Exploring Spain - Heart, Mind, and Soul ...

… someday. But for now, I’m doing just fine using my stomach, liver, and bladder.

Stomach:

Spanish gastronomy. Where do I begin? Spanish cuisine seems to be Spain’s own little secret. In the U.S. if you say “Spanish” most people hear “Mexican” or “Latino”, which is pretty wide of the mark. The rest of Europe seems concerned with French and Italian cuisine. But if Spanish gastronomy is a secret, the Spaniards don’t seem to mind. As my unofficial host, Angel, put it: “I have friends in Germany, Italy, Mexico … they all say, ‘Come here! Come here! A week, two weeks, whatever- come here and I will show you around!’ But I don’t go. Why would I go? I have everything I want here in Spain.”

And he did a fine job introducing me to some of the finer selections at a bar called El Rincon de Extremadura. There was jamón, of course, and Manchego cheese. The young Manchego had an almost creamy texture and the old was more solid and definitely sharper. But in between these and plates of olives was something else. Served warm on top of bread, this was a black mush flecked with white grains. I took a bite and instantly loved it. It was warm and rich. The flavor was strong like jamón ibérico, but with a soft mealy texture.

“What is this called?” I asked.

“Morcilla.”

“Morcilla,” I repeated. “And it’s made of rice and what else?”

“Sangre.”

“Sangre?” Blood?

“Si. Sangre de cerdo.”

Pig’s blood. Ah. So mounded on top of the bread was some sort of Iberian blood pudding. What did I do? I said, “Que rico!” and popped the last bite into my mouth. And from now on I’ll be looking for morcilla at every bar I visit!

Liver:

Which came first- the tapa (little plate of food served with your drink) or the caña (small beer)? I can’t figure out whether cañas are there to give you something to drink with your tapas or tapas are there to give you something to eat with your cañas. What I do know is that where ever you go you can order a beer for a Euro, a Euro twenty, a Euro fifty, and with it you almost always get a little dish. Around here it’s usually bread with some ham and cheese or a plate of olives, but downtown you can get a small plate of paella and quite a meal out of it.

Yesterday about noon Angel said, “Are you coming downtown today?” I thought sure, must something to do. There sure was, and that something was drink. I don’t know who Angel was racing, but he just kept ordering drinks. I had a pretty good buzz by two in the afternoon. The Spaniards may not eat dinner until eleven at night, but anytime’s a good time to drink! Salud.

Bladder:

Don’t worry, I don’t have any real experiences to share about peeing in Spain; “bladder” just kinda fit in with the theme I’m going with today. I will say, however, that I learned that if you have to go to the bathroom, you have to hacer pis. To do piss.

Boy, learning Spanish is easy.