Secluded Coves - El Golfet

Just a few minutes outside of Calella de Palafrugell lies a snug pebble beach half canopied by pines and embraced by golden rock outcroppings, El Golfet.

The loveliest way to reach it is to park at the Hotel Sant Roc and walk the cliffside along the winding Camí de Ronda, part of an ancient series of footpaths along the coast. The paths, which once covered almost the entire length of the Costa Brava, were initially used by watchmen and shepherds and are now a boon to those looking for the most spectacular cliffside views out to sea: pines clinging precariously to rock, small islands of stone battered by foaming waves, lone sailboats coming and going, fishermen casting their lines and white villages unfolding in the distance.

The walk alone is mesmerizing. Arriving to the rugged beauty of El Golfet makes it all the more gratifying.

El Cremat

I'm loath to stop talking about the sea. Salt slicked as I was for most of last week, I think maybe the sea marinated me in its briny waters a little. I walked away shot through with its peculiar taste.

It's a taste that, on the Costa Brava at least, mingles easily with that of rum, the kind that Catalan sailors would once bring back from Cuba. At night, by the sea, the sailors would sing songs about the loves they left behind in Havana and drink a flaming beverage called the Cremat. Even though the sheen has worn well off the sailors and Spain's colonial empire, the Cremat is still all good. So are the songs (Havaneres), which have become a popular part of Catalan tradition.

We tried the Cremat on the terrace of Can Gelpí with our friend Guillermo, the waves crashing around us, just as it was meant to be tasted.

At Can Gelpí, which is famed for its Cremat, no part of the experience was a disappointment. The Cremat arrived on our table in a large clay bowl engulfed in bluish flame. It was set down with a single cup of cafe solo (espresso), three espresso cups and a ladle. We were then left to our own devices. We waited and waited for the flames to abate, but they burned on. The minutes passed and the flames soared. We were aware of the alcohol, of course, and reluctant to lose all of its bite. Eventually, thinking that the spectacle had gone on for far too long, Felipe blew out the flame. I think we were just shy of the 10 minutes that the Cremat is supposed to burn. Little did we know. We shared the coffee between the three cups and ladled out the alcohol. We were completely wrong about the procedures that accompany the Cremat, needless to say, but the result was not at all unpleasant. Quite pleasant it was. Indeed, indeed.

I've since learned the ways of the Cremat and cobbled together a recipe from our boisterous night at Can Gelpí and the few internet recipes that I've seen (virtually all in Catalan). Please forgive any imperfections.

Recipe for 6 generous servings of Cremat:

1/2 a bottle (325 mls) of dark Cuban rum
1/2 a bottle (325 mls) of aguardiente de caña (replace it with an equal amount of rum in a pinch)
A cup of cognac or two (optional)
About 75-100 grams of sugar (feel free to add more or less to taste)
The peel of one or two lemons (in long, elegant strips)
One or two sticks of cinnamon (absolutely no powder)
5 or 6 coffee beans (optional)
About 1/2 cup of brewed espresso coffee

Allow night to fall. This is not a daytime drink. Then, in a heatproof earthenware bowl, mix everything but the cup of coffee and set aflame. Let it burn. And, oh, it will burn. For a very long time. You will begin to think, "Should it really be burning this long?" It should. About 10 minutes they say, until the flavours are well blended. Don't worry, let it sit burning on the table to impress your friends.

When you think it's ready, or when there is sufficient general panic that all the alcohol has been consumed by flame (as in our case), pour in the espresso and cover with a lid to extinguish (or just blow on it as Felipe did). Spoon into espresso cups with a ladle and break into song about your lost Cuban love. You might even shed a tear. Who knows. The ways of the Cremat are a little unpredictable.

The Sea, the Sea

It's nearly fall...or maybe it's fall already. Time has been slipping by with alarming speed, as always in the last moments of summer. Wandering around Barceloneta and its beaches with a lump in my throat, I had been feeling the pull of the sea, the sea...the sea at summer's end.

So, Felipe and I gave in and went for a heady final romp along the coast last week, floating, swimming and somersaulting in the heaving, roiling, galloping sea of an Iris Murdoch novel. And now we're spent and content and ready for fall. Well, as ready as one can ever be.

