Tapas, Tapas Everywhere

Granada has three significant historical districts, explained my host when I arrived Friday afternoon, that form a bit of an L-shape around the Alhambra. Our apartment was in Realejo, the Jewish quarter. To the northwest was Albaicin, the Muslim neighborhood, and connecting the two like a joint was el Centro, the Catholic area, which today is just a shopping district crowded around the cathedral that contains the tombs of some Spanish monarchs - among them Ferdinand and Isabel.  

My host got quite excited when describing the commune of Sacromonte, a sort of extension of Albaicin, because that's where the gypsies took refuge after being driven out of the city proper. Actually, I'm not entirely sure that he was talking about gypsies on account of his thick Italian accent. The word he used sounded like it could be "hippies," except that the way he enunciated the first syllable made me imagine it began with the letter "g." Anyways, they - whoever these people were - carved caves into the mountain and invented flamenco music.

The following morning I set out to explore Sacromonte and Albaicin, which my host had deemed to have priority over the other neighborhoods. From his enthusiasm and wild gesticulations in relating the history of Sacromonte, I was expecting to see something bizarre and exotic, maybe like that TV show "Swamp People" except on land. Instead, I couldn't help but feel a bit let down when I found a little hilltop community that looked like it could have been transplanted from Greece - whitewashed walls, blue trim, cobblestone terraces. Pretty, but nothing like the savage cave-dwellers I had in mind.

Sacromonte up close.

Albaicin, however, did not disappoint. Imagine the impossible maze that Ellen Page's character draws in Inception, plopped on a steep hill and with ancient and unevenly cobbled "streets" (some are barely wide enough for a car to pass) that alternately make you trip and slip.  Each time I attempted to navigate using the map on my iPhone, it was as though Google was placing my blue dot at random, constantly jumping around even when I myself hadn't moved an inch. The fun was in discovering all the hidden shops, restaurants, and scenic view points - as long as I could see the Alhambra, I vaguely knew which way I was going.

Now, any account of Granada would be remiss in not mentioning the food, because legend has it that it's where tapas came from. But what are tapas? For the longest time I thought it was something fancy and exclusive, because of the swanky tapas bar that I often drove past at home to get downtown. Turns out the origins are much more modest.

At Bodegas Castañeda (not to be confused with Antigua Castañeda, which I read isn't as good).

Way back in the day bars gave out slices of bread to cover your beer and prevent fleas from landing in it. So, now, tapa is just a general term for a small plate of food to be consumed with a drink - like an aperitif. Granada is one of the few - possibly only - places where tapas are still given out for free with your beverage. Generally you'll pay, say 1-2€ for a beer, and shortly after the waiter will come out with the food.

But although they're free, not all tapas are equal. At best I've received a decent portion of paella; at worst a sandwich featuring an unidentifiable cut of meat whose pink coloring rubbed off on the bread in a most unappetizing manner. My advice: steer clear of any place advertising FREE TAPAS as they're more inclined to offer sub-par fare to tourists.

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3 places to go for tapas: 

- Bar los diamantes, Plaza Nueva, 13. They specialize in sea food so expect a plate of calamari, clams, or something similar. 

- Bodegas Castañeda, Calle de Almireceros, 1. Traditional bar with excellent service - this is where you can get paella. 

- Plaza Campo del Principe. One side of the plaza is lined with restaurants featuring nearly identical menus. The food isn't amazing but it's a nice atmosphere to sit and snack while you wait for dinnertime to roll around. (Spaniards tend to eat late - even by European standards - so except for touristy restaurants, kitchens won't be fully up and running until 8:30pm or possibly later). 

Madrid, First Impressions

"Watch out - Madrid is really hot!"

So cautioned some fellow travelers I met in Valencia who were doing their tour of Spain in the opposite direction as I. (They were heading off to Barcelona next, whereas I had just come from there). Sure enough, when I disembarked my train at 5pm, it did feel warmer and vaguely sticky - no doubt because the city lacks that pleasant sea breeze. I pulled out my phone and opened the weather app. Mid-80s - not too bad. And then I realized it was still set to Valencia.

Changing the setting to Madrid, I was displeased to see daily highs of 100 and above for the rest of the week. I toyed with the idea of switching the temperature to celsius, finding double digits less offensive than triple digits, but in the end I knew there was nothing to be done other than embrace the fact that I would be sweaty and stinky for the next few days.

The expansive Plaza Mayor.

While trying to capture some nice shots of Plaza Mayor (tricky even with a wide-angle lens to give you some idea of the vastness) I unexpectedly  ran into a guy I had met on a walking tour in Valencia. Seeing as it was his last day in Madrid and he'd already been to all the sites he'd wanted to visit, he was game to tag along with me for the afternoon. First stop: Mamá Framboise.

