Jalapeños

As I sit here now, after dinner, my stomach is tearing itself apart. I can only imagine tomorrow's trip to the bathroom being a (quite literal) shit storm. 

I have been craving jalapeños ever since I got here. First night, we went to this Mexican restaurant called "Burrito." They didn't even have spicy food, I was fearing that jalapeños didn't exist in Spain (couldn't find them at Carrefour, my favorite close by super market). However, the other day after our visit to Carrefour, Marisa went to El Corte Inglés and found some jalapeños at Hipercor and, remembering how much I wanted some, bought a jar and gave them to me. For that, I am eternally grateful. The first spicy thing I've had since I left for Spain. I knew coming here I wouldn't be having any spicy food in Spain, so I guess I subconsciously ate as much spicy food as I could the weeks beforehand. Any time I'd got anywhere, I'd get whatever sounded hot and detrimental to my intestines. I was in the garden of earthly delights. 

And now, four weeks of not having spicy food, I'm presented with a jar of jalapeños and nothing really to put them on, so I had to be creative. For lunch, I just ate them raw, straight out of the jar. It was wonderful. My mouth burned a bit, and I even had to drink some water. Oh, the sensations were coming back to me, the fond flavor of food with a bite. My host mother tried the very corner of one (after just smelling the jar she exclaimed that she could smell the hotness), and I feared I was going to have to call the hospital. Now, living her whole life in Spain, without ever hearing of the word "jalapeño," I can understand her reaction. I'm just sad that she doesn't appreciate the wonder of jalapeños like I do. She immediately ran to the garbage to spit out the piece of pepper and I had to hand her my glass of water in fear of her having a heart attack. She downed the whole glass, something that usually takes her the whole meal. Her mouth was still burning afterwards for quite some time. To help with the mental image, for those that were around: think of the first time Mitch tried a jalapeños..yeah, it was kinda like that. At least she tried it. 

For dinner I actually tried mixing jalapeños with Spanish food. Host mother specifically made rice tonight because the previous night I was that jalapeños would go good with rice (I couldn't think of any other food we've had here that would--soup just doesn't cut it). Of course it was just plain white rice doused in olive oil, but I added some jalapeños and it turned out pretty good. Now if only they had sour cream lying around the house, we'd be getting somewhere. Mamá also had a plate of tortilla sitting out, and my least favorite bar bread (the styrofoam kind). Regardless, I quickly made a bocadillo and tossed some jalapeños on top. Now that was delicious. I don't see why this bocadillo isn't more widely available here, all the Americans and Mexicans would eat it, and the Spaniards would learn to love it.

Perhaps then instead of giving us nasty green olives to nibble on while having a drink, the waitstaff would bring out a plate of jalapeños. I can only hope...

Good news on the jamón front: Mamá told me that I can make the two bocadillos for the Asturias trip myself. One of tortilla and the other of whatever I want. She recommended chorizo. I'm going to Carrefour tomorrow and getting the best jamón ibérico and queso I can find. I was thinking of adding jalapeños but I don't want to ruin my first true jamón y queso bocadillo in Spain. My mouth is watering just thinking about it now. I can't wait for Friday when I devour this boca. 

Rain! And Storms! And new pants!

Nothing special these past few days, save for:

El primer botellón. This is where the parents should skip to the next paragraph or two. Or not. So, the Spanish word for bottle is botella. Whenever you take a Spanish word and add -on, it makes it bigger, stronger, better. So think of botellón as a big, strong bottle -- full of booze. Botellones are a tradition and favorite pasttime of Spanish youth. The idea is simple: bars are very expensive, so why not get a bunch of booze cheap at the store and just hang out with friends in a park, drinking and talking all night? Then maybe heading out to a bar for a night cap or food. The laws concerning drinking outside are very, very lax here. I've been told by my Spanish friends that they've been approached by police during botellones, but were simply told to throw away their trash afterwards. Very lax. Think of it as our American house party, yet outside and without beer pong (qué horror!). You see, Spanish youth end up living with their parents until they are married, more or less. You can find some 28 year olds still living in their parents houses, mostly because of the lack of money and strong family ties (plus point--there aren't really part time jobs for college aged Spanish--they just go to school and have fun). However, when living with their parents, Spanish kids aren't really allowed to invite many more people over than just their girlfriend or best friend, much less a whole house full of drunkards. So they go outside to drink. Good idea, no? Just try that in the States anywhere that isn't Las Vegas or a festival.

Thursday night we had our first botellón with our new Spanish friends. It was great. We went to the university's courtyard and were presented with a wide selection of fun things to drink. Rum, black cherry vodka, regular vodka, Don Simón red wine (it's this boxed stuff that would kick Franzia's ass any day), Mahou (eww), plus the standard mixers: Coke and Fanta limón. Be warned: the black vodka and Fanta limón, while delicious, turns your teeth black-- not too attractive, but it was getting dark out so I don't think anyone mattered too much. This was a great opportunity for me and mis compañeros de los Estados Unidos para charlar y conocer mejor los españoles. We chatted, joked, laughed, peed in the alley way: good times. Got to work on our Spanish, which obviously improved as the night went on. Our Spanish hosts say they've been having this botellón every Thursday for the past seven years. We have to leave at 8 am on Friday morning for Asturias this week. You bet we'll be partaking in round two for us Americans.

Pues, Friday and Saturday weren't too exciting. Plenty of chilling around Alcalá. I believe I already spoke of the tapas fair here in Plaza Cervantes, which entertained me for a good portion of the night. Saturday night I spent mostly at home reading Reinaldo Arenas' autobiography "Antes que anochezca." Some of you may have seen the film version starring Javier Bardem (in English "Before Night Falls"). It's a very...interesting book. Very easy read for Spanish students as there aren't too many words you need to be running to the dictionary to look up. You'll definitely learn some new ones, mostly through context. Backstory: Reinaldo Arenas was a homosexual poet/author growing up just in time for the Castro revolution in Cuba. He grew up en el campo and at one point joined the militia to oust Batista. However, once Castro took over, he started persecuting homosexuals--and Arenas started to get in trouble. I'm only about half way through right now, so far, so good -- and strange at times (if you read it, you'll see what I'm talking about). Highly recommend it though (even more so in Spanish, of course). 

I did find a new cool bar Saturday night (after my marathon reading session, of course--study first, drink later). It has a wonderful terrace seating inside it's own courtyard. I'd liken it to Porta Bella in Madison (at least in style of terrace, not food). The drinks, as seems to be typical of the Spanish, were half and halfs -- for only 4.20€ -- just about the cheapest you can find in town without going to a botellón (5€ for a cup -- reminds me of most Madison parties). Still not sure how to properly order a rum and Coke here though. I've ordered it the only three ways I know and each time I'm met with weird stares. Ron y cola...blank stares and "¿Qué?" Cuba libre...same thing, no one understands. I was told by Maya to order by brand name (as once they figure out you want rum, they ask for what kind), so I ordered "Club Habana y cola" which was greeted with a disgruntled "¿QUÉ?" And it's not like I'm stupid and mispronouncing these words. I know how to speak at least enough Spanish to order a drink, and I've been told by multiple teachers my pronunciation is quite good. Maybe it's just that no one drink rum around here -- or else Spanish waitstaff just hate me. 

Sunday was Madrid time. Went to El Prado, which contrary to what we thought, was only free from 5pm onwards, not all day Sundays. Shame. Went in anyways. Saw Las Meninas, of course, and a host of others by Velazquez and Goya and those other famous Spanish painters. The painting that really stuck out for me and captured my attention most was by an "Early Netherlandish" painter called Hieronymus Bosch. It was called The Garden of Earthly Delights. Very fascinating, very detailed. I could spend hours looking at this three part painting. There are so many things going on and it seems to crazy that some guy back in the early 16th century dreamed this world up.

Spent some time in Retiro, then wandering around the crazy, convoluted streets of Madrid, hoping I'd get lost. Wanted to just explore and find something new and cool (or old and cool). I didn't, since the coolest thing was this bar at the very beginning of my trying-to-get-lost adventure. Casapueblo. At the beginning of Calle Leones near El Congreso and all those ritzy hotels in Madrid (save for the actual Ritz, which is near Atocha). Inside, old fashioned prohibition era decor. Loud (too loud) piano and jazz music playing. They had an old piano in back, in fact. Theater posters dating back to the early 20th century advertising plays being put on in none other than Alcalá de Henares. Giant wall full of liquor bottles. First time I've seen Kahlúa in Spain. Plenty of other rare stuff, including this one Cuban scotch. Not sure how good that would be. Marisa and I had a glass of red wine while admiring this beautiful wall. Our eyes searched for, and eventually found, the holy grail of I'm-in-Europe-and-it's-cool-to-drink-stuff-illegal-in-America booze: Absinthe. Or in Spanish, absenta. We didn't try as we are going to wait to bring more friends back to disfrutar. It has been encountered though (as numerous searches of grocery stores have returned negatives results). Will let you all know how that adventure ends up going when it happens.

And finally, yesterday I got some new pants. A pair of jeans. Figured my old ones were either too uncomfortable or too worn down. Got new ones, which I now refer to as "ass jeans" because they definitely show off my butt. The ladies love them though, so I'm not going to complain.

Epicurean Diaries Vol. 3

After quite the wait, here is the next installment. Lots of food and drink since the last one.

Chorizo picante

My first experience with chorizo here in Spain wasn't a pleasant one. Host mother pulled out this moldly looking slab of sausage one night for dinner. It was all dark and full of fat. She sliced me off a piece--I did not enjoy it. However, I was talking one night about how much I love spicy food and how there is no spicy food in Spain. She mentioned some spicy chorizo that Jesús likes. So I had some, uncooked, but still delicious. She said it was "muy picante." Not entirely true but I guess for a Spaniard who has never heard of a jalapeño before, that would be true. It was good chorizo though, and it did have a bit of a bite to it (though not quite like Mexican chorizo). I had it a few days later cooked, was much better still. 

Vino tinto

I was going to have separate categories for all these different red wines I've been having, but then I realized that I'm not skilled enough, if you will, at discerning the differences and subtleties of wines. I've ordered house wines (vino tinto de la casa) at a Korean BBQ in Madrid, restaurante Candela, and two others from there, plus house wine from El Espejo (if you remember from la noche en blanco). They were all good to great. And before this I was never a huge fan of wine in general. Either I've grown accustomed to the taste, or the wine really is just better here. And so cheap too. In the stores, as I've said, you can get a bottle from .79€ -- in most restaurants the tinto de la casa is going to be about 10€, and quite good. So..if you come to Spain, get red wine, and you won't be disappointed.

Korean BBQ

My friends Monica and Kristine took me out to a Korean BBQ in Madrid last week since they were missing Korean food and I've never had it before. Started off with fried dumplings, which I could not tell the difference between Korean and Chinese fried dumplings -- nevertheless, they were quite good, if unfortunately in small portions (only four tiny ones! Really need to find a Chinese buffet around here). The girls had this spicy soup called Kim Chi, I had a taste it was very good -- but you know me, I already get enough soup at home here, that I refrained from having any more. Main course was the actual BBQ ribs, called Kalbi. If you've never been to a Korean grill before...the grill is actually in the middle of the table and either you or the server cooks the food right there on the table. Monica and Kristine knew how so they prepared out meal. I'm not quite sure what the sauce was, but it was amazing. Plus, meat! How often do I get that here? I was quite excited. It was fun actually cooking your meat to your liking then just tossing it on your plate -- a kitchen so close is useful, especially since I was starving. So I filled up on white rice and Kalbi and the fine vino tinto de la casa. Quite the good dinner.

La merienda a la terraza de El Espejo

Merienda is usually a snake during midday, after lunch, but before dinner, in order to hold oneself over until dinner. I'm applying it here to our 2am snack and drink in Madrid during la noche en blanco. Or, as Rebeca put it "You know what this is right here? Fourth meal." We ordered a plate of jamón ibérico and manchego, along with bread. I got a glass of the house wine (as I've said, you can't go wrong here in Spain with red wine). Normally I hate manchego, it's so saltly and strong and just plain foul (I'm starting to think that that's just the manchego that host mother gets) -- but this manchego was much more mild and delicious. That, or I'm just getting used to manchego. A slice of bread, a slice of manchego, and the coup de grâce: jamón ibérico. The best ham you can get in the world. The only thing coming from a pig that I like. Familiar faces should know that I do not like ham nor pork chops nor bacon...however, when in Spain, ham is about the greatest thing I can eat. And this jamón ibérico was fantastic. Cut fresh off the (dead and cured) pig's leg, in tiny little strips, perfect for making tiny bocadillos with the cheese. These bocadillitos and the wine were a perfect combination and an excellent mid-night snack to refuel our energy before we continued on for another four hours.

Camembert

For a while, I just referred to this as the "French cheese" because I didn't know how to pronounce it. As noted before, I was having troubles adjusting to manchego and even the Wisconsin cheddar I brought over (I don't like yellow cheddars...I know, from Wisconsin and don't like cheddar!), so I was determined to find an alternative cheese because I was going through cheese withdrawals (unfortunately they don't have pepper jack here...I may die). Searching through Carrefour for a suitable cheese, I found only two saving graces: Brie and Camembert. I wanted to eat it immediately, and only Camembert came in individually wrapped chunks, so I picked that up. While the mold on the outside was a turn off at first, I have quickly adapted and am now in love with Camembert. It is what keeps me alive and not withering away due to lack of cheese. It's so rich, so creamy...I have a chunk for nearly every meal. Goes great on bread but I can just as easily tear into it by itself. Oh the French, saving me once again. 

Common Fig

Or, in Spanish, higo. A friend of the family rang the doorbell one day and Candela opened the door to reveal Juan, a fast talking and very impassioned Spaniard, friend of Candela's kids Estrella and Antonio. He was carrying grocery bags full of food--and shoes-- and started pouring stuff on the kitchen table (where we had just been eating at--Candela was quite quick to clear the table when she found out he was coming up, never have seen her so excited or so fast). He pulled out this green fruit and basically shoved one in my face, peeling the skin down like a banana, to reveal this half strawberry, half sea coral looking interior. I was intrigued, and shoved my face into the fruit. Oh so sweet. He mumbled that it was "yigo" or something, I didn't picked up what it really was called until a few days later, when I was devouring one I asked Candela and she spelled it out for me (wrong, but Google can help with that). Found out it was the common fig. Makes sense, now that I think about it they do kinda taste like Fig Newtons. I think that if el higo was an animal and not a fruit, I wouldn't eat it. The insides would look disgusting coming from an animal. Weird, I know. It's so delicious, so sweet. It's coated in this gooey sweetness that remind me of honey. So, it's like eating a coral strawberry covered in honey. 

That's all for this installment, expect another one next week. I'm going to be heading out tonight to eat for dinner and possibly again Sunday -- in Madrid. I'm thinking either Casa Botín (Hemingway's favorite) or else something Middle Eastern. Weird that now that I'm in Spain I'm eating at non Spanish restaurants that I could just as easily find in Madison or Milwaukee. 

Recuerdos

And I sat there in phonetics class today...drifting off since the material I had already learned and seemed quite easy (how hard is it to separate into syllables and find the accentuation?)...thinking, of Madison. How I miss those Tuesday afternoons, fresh off of Spanish 223 I'd pick up the latest Onion and sit in the Trilling lounge reading over it, amusing myself with a select few others who were just arrive back from class or waking up. Mitch and Ian were usually there, Jake every once in a while. We'd sit and chat and laugh, then head off to lunch. As I said then, and it's still true now, lunch was typically my favorite part of the day, and definitely so on Tuesdays. We'd gorge and sit around the Don's table or else in the atrium for what turned out to be hours on some occasions. I'd get a flavored coffee (and I'd be damned if it was Chocolate Raspberry), trying always to get Mitch to drink it. Then we'd head back up to the lounge after lunch, coffee in hand, and just chill for the afternoon--no one wanted to do homework, or head off to their next class (though luckily for me I was done for the day). Then after some time Jeanne and Kayla and Kyle and Amanda and others would filter in, lunch trays in hand, and plop themselves down and it'd be a blast. 

The lunches are much quieter, here. Usually it's me and abuela. Sometimes her granddaughter. The selection, of course, is not a plentiful. There is no choice, and I end up eating soup most days. There are no reubens, there are no Chicken-Os, no Cuban pork sandwiches, no rare-but-delicious breaded chicken sandwiches, no cheeseburgers, no Brew City fries, no made to order quesadillas nor never-ending pasta buffets nor gigantic burritos covered in far too much guacamole and sour cream, and definitely no dirt cake. There is soup, pinto beans, garbanzo beans, lentils, noodles (not quite what you'd think). And bread. Plenty of baguette style bread, which varies in quality from something quite amazing to what appears to be styrofoam masking itself as something edible. 

There is no lounge to relax and digest the meal in. No Irish Cream nor French Vanilla nor Kahlúa coffees (and I can tell you why there is an accent mark on the "u" now), straight black. There is café con leche, which varies widely depending on the café you frequent. I've found one solid cup of café con leche so far in Alcalá. The rest seem to be imposters, heating milk in the microwave and tossing in instant coffee, as los abuelos do in the morning, a taste so offensive that it could turn me off of café con leche altogether. Café solo (black coffee) is served strong and small. It more resembles espresso (café cortado) than coffee we're used to in the States. If I order a café solo anywhere, I get this tiny shot of Spanish coffee, which I don't mind the taste (remember I love dark and bitter coffees and beers), but it's so small and perks me up so little that I feel like I'm wasting the 1.20€ it costs. At least with leche you get a full cup. And yet there is no Cedarburg Coffee Roastry where the refills are free and you get to choose from 4 differently delicious brews. Only one, and refill is 1.20€. There is a Starbucks in town, I'm far too afraid to go in there though as doing so would feel like I'm giving up, quitting, not embracing the new culture here. Wasting, if you will, the opportunity to have fine Spanish coffees while I'm here. And yet I've still to find that fine Spanish coffee, perhaps there is a café hidden from us foreigners where the delicious coffee flows freely and cheaply. Where there are large cups filled with black coffee of all regions and flavors. Where there is the strong smell of roasted beans and the absence of any TV screen. 

So now when I go to a café, I rarely get coffee. I haven't had a cup in days. Strange, I know, considering my 3+ during the school year and summer. I don't know if I can survive like this, without large quantities of coffee. Sure, I don't need it to stay up (in fact I have trouble sleeping often), but there's definitely something missing. I end up, instead, sharing a bottle of wine with friends, often having upwards of 3 cups in an afternoon. It's enjoyable, and I've grown quite the tongue for red wine (there isn't a bad red wine I've had here yet), but it doesn't give me that kick, that je ne sais quoi (o mejor, en español, yo no sé qué) that a bold cup of coffee does.

I've already planned my first full day back (or at least the meals): 

Breakfast: Fried egg (over hard, of course...something that they don't do in Spain) sandwich, on an egg bagel from Bagels Forever. Coffee.

Lunch: Homemade reubens (as Cedarburg is severely lacking in establishments with quality reubens). Afterwards, hours upon hours of coffee at the Roastry.

Dinner: Gigantic burrito from Chipotle, or an otherwise very spicy meat and cheese combination with plenty of sour cream and guacamole (perhaps my special recipe spicy meatloaf). Afterwards, an evening at Silver Creek, outside on the beer garden, legally drinking quality beer.

Is it bad that I'm already pondering this? It's not like I hate Spain, not by any means, I suppose this is my slow, drawn out "cultural shock" period that everyone usually goes through their first few days. I didn't have that at first, and it's definitely not panic-inducing. It's just gradual, the things I realize that I really miss from time to time. It's my quest this year to find at least one place in Madrid that serves a reuben. 

Strawberry Fields Forever

Here is the awesome performance of Strawberry Fields Forever. Or part of it at least. Enjoy.

Máximo silencio

Here's the video of the light I was talking about. Set to Andrés Segovia's "Asturias - Leyenda Preludio." Enjoy. The Beatles song will be coming soon. And a new Epicurean Diaries.

La noche en blanco

A new Epicurean Adventures will be coming later, but for right now I must recount la noche en blanco, a very special night held once a year in Madrid (and various other European cities like Paris and Rome). Where to start? First: la noche en blanco is an all night festival honoring the full moon. All the museums are open free to the public til 7am and there are all these streets closed off to cars, full of hundreds of thousands of people and various public art and music performances. We spent the night walking around Madrid, in the cold, admiring quite the spectacle.

Arriving in Madrid at Atocha at 11:30p.m. we headed to la Reina Sofía first, where they were lighting a bunch of candles on the steps to the museum. We sat en terraza at a bar in the plaza, and after some time what appeared to be a nude man stood in the middle of the candles, motionless. As we approached, we discovered that people were pouring hot wax from the candles on him (and that he wasn't completely naked, he had a small jock strap on). La Reina Sofía is the museum of modern art here, and some girl gave a speech explaining her little piece of art.

We headed down El Paseo del Prado, which is normally like Lake Shore Dr in Chicago but was completely devoid of cars and full of people. First "exhibit" we ran into was a guy up on a platform in the middle of the street playing a violin. It was a beautiful song. Then he decided to whip out a saw. Yeah, like those wobbly ones you use to cut trees. He pulled out a saw and started playing it, quite awkwardly, but still very amusing.

Further down el Paseo, right outside the Velazquez entrance to El Prado was two vaudevillian men blowing gigantic bubbles over the crowd to the tune of classical music. It was cool but nothing to hold our interest too long. 

And then near la Plaza del Neptuno, one of my favorite exhibitions of the night. We approached, and I was not enthused about this guy singing some song in English with these weird, new age instrumentals. I'm like "What the heck, I'm in Madrid, where's the Spanish music?" He finished the song then said "Creo que vas a gustar esto." And I did. I forgot there are certain songs that are universal. The Beatles happen to have a whole catalogue full of them. He had four microphones and in each one he made a different vocal "track," if you will, to which he then started to loop these background vocals to make up the instrumentals of the song. Then he proceeded to sing, in perfect English, Strawberry Fields Forever. I was so enamored that at first I was just standing there in awe, it was so beautiful. Then I remembered I can take video with my camera, so I have a portion of the song captured on video, which I will post later.

We moved on, in the fountain of la Plaza de Neptuno (or Neptune, if you couldn't figure that out (or Poseidon)) were oversized rubber ducks. Just floating around. 

Did I mention there were hundreds of thousands of people there? The streets were jam packed with people (and coincidentally, trash). Los madrileños were smart and brought large bottles of booze and plenty of beer so they didn't have to go to bars to get drunk. Throngs of people were just walking around with booze all night then tossing it wherever they were when they were done. The streets were literally trashed by 3am.

This is the old post office building. Hard to tell, but those are lips that are "kissing" the building. They made loud puckering sounds and would kiss different parts of the building constantly. I have video that I will try to get up later. Crazy art students.

We headed to la Puerta de Alcalá. This was the first time I had seen it, after hearing that song all the time in Profe's class. It was illuminated intermittently and there was a huge line to walk underneath it. We decided not to wait to walk under an arch (though I don't think you can do that normally, so maybe we should have...) and instead headed to a bar to get some pinchos and drinks. El Espejo, the bar, was a nice terraza bar in the middle of the street that reminded me of the images I've seen of old Parisian bars. We had a plate of jamón ibérico and queso and bread, and I a copa of vino tinto. This was one of the other highlights of the night for me. The jamón was the best yet I've had in Spain (not saying much given what I had at the "Italian" restaurant). The cheese, which normally I can't stand Spanish cheese, was actually really good, especially with the jamón and bread. The wine was delicious as well. We were sitting in the middle of the street freezing in the wind but I was having a terrific time. Need to go back there.

From there the mission was Gran Vía, as there was plenty of be had there (or so we thought). By this time there were already cleaning crews outside leaf blowing and spraying the streets with water (why? I don't know). Didn't seem to be as many people out on Gran Vía at this time (was about 3am) so we headed into Zahara café for some wake me up caffeine. We sat around there, half asleep, half ready for the rest of the night, until the place closed at 4am. Down Gran Vía, we passed la Plaza de España and el Palacio Real on our way to "Máximo silencio," probably the best piece of art of the whole night. It was quite a walk through streets and parks full of the discarded bottles of alcohol and mixers from earlier botellones. We lost ourselves a bit in a dark street by el Puente de Segovia and a river. Ended up atop a hill looking at the most spectacular and sobering exhibition in Madrid. Ten thousand multicolored lights filled a field on the west side of Madrid. Alternating colors, below the full moon, the perfect night cap to la noche en blanco. It's really hard to describe just what it was like to be there, how it felt and the impact it had on me. Even the photos and videos I have don't really do it justice. Just trust me that it was something special and that I almost hate mentioning it because I'm sad that you all could not take part in it. However, I did manage to get some photos that try to give you a sense of what it was like, as well as some videos that I will try to get up later (along with the Strawberry Fields Forever video). 

 

Head here for the whole photo set.