We found the Costa Brava, where we frittered away last week, a long string of contradictions--rugged cliffs, quaint fishing villages and out of control development. To many, this part of the coast, which starts some kilometers north of Barcelona, is a stomach churning mess of package hotels and mass tourism.

This August, my poor Polish cousins, who thought they would spend their hard earned money on a week of vacation bliss in Spain, ended up in the hotel jungle in the down at the heels Malgrat de Mar, just to the South of Blanes. By the time we got to them, they were very nearly in the depths of depression.

What makes my cousins' experience all the more sad is that there are still beautiful spots along the Costa Brava. To be sure, they're best enjoyed in June and September rather than July or August. In the still warm off-season, you are very likely to find yourself all but alone in the lulling waves of the Mediterranean, particularly if you're up for a little stroll along the cliffs. I'll tell you all about the Camí de Ronda, a footpath along the coast, in another post.

On the recommendation of our friend Louise, who once frolicked on the coast in a billowy yellow skirt, we spent last week in Calella de Palafrugell on the other Costa Brava, the one right out of a Merchant and Ivory film. Calella de Palafrugell, about an hour and a half outside of Barcelona, is a pretty fishing village, which retains all the romance of the coast as it once must have been: colourful sail boats pulled up onto the shore, pristine beaches of polished pebbles, merrily painted houses and charming restaurants lining the boardwalk. It's a tourist town through and through, but one of genteel tourism, the kind that brings back all your best memories of holidays by the seaside.

We stayed at the stately Hotel Sant Roc (www.santroc.com), which overlooks the town from a privileged cliff-top location on the outskirts (its terrace is pictured above). It's currently offering a 3 nights for the price of 2 deal, which is truly fantastic given that prices are already at low season rates. As for restaurants, we opted for Can Gelpí (C/ les Voltes 11, tel. 97 261 4572) and Tragamar (Playa De Canadell, tel. 97 261 5189), both of which serve very respectable seafood accompanied by spectacular views out to sea and the music of crashing waves.

Secluded Coves - Cap de Creus

Possibly my favourite spot in all of Spain is the Cap de Creus (about two hours north of Barcelona by car). Windswept, jagged and wild, the area has some stunning coves with idyllic pebble beaches. Here's a tiny snippet I wrote about one of those beaches, the Platja de Sant Lluís, for The Guardian's on-line Travel section: Top Ten European Beaches by Foot. It's the same spot that I mention in The Sounder: Surrealism Meets Nudism. In the photo above, you can just glimpse the beach between the trees at the bottom of the cliff.

Even in August, when small boats are anchored off-shore, the beach is peaceful and the water absolutely sublime. Off season, when the crowds and pleasure boats of July and August disappear, it's even more delicious.

If you have time to ramble, the same path that leads you to Platja de Sant Lluís continues to the very point of the Cape, branching off to two other rocky coves along the way: the Cala Guillola and the Cala Jugadora.

Things I Ate in Cantabria

You may not know this, but the Iberian peninsula was once hopping with Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons--Cantabria, in the northern part of Spain, in particular. They lived in caves. They hunted wooly mammoths, bison and the like. Some of them painted incredibly sophisticated pictures with metal oxides and plant extracts...of mammoth, bison and the like.

In the Cuevas del Castillo, just outside of the pretty spa town of Puente Viesgo, we saw some incredibly preserved cave art, some as old as 28,000 years. It was mind blowing, to say the least.

But, more importantly, I ate cow stomachs. Perhaps the stomachs of cousins of the two cows pictured not far from Casa Sergio (Puente Viesgo), the restaurant where said stomachs were consumed. Impossible to say.

In any event, the stomachs (innocuously monikered "callos" in Spanish) were tasty. While, as you can imagine, the beige gumminess of your typical cow stomach is not particularly pleasing to the eye, these particular stomachs came in a rich beefy stew which lent them a little cover and, one might even say, nobility. The callos themselves were less chewy than expected, with a soft, part meaty, part fatty texture and an interior resembling a fleshy shag rug, which was particularly nice.

Judging by their depictions of cow ancestors, I think the cavemen would have approved.

Jamón Iberíco

So this is the story. Over the past few weeks, I've been tracking and writing about this crazy ham (jamón iberíco) for a Canadian newspaper.

As my friend Dave says, jamón iberíco is the Dom Perignon of ham. It's a delicious ham, no question. Best in the world? I'd say so. It's certainly priced that way.

It arrived in the States in December and is coming to Canada for the first time this month--likely in stores this week. It will retail for about $300/kg or more for the bellota (highest grade, acorn fed ham); and about $180/kg for a lower grade of the ham (recebo, which is partially acorn and partially cereal fed). (The bellota will not reach the States until July--it can be pre-ordered on-line at www.latienda.com, a supplier of Spanish foods in America.)

In Toronto, you can buy the ham at Pusateri's, Cumbrae's or Longo's or sample it at restaurants Pangaea, Cava or Mistura. Domus in Ottawa will also have it as will a few other locations across Canada. It's well worth the price if properly stored and cut--particularly as you only need a few paper thin slices, say $10-15 worth, to get a good taste.

This is just a bit of pictorial flavour. The photo is of the ham in a drying room in the Sanchez Romero Carvajal (5J) factory in Jabugo, Spain, which I toured in February with Roger Davies of A Question of Taste (www.aqot.com), a fantastic gourmet tour company located in Seville and can arrange jamón and other food tours as well tapas tastings and Spanish cooking classes. 5J is one of the best known brands in Spain, but not the one coming to Canada...at least for now.

More on the ham, Jabugo, and the tour as well as the Spanish supplier to Canada, Embutidos Fermin, and my trip with the Canadian importer (Mike Tkaczuk of Serrano Imports) to visit Fermin's farm and factory later.

Churros and Chocolate

I've been wandering around the south of Spain again (more on that later). It's a good time visit: the weather is temperate, the oranges are ripe, the almond trees are in bloom and the tourists are scarce.

The one thing that I can never deny myself in the South are the churros. They're just not the same in Barcelona. [But if you must know where to get the best churros in Barcelona, click here.]

Churros are long pieces of fried dough (some wheat flour based, some potato based), best eaten with a cup of pudding-thick hot chocolate.

In Seville, there seem to be as many churrerias as there cafes and the best ones that I've encountered pull the churros out of hot oil while you wait and serve them up in parchment paper to take away or on metal trays to eat standing up at the counter. This time I bumped into La Esperanza on calle Feria, just off of Relator, which did just so. For 2 euros, I had churros and chocolate enough to satisfy a construction worker twice my size.

Afterwards, I snatched up an orange that had just fallen onto the grass from a nearby tree and degreased myself a little internally.

How can anyone not love Seville?

Gazpacho - Take Two

It occurred to me as I was travelling around the South that perhaps my last post left a little too much to the imagination. Perhaps it could have shown a little more leg or just a touch of cleavage. Or maybe it could have allowed its thong to ride up instead of primly tucking its blouse into its flouncy skirt. But it was what it was, a coy post. I pondered its coyness at some length while strolling through Cordoba.

When I least expected it, mid-stroll and mid-ponder, I ran smack into my post's louche sister in the form of a postcard featuring not just a gazpacho recipe, but a graphic photograph of a deconstructed gazpacho with its base ingredients splayed out for all to see. Despite my blushing cheeks, I cannot help but picture the postcard and transcribe the English version of the recipe written in three languages on the back of the card:

"GAZPACHO
(6 persons)
Ingredients: 1Kg. of peeling red tomatos [The Spanish version suggests that peeled tomatoes would also be suitable.]
1 clove of garlic
1 piece of bread
Olive oil, vinegar, salt and water
Tomatos, garlic and bread mixed to a paste. [If you're Spanish, feel free to use a blender.] Add salt, vinegar and water. [You're on your own as to the proportions of these and the use of the olive oil, which remain a mystery even in Spanish.] Served cold and garnished (optional) with cucumbers, peppers, onions and bread."

¡Que aproveche!

Campbell's Gazpacho

The baby, its mom and I are in the south of Spain, birth place of the Spanish Inquisition, bullfighting and gazpacho.

The baby appears partial to the gazpacho. On the subjects of the Inquisition and bullfighting, the baby keeps its feelings to itself.

The baby's preferred gazpacho comes in a glass, is the colour and consistency of Campbell's tomato soup and is flavourful like no gazpacho ever made in Canada. It tastes strongly of garlic and sugary tomatoes. Its consistency comes from day old bread soaked in water and seasoned with sherry vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper.

In the heat, you can knock one back easier than you can a mojito, especially if you're a baby.