Before I left Paris I encouraged my more well-traveled friends to give me tips on where to go. One, a chef, told me I must visit her former workplace - a whimsical French pâtisserie just a bit north of Gran Via towards Salamanca. For just 3€ each, I sampled a chocolate raspberry tart and my friend a chocolate eclair. Delicious. (Just to compare: one individual size cake at the pastry shop I interned at will set you back at least 6€). She had also given me the name of her chef, but unfortunately when I asked for him I was told he had recently left. Too bad - I would have loved to peak inside the kitchen.

I wanted to try everything.

Next stop: Santiago Bernabéu Stadium, better known as the home of Real Madrid. I'm generally apathetic when it comes to sports, but in the realm of soccer I do harbor some small appreciation for the players - well, a few of them anyways. (Google image search Cristiano Ronaldo and you'll see what I mean). Tours were a bit pricier than we felt compelled to pay, so instead we took some photos outside.

We got there just as a kids' soccer camp was heading in. Almost all of them were wearing Ronaldo jerseys.

My friend had previously mentioned a museum for the blind so, with curiosity bolstered by the prospect of free admission, we set off to find it. The description in the provided literature stated that there were two main goals: to provide a tactile space where the blind could feel the art, and to promote the work of visually impaired artists. It's an admirable mission, no doubt, but in instances where the art is, say, framed behind glass I'm not sure how well it succeeds. Still, as far as museums go it's quite a unique concept.

Cooking in Catalonia

Oops. Another food post. I could have written about visiting the Picasso Museum (his early work - we're talking sketches he did when he was 9 - are surprisingly formal and realistic), going to the post office (where I helped out a Canadian who didn't speak Spanish) to send some things home and make room in my suitcase for the fruits of a shopping excursion, or getting sunburned, but those are all probably less interesting than the class I took from Cook & Taste.

We began our afternoon with a tour through nearby Boqueria Market - one of the oldest and most important in the area. Following our chef like chicks trailing a hen, we wove our way between the stalls watching as she selected ingredients for the meal. I saw some items I sort of wish I hadn't, like tripe, tongues and amorphous blobs that apparently are some kind of mysterious sea creature. But, everywhere you went, the quality and freshness of the produce were obvious. (Nearby restaurants source their ingredients there). After about an hour of wandering we returned to the kitchen and met up with the rest of the class. 

At this time I suddenly recalled how my brother once called me a "middle-aged housewife" in reference to my (then) veganism and penchant for yoga, pilates and cooking. When I saw the rest of my peers, it was obvious that I was the only person under 35 - except for a young guy who was clearly dragged along by his parents. What can I say? Maybe I just have an old soul. 

Over the course of the next few hours we learned how to prepare romesco (a red sauce of blended nuts, garlic, onion and sweet dried peppers), red bell pepper soup with toasted saffron and cod, paella, and a traditional cake from Ibiza. Despite the fact that I had signed up for the class to get more experience cooking savory food, I ended up helping with the dessert. 

Regardless, I had forgotten how relaxing it is to cook in a domestic setting - without wearing a uniform and having someone constantly barking orders at you. Oh, and drinking wine - lots of wine. Once the vino got flowing the guests, who had mostly signed up as couples, started to get more friendly. 

But, of course, the best part was eating all of our hard work at the end. 

Where to Eat (and Drink) in Barcelona

Apologies for the uninspired, SEO-optimized title. But since Barcelona is, gastronomically speaking, much more interesting than anywhere I visited in Portugal, I just had to keep track of all the places I went to and had yummy things. Because after all, what's a chef to do in a new city other than eat? 

The following was curated from personal recommendations from friends as well as a few websites that I follow and trust.  Got any to add? Let me know! 

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1. Romesco. Carrer de Sant Pau, 28. (It's actually around the corner from #28 on a tiny side street that's unnamed on Google Maps).

Hidden away from all the touristy tapas restaurants that line La Rambla, this is pretty much a tiny Spanish diner that serves hearty, simple meals for under 10€.

2. Hotel 1898. La Rambla, 109.

Rooftop bars are notoriously exclusive, but if you stride through the lobby with confidence and ride the elevator (hint: the lift on the far right is the only one that goes to the roof) up to the 7th floor, you will be rewarded with a lovely view and comfy couches and fleece blankets on the swanky terrace. 

3. LUKUMAS. Carrer del Torrent de l'Olla, 169. 

What's this? A donut shop? Try the dulce de leche and you'll understand why it made my list. Lukumas is relatively close to Parc Güell, which is to say a bit far from the city center, but if you're heading up north why not kill two birds with one stone... 

4. EspaiSucre. Carrer de la Princesa, 53. 

I could probably dedicate an entire post to this dessert-only restaurant that doubles as a culinary school but I'll try to keep it short. Food-wise you can select from a variety of tasting menus or be lame and just eat sweet tapas. I went for tasting menu 1. And it was easily one of the best dining experiences I've ever had. Reserve a table ahead online because the dining room isn't very large.

5. Bubó. Carrer Caputxes, 6. 

A pâtisserie to rival those in Paris. I went around breakfast time and had the gianduja croissant (filled with chocolate hazelnut and topped with caramelized nuts), but my chef friends tell me their chocolates and cakes are also good. 

6. Casa Delfin. Passeig del Born, 36. 

I couldn't leave Barcelona without trying some tapas, but since this is the only place I tried I don't have anything to compare it to. No complaints about the food though! 

7. La Taqueria. Passeig Font, 5.  (Not pictured, because it was rather dark inside).

I never found any decent Mexican food in Paris (I swear  it's impossible to get anything spicy in that city), so I was quite pleased when I found this little hole-in-the-wall. Portions are a bit small for the price, but the quality and flavor make up for it. Located just a stone's throw from the Sagrada Familia, you can do as I did and reward yourself with chicken tacos after braving the crowds at the church. 

Chasing Pastries

 Cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery in NYC. Macarons from Pierre Hermé in Paris. Burgers from In-n-Out in SoCal. By a combination of reputation and hype, certain food establishments are destinations unto themselves - maybe even more than the cities they reside in. Pasteis de Belem in Lisbon is no exception. 

A traditional Portuguese dessert, pastel de nata is a custard egg tart (think Chinese dan tat but with a crust more akin to phyllo pastry), and this bakery just twenty minutes outside central Lisbon supposedly makes some of the best in the country. 

Lisbon wasn't part of my original itinerary, but with more time than I knew what to do with in Porto and rave reviews from an LCB friend who went last summer, I had no choice really but to go.

Table service at Pasteis de Belem leaves much to be desired, but counter service is extremely streamlined; I had my tarts in a to-go box in a matter of minutes, and devoured them by the water after taking the tram back to Plaça Comercio. The verdict? Quite delicious, although I haven't tried any others while in Portugal so it's impossible to say whether they're the best. They also give you little packets of cinnamon and sugar to sprinkle on top, but alas I didn't notice these until after I finished eating and was throwing the bag away.

Is "food tourism" an officially recognized term? Because it should be.

On Food, Photography & Food Photography

My personal favorite type of website has got to be the Single Topic Tumblr (STT). Whether it's the classic Kim Jong-il Looking at Things (RIP Dear Leader), the short-lived Teenage Mutant Ninja Noses, the esteemed Humans of New York, or the occasionally educational I Love Charts, STTs are perfect for me because I have a short attention span. Sometimes I think my heavy usage of the internet has given me ADD. When reading a page or article I often find myself opening new tabs while I wait for the previous one to load, and before I know it there are a dozen tabs and I've already forgotten or stopped caring what the first one was about.

Recently a new STT popped up on my dashboard that hit a little too close to home. It's name? Pictures of Hipsters Taking Pictures of Food with the tagline, "Documenting the phenomenon of people taking pictures of food they did not themselves cook." I laughed as I scrolled through the photos, but inwardly cringed because I am totally one of those people. In my defense I'm not that hardcore about it, but even so, iPhoneography is not that subtle. ​

There are two issues at play here. One is why bother taking pictures of food in the first place? My Instagram feed is dominated by food photos, but for the most part they're all things that I made myself in class. But, hell, I was taking pictures of food long before I owned an iPhone and before smartphone cameras were even respectable. Call me a hipster, but back in the day (i.e. high school) I was taking pictures of food on 35mm film to make prints that I developed in a darkroom. I once heard it said on the Food Network that you first eat with your eyes. And now that I'm in cooking school being graded on presentation, it's become well-ingrained that food should look good. Pretty people get their photos taken all the time, so why shouldn't a nice cake or intricate latte art get the same treatment?

The other issue that POHTPOF pokes fun at is social media and technology, because you just know by looking that all of the photos of the meta-subjects will inevitably end up on Instagram. I use the photography app quite a bit myself to post pictures, but the reason why I don't use it much to follow others is best summed up by a deliciously snarky open letter to people who take pictures of food with Instagram.

Just because the picture looks artsy doesn’t mean you are. I get it. We all went through our creative, experimental stages. There is a period in all of our lives where we think we can probably make money off our pseudo-artistic talent of choice. And now, you think you are a photographer because Instagram does the work for you. - Katherine Markovich

Apps like this allow users to slap nifty-looking filters on otherwise bland, badly composed and/or out of focus pictures.​ But for a generation of humblebraggers artistry is not paramount; Instagramming and checking in are just about proving that you were there.

Of course this is all really just a long-winded introduction to ​say that on Friday night I had one of the best dinners thus far in Paris at Les Papilles. In a nutshell: four-course set menu that changes daily and surprisingly isn't too expensive. The portions are considerable (I've definitely paid more and gotten less at other restaurants) and served up family-style, like classy comfort food. There's also a great wine selection (not that I'm an expert or anything but they had a lot of really cool-looking bottles and let's face it that's generally how I judge my wines). Your waiter will tell you that a bottle for the table is 7€ than a bottle to go, but obviously it's meant to be paired with the meal so chances are you'll pay up anyways.

I hesitated to photo-document the meal because POHTPOF has made me slightly self-conscious about doing so, but...​it was such a good experience I suppose I didn't want to only have memories of it after. Here are pictures of what I ate there.

Wino

​That entire wall is filled with shelves of bottles.

Entrée

​In French the entrée is the appetizer. Here we have a creamy sweet potato soup with chorizo.

Boeuf au Vin Rouge

​The main dish was beef slow-cooked in a red wine sauce with vegetables. I don't know if the meat was actually cooked "all night" as the waiter said, but it was so tender I'd believe it.

Fromage

​I love that the French have an entire cheese course between the main dish and dessert. Here we have a blue variety with a candied prune.

Dessert

​Banana panna cotta with caramel sauce.

As much as I complained in the beginning I don't really have a solution because I think the problem is at least partially rooted in narcissism, but I suppose every photo is meaningful...if not only to the photographer herself. So for the sake of your followers and friends, Facebook or genuine, make each picture count. Don't be ashamed to pull out your phone at the brunch/lunch/dinner table, but please take a few extra seconds to do it right. When I see the finished product I want to drool with envy, not roll my eyes and click 'unfollow.'

The Geography of Taste

A topic that inevitably comes up in relation to homesickness when I talk to my expat friends is the food. Paris, of course, has a lot going for it (that's why we're all here to learn the culinary arts!) but I miss the familiarity of the foodscape at home. In Seattle (my hometown), the Bay Area (my adopted home for the four years before I came for France), and even New York City (where I spent the summer of 2011), I had an eclectic rotation of trustworthy restaurants, bars and cafés that I knew I liked. And by "eclectic," what I really mean are various kinds of ethnic cuisines.

The expats I know who hail from so-called countries of immigrants - Canada, Australia, and the good ol' USA - ​all say the same thing. Paris is culturally and ethnically diverse, but even when you dine in immigrant-run restaurants it feels...Frenchified. In some instances it's a matter of being used to the Americanized version (especially for Chinese food), but it's definitely disconcerting to see menus written only in French and a foreign language. But I suppose no matter the quality of the food, not knowing what you're eating is always an adventure.

However, there's no denying that certain products and dishes are just engineered differently in France.​ Recently I had pho in the 13th arrondissement, a neighborhood known for its many Asian restaurants, and while the noodle soup itself was fine, I was sorely disappointed that the Sriracha sauce did nothing. Given the amount I added to the broth, if this were at a restaurant at home in the states I would have been in tears by the end. For my friends and me, that's kind of the point - to go in on a cold winter's day, and put just the right amount of kick in the soup to clear your sinuses and make you sweat a little. But in Paris, no matter how much you put in your bowl it remains a stubborn combination of sweet and salty.

​I had a similar experience when a friend from Mexico took me to try out a new Mexican restaurant. The food was authentic enough, by his standards, but the salsa was so bland it seemed to be just for looks. No wonder people bring back bottles of Tapatío sauce after visiting home.

The more I've talked to other chefs and people who have lived here longer than I have, the more I realize that traditional French cuisine is very mild, and so those who enter the restaurant industry here have to work around the local preferential tastes if they want to succeed. The most obvious examples are branches of chains like McDonald's and Starbucks, whose menus are quite different from the ones I'm used to seeing at home.​

When I heard that Chipotle was to open its first location in Paris, I scoffed, thinking, "Typical expansion of American corporatism." But I've been so homesick lately maybe I will try it. (After my next paycheck clears; I've heard it's expensive). I don't really expect the salsa to be spicy, but I hope it is.

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​If you're in the northwest any time soon, here is a compilation of my favorite places to eat in Seattle.