situation throughout our trip. The more we used it, the funnier it became. We apologize to all the Basque speakers out there for butchering their language.
5) Repeat steps 1 through 4 at the next bar. And the next. And the next. When you're full (and/or drunk), you are allowed to stop.
Once
clatter put a
txikiteo feather in its hat, we were off to Barcelona. After getting a recommendation from one of my travelmate's friends who is studying in Madrid, we made our way to Cerveceria Catalana for dinner one night. We ordered all sorts of tapas - portions just big enough to split four ways for one or two bites. Boiled prawns, pork tenderloin, grilled asparagus, fried squid rings with tons of freshly squeezed lemon juice, warm
escalivada (roasted eggplant and red peppers) with goat cheese, toasted bread with crushed tomatoes and olive oil, grilled cutterfish....ahhhhhh. With a chilled bottle of cava, the meal was SO good. Between bites, I couldn't help but exclaim, with wide eyes and expressive hands, "
This is foodie heaven." Because honestly, it really was. I believe it was at that moment that I felt enlightened as to why the Spaniards are brilliant with their tapas: a bite or two of the best quality food is really all you need to satisfy your palate. Hands down, our evening at Catalana was the best food experience during our trip - and it might even be a
clatter Top Five best food moment of all time. Bold statement, I know, but that's how serious I am!
We learned that while tapas can be delicious, sometimes it's nice to have a REAL, full portioned meal. You know, the eat-until-you-are-so-stuffed-you-need-a-gurney-to-wheel-you-out-of-the-restaurant kind. We didn't find that in Spain (the same cannot be said for Ireland), and it is no surprise that the Spaniards are thin and trim. After experiencing the Spanish built-in portion control plus walking all day long for a week straight, I've been thinking a lot about writing a book called
American Girls in Spain Don't Get Fat. That's never been done before, right?
(Rachel, I think the one on the right would be perfect on you), I couldn't help but wonder: is it possible to feel any happier than this? We are just two carefree kids, crazy in love, who have decided to get hitched. There can't possibly be anything better than that. 
