Life: Idiotropic

On the list of things to take visitors to is the old Carthaginian city of Arse, now known as Saguntum on top of the hill overlooking Sagunto just 10 minutes from our house by car.

This week I have a visitor thus, to Arse we go!

Fortunately, instead of dying from complete boredom, I am able to find new things each time I go.  It's also fun to see what my guests notice.  My friend Julie notice (and squatted playfully by) the old toilets.  Today's friend likes the prickly pears so much, