I woke up this morning and in all honesty it took me a moment to figure out my exact bearing on this planet of ours.
The past week had me on a surreal business trip in Beijing; then a brief moment of sanity in Paris before making my way to the Loire Valley. I don’t want to get too far into my story so first let me tell you about my lovely dinner at a restaurant nestled cozily in the 6th arrondissement in the Left Bank. On my arrival I found the place packed and every table spoken for. Madame, who was multi-tasking, directed me to a small bar area to cool my heels until my table was ready. I was more than just thirsty and ordered a super-sized “pression 1664” a wonderful cold beer which disappeared with remarkable ease. I was ready for dinner and my table seemed to be ready for me.
I perused the menu ever so slowly, refusing to skip over a single dish, reading the smallest of details. I was squeezing every ounce of enjoyment and loving every minute of it. Finally I gave in and decided on the Terrine de foie gras de canard “maison” or as we know it, home-made stuffed duck liver flavored with vanilla and tarragon. My basket of bread arrived along with thefoie gras which I promptly smeared over the bread in great quantity then wolfed it down “a l’Américaine” shall we say. That was followed with a long satisfactory gulp of red wine. You might have thought I had never eaten real food in quite some time. My culinary three act play was just starting. I gripped the menu firmly with both hands strategically surveying my choices. Perhaps a skirt steak with shallots and fine herbs or maybe red mullet fillets with coarsely chopped tomatoes and basil or maybe…
Heady moments indeed. Then, in a single moment, or perhaps it was vision of sorts, I decided on the Magret de canard, sauce au miel et romarin or Duck breast with honey and rosemary sauce. “Excellent choice Monsieur very popular this evening.” Isn’t that always the case I wondered? My order arrived or shall I say “presented” with a flourish and a chirpy “voila monsieur.” More bread appeared, my glass re-filled, I had my fork and knife in hand and at the ready. At that moment, truly everything was right in the world. As I was busily wiping up every last drop of food on my plate with a piece of bread, a desert list was “suggested.” After a short moral dilemma that lasted the better part of half a second, I concluded my feast with a Gratin de bananes et sa glace coco or oven-baked bananas with coconut ice-cream. The little serveuse smiled and purred “did you know that’s my favorite desert too!” Would wonders ever cease I thought to myself.
The next day, dodging the demonstrations over one issue or another, I grabbed a taxi over to a slightly dilapidated-looking Gare d’Austerlitz and headed south to the Loire Valley to meet our clients in Amboise. These are difficult assignments and not meant for meek as they require a certain amount of stamina and an appetite for some of the finest foods in the world. It’s not a walk in the park! However, finding myself in the mideaval town of Amboise in the Loire Valley, how could I not treat myself to a little dinner? Sitting at a table in full view of the medieval ramparts, I drew renewed strength from a chilled bottle of Vouvray. I wondered whether Balzac’s mistress would show up given her love for Vouvray and of course my personal invitation. After making my way through several courses, each one washed down with a glass of outstanding Chinon red wine, the hour of midnight drew near. It was time to brush off the last crumbs of baguette, finish my coffee and drain the last of the home made digestif that had been so proudly presented by Madame the propriétaire. I carefully maneuvered my way home one little narrow street to the next, my footsteps echoing eerily in the dead of night. I fully expected to hear the sound of horses, their hoofs on cobblestones and the clanging of armor as a patrol of medieval French knights made its way through the town.
I awoke with the morning Barcelona sun streaming through my bedroom window. A few minutes later I made my way past the desk clerk on duty who looked up from the sports page and greeted me with “bon dia!” For a moment I thought I was in Brazil. The Catalan version of hello is indeed very close to the Brazilian “bom dia.” All of that before my first cup of coffee. I turned right on to La Rambla, a tree-lined pedestrian mall which, for some reason, was a beehive of activity with people setting up their book stalls from one end of the mall to the other. Maybe this was Heaven? Carton after cartons of books were being opened and neatly arranged. I just had to go see, perchance to buy? Alas I spoke too soon, I was tantalized perhaps tortured as all books were in Spanish. Go figure in the heart of Catalan Spain one would find only books in Spanish. I had arrive in Barcelona just in time for La Diada de Sant Jordi or St. George’s Day which is considered to be one of the biggest holiday events here in Catalan. A wonderfully quaint custom where boy gives girl a red rose and girl gives boy a book. I don’t know if there is supposed to be a simultaneous exchange or not. Ideally I think it should be.
It was a busy two days in Barcelona with the majority of my time taken up with the demands of business (of all things!) Before deciding on dinner, I needed time to absorb the growing craziness of this holiday event. I don’t use crazy lightly either, because by early evening, the entire pedestrian mall and the streets on either side were choked with people. There were brass bands playing, peoples strolling, children running, adults drinking a lot, speeches being given on street corners on one social issue after another. People were jamming themselves into restaurants for dinner while some were spilling out onto the sidewalk already well lubricated. The night was still very young.
In a narrow little side street just off Rambla I found what I was looking for, a place that billed itself as having authentic Catalan cooking. And the crowds had yet to completely overtake the place. Over a pitcher of Sangria, my adventure began with Escalivada which is a warm dish of grilled vegetables skinned and served with oil. See I do eat healthy! Then my favorite: Embutidos which is basically a platter of cured meats including ham and pork. And is it ever delicious. With more Sangria it’s even better. Continuing the health kick, I ordered Esqueixada which is a salad made of peppers, tomatoes, onions, red wine vinegar and shredded ‘bacalo’ which is a salt cod. My desert you ask? Not too hard to figure out, Creme Catalana which is like the French Crème Brûlé.
What a night, what a feast, what a great place!! I strolled back up Rambla dodging the onslaught of festive crowds, many arm-in-arm, singing, waving roses and books and the Catalan flag flying high in the air.