Don't call me Shirley

Welcome back! Despite best intentions I have not updated the blog in a while. For fear of backlash I will attempt to update you and get things back on track. Working backwards from today, the following Spanish towns/cities have not been blogged: Jerez de la Frontera (arrived today), Iznãjar (near Cordoba and Granada), Madrid, Valencia and Barcelona. I'm not going to go into great detail, because, frankly, I can’t be bothered but hopefully the following titbits will entertain.

Side note: I’ve always spelt and pronounced titbits as tidbits. Thank-you, spell checker, I might never have known.

We are, as my fingers hit the teeny tiny keyboard of our netbook, warming our steaming rain soaked feet in front of a gas heater in Jerez. For people who know Mike well, you might be surprised to hear that yesterday he bought a woollen scarf and gloves (no Tina, this does not mean you can start knitting him things) to go with the knit sweaters he bought last week. You probably heard about the winter chill that has hit the UK, I think that Spain is copping the tail end of it. It’s cold! Cold enough that Mick’s “winter” things are not doing what they ought. To us it feels colder than we’ve felt in Melbourne in many winters. I’m hoping (secretly, Mick is worried about the car and driving) that it snows. I want a Christmas miracle dammit!

Mick has just poured me a glass of one of our last bottles of Italian whites. Poderi Capecci, San Savino, Ciprea Pecorino, €8, 2009. Made from a new (to me) grape variety called Pecorino, which a pathetic amount of googling has not rendered me an expert on. The two things I can pass on with some degree of confidence are: 1. it’s an early ripening variety and 2. It’s an old variety that has fairly recently (last 20 years) been rediscovered and revitalised for a modern market (Stefano from Illuminati introduced us to it).

C- Pale yellow, hint of granny smith green, N- herbal notes, lemon and passionfruit, P- sweet fruit balanced by crisp acid, minerally tang on finish. It goes brilliantly with salty green Manzanilla Olives.

The last few nights we were staying in Iznajar, a small town on a big lake between Cordoba and Granada. From there we took two day trips to each of the more major cities, mainly, as it turned out to visit building from their Moorish backgrounds.

In Granada we spent a sunny afternoon at the Alhambra. The guide books state it is the most visited destination by tourists annually in Spain. I’m not convinced of its worth. It is a small fortress town, built a long time ago by the Moors (13 century something, who at that time were Muslim). One of the guides told us to spend at a minimum of three hours walking its cobbled lanes and mosaic-ed palaces, our feet were sore and it was cold, so, we didn’t. Also, being the most visited place in Spain meant that there were far more tourists there than our comfort levels could tolerate.

Compared to Cordoba’s Mezquita the Alhambra lacked a little awe. The Mezquita is only one building and a courtyard, but it blew us away. Give me a mosque over a church any day! Also built a long time ago by the Moors (North African Muslims who invaded southern Spain...) the mosque is a vast space, the roof is supported by endless arched columns, the sides house mini “chapels”  and in the centre of the whole thing there is a later built cathedral (go figure). Low lighting and a faint scent of cypress pine incense almost made me swoon with joy in the endless space. The might of man is surely (don’t call me Shirley, RIP Lesley Nielson) evident in this structure.

More on Madrid, Valencia and Barca (as we like to call it) tomorrow.

Lots of love.

Razor clams and Toilet Bowls.

On the 15^th of November we drove to Barcelona, Spain.  On day one we ate a meal that I thought was going to be up there with one of our best. One of a long list suggested to us by our hosts, we picked it because it was the closest to our apartment. Simply decorated, the decor reminded me of a 1970’s doctor’s surgery waiting room (or what I imagine one would look like). Though it lacked a certain style, the table settings (crisp white cloth napkins, a selection of glassware) hinted at something a little more refined.

As it was lunchtime (Paella o’clock) and it was our first meal in Spain (The Zombies didn’t really count) we ordered Paella Mixta for two, Pimientos de Padron and a starter of grilled baby squid. I was actually leaning towards fried baby octopus, but the waiter insisted we get the squid (with a wink and a knowing smile).

The squid was oh-so-tender, tiny (the size of a squished brussel sprout (new season)) and the best I’ve ever eaten. Slightly smoky from the grill, it was dressed with olive oil, lemon juice, flaky salt and finely chopped parsley. I could see Mick’s eyes widen with revelation at each bite. I’m not exaggerating. I'm sure that if every farmers market in Victoria traded their Dutch pancake stall for a stand that sold these by the plate, they would do a roaring trade. Who eats those little pancakes anyway? I’d much rather baby squids on the ends of my toothpick.

Pimientos de Padrón are small green peppers from Padrón, a small green town in Galicia, North Western Spain. To prepare them, you cook them with a little olive oil in a hot pan until blistered, garnish with salt and serve. To eat them, you hold them by the stalk and bite off the flesh and seeds. They are sweet fleshed, delicious and are known as the Russian Roulette of the pepper world. Although for the most part they are not hot (not even a hint of spice) occasionally you’ll come upon a killer. The Galician saying goes "Os pementos de Padrón, uns pican e outros non". The translation is something like the “Hot & Not” column in your favourite glossy.

I might interject for a second (can you interject yourself?) and mention how proud Mick is of me; I haven’t gloated on any form of social media about my absence from retail Christmas preparation. Don’t worry my gloating is equally balanced with jealousy over missing summer and Christmas with friends and family.  Paul Kelly’s “Who’s gonna make the gravy” made me tear up today, even though I haven’t made gravy for my family, in, like forever. And I’m not in prison...

I digress; we washed this all down with one of my favourite crowd pleasers- Torres Sangre del Torro Blanco “Vina Sol” €6, or twelvish dollars at your local bottle shop (wink). The paella wasn’t really what we expected. As yet, we haven’t had another in Spain to compare it to. Maybe the Australian incarnations are nothing like their traditional ancestors. Or maybe we haven’t had a control “authentic” Paella in Australia. This one was, rich, smoky and had a colour that we can only describe as HP brown. Chicken, pippies, langoustines and calamari (could have been razor clams, but us novices wouldn’t know the difference) were peppered through the aromatic rice mix. Moreish as it was, it was certainly not the saffron bright, tomato flavoured and zesty dish we were expecting.

JW, I implore you, please point out my grammatical errors. I know they’re there.

This meal, potentially top of the list... Sadly, gave us food poisoning.

We had a Jerry and George moment as we argued the pros and cons. Did the deliciousness outweigh the illness? I am inclined to say it did. It was totally worth it. I’d eat there again without hesitation and if anybody questions me, I’ll tell them it was just a coincidence. Bad sushi or somthin’. Cross my heart.

Love youz.

The Walking Dead

Last Friday we hopped a plane and side-tripped our way to Barcelona. It was quite surreal, but I think that might have been the exhaustion we were suffering from.

Don’t tell my dad, but the reason we had such a substantial side trip (east coast Italy to northeast Spain) was because we got dates wrong. We were a month off kilter.

C'est la vie, I say. We had a brilliant time. The trip was in honour of one of my Dad’s old friends, Jim Rodford (The Kinks, Argent), who now plays bass for The Zombies. The band was formed in the mid-1960s and their album Odessey and Oracle (1967) seems to be gaining more popularity as the decades roll on. Jim very kindly added our names to the guest list, met us for a drink before the gig and though I had heard them all before, took the time to tell us tales from the good old days.

My Dad's mum Peggy, had worked with Jim's mother in St Alban's, England, when the two boys were but babes-in-arms. Dad returned to the motherland (the family had emigrated to Australia when he was four) years later after a stint in the army, met up with Jim, now playing for the Mike Cotton Sound, joined them on tour as a roadie and the rest, as they say, is history.

Mick gracefully played amateur photographer for Jim's fans as we stood at the bar, prior to the gig. Requests for signatures and photographs though alien to us, must be familiar and comforting to a band that will celebrate it's 50th year in 2011.

The gig itself was incredible, having grown up on their tunes, I was in awe from the first strike on the organ. I didn't even let the stoned blond girl thrashing her lustrous locks into my face, time and time again, ruin my night.

So, now we are back in France, in the Côtes du Rhône region, to be precise. After getting back from Barcelona we spent a few days near Turin, drinking Barbera d'Asti, Dolcetto d"Alba and the more famous Barolo. We visited the newly opened Barolo museum, perhaps I used the word surreal too early in this blog. We learnt nothing about the wine, but rather got an insight into some madman's view of the world.

Chin chin!

Everything is Illuminati.

Last Wednesday we were hosted by the Illuminati wine family. We stayed an extra couple of nights in the wintery Le Marche region, just to attend the work organised appointment. We met up with Stefano Illuminati around midday for a tour of their facilities, a tasting and what was described as a lunch that was to be “nothing special” in the organising pre-emails.

The winery and vines are actually in the Abruzzo region which borders Le Marche to the south. Stefano sheparded us into his Porsche for a tour of their expansive vineyards, pointing out the different vineyards (Montepulciano being the star, the white Pecorino an up and comer), trellising techniques (they use both espalier and canopy styles) and described with ardour how the business has grown since his great grandfather established it over one hundred years earlier.

Discussing his forefathers brought Stefano to a more surprising topic of discussion. His and his peers worry for their children. He told us that unemployment in Italy is an escalating problem and quite movingly expressed his concern for the future Italy and how it will be for his two boys. He told us how lucky we were to be born in Australia, we shrugged our shoulders and half heartedly agreed.

His family have been doing business in Australia since 1987, he told us. “My father loves your country.” On Dino Illuminati’s first visit back in the 80s, he was determined to find a long lost friend. He arrived in Adelaide (he knew that much) with only a surname and the name of the Italian town where they had grown up.  He found the man, much older, bed ridden and suffering from Parkinson’s.

Finding his long absent friend, who had not quite found the better life in Australia, had emblazoned Dino with a curious infatuation; “Viva Australia!!!” he said to us later when we met him. Indeed.

Our “nothing special” lunch with Stefano was an absolute joy. He took us to La Sosta, a local trattoria run by friends of the Illuminati’s. As we were seated, he disappeared, only to come back moments later, having ordered our lunch with nonna in the kitchen. The menu they had created for us featured fresh local produce.

For antipasti we had fried Mozzarella (OMG), Ascolano Olives, a cow and sheep’s milk pecorino (cheese this time), locally made Prosciutto crudo and bruschetta (toast) with peppery green extra virgin olive oil drizzled over the top. The olives were particularly interesting; large and green, they were filled with a mix of cooked meat and herbs, then crumbed and fried. Very moreish, they went superbly with Illuminati’s sparkling white brut, a mix of Trebbiano and Verdicchio.

For Primi Piatti (“first plate” in Italian, most usually a pasta dish) we had two pastas, both served from the cooking pot on a trolley beside the table (lovely touch). The first was tagliatelle with FRESH porcini; the flavour was almost too intense for my taste, “almost” because the chef had very cleverly added just enough finely chopped parsley to contrast the pungent mushroom tang. The second pasta was equally delicious and simple; spaghetti with a light tomato and sausage meat sauce.

By this time we were in serious trouble, make no mistake when you hear someone say that the Italians are a generous people. Each of the dishes so far would have been enough to be considered a full meal by our normal “at home” standard.

The Secondi Piatti was a mixed grill, veal, lamb chops, sausage, pork ribs and pork belly, well seasoned and cooked to perfection. They were served with a simple cabbage and broad bean side dish, almost like a mash and delicately flavoured with garlic.

Well into our food coma, dessert is but a blurry memory to me now. I think it was trifle-esque, with a gaudy rose pink layer. It was the specialty of the house, so it must have been good.

Our meal was accompanied by the bottles left over from our earlier tasting. My favourite was the Pieluni, 100% Montepulciano; C – vibrant, dark, light-catching crimson, N – sweet black pepper, cherry and a hint of treacle, P – rich and velvety, elegant oak.

I will endeavour to blog again soon, tomorrow perhaps.

Until then. xo

Tutti i Santi Ognissnati

Tonight we are holed up in an Agriturismo (farm-stay) in Campofilone, Le Marche. There is a thunderstorm raging outside, stretching its vast electric fingers of far out across the Adriatic. The rain has been heavy; sporadically we have to mop the tiles by the door to stop it from creeping into the bedroom.

We’ll head out in about an hour to hopefully find some dinner. The majority of our afternoon was spent driving along the coast road searching in vain for an open Supermarket. We couldn’t figure out why they were shut. We now know enough Italian to know the days of the week, times, open/closed etc and all signs (literally) suggested they should be open. Hungry and confused, we wondered whether they just have extreme lunch breaks locally. A “normal” lunch break for Italy is midday to four-ish, the stores close up shop- most inconvenient!

As it turns out, when we returned from our fruitless hunt, today is a national public holiday. All Saints Day or Tutti i Santi Ognissnati in Italian. Why didn’t anybody tell us? Hang on, they probably did, we just didn’t know what they were rattlin’ on about. Today is also the first of the new season, making the storm very befitting.

On Saturday we left the West Coast and the region of Campania and drove north east to the East Coast and Le Marche. We started out early (painfully), to avoid the traffic and to cram in a four hour stopover in Pompeii before the five hour drive.

Pompeii was magical; it was like someone picked us up, shrunk us down and matrix-ed us into Age of Empires or Civilization. Not wanting to tackle the crowds we didn’t join a recommended tour group but chose to semi-wing it. Map and iphone in hand we had a wonderful morning adventuring through the roman ruins. Roman history, Pompeii included, falls into the category of things I don’t seem to know enough about. I am hungry for information!

The city is so well preserved by the volcanic ash that it isn’t at all difficult to imagine it in all of its glory. There are still many layers unexcavated, we even saw archaeologists on active digs at the site; one scrubbing down a clay vase in a city fountain. Fascinating.

A note to the squeamish: stop reading now.

Before leaving Atrani we ferried and walked our way to a few other destinations; Capri, Positano and Amalfi. In Positano we had a wonderful meal at a beachside seafood restaurant. One of us ordered the squid ink risotto, jet black, gloriously flavoured with Parmagiano and threaded with squid meat, it was devilishly good. Frighteningly though, it had a similar effect on ones digestive system, that eating too much beetroot at a summer BBQ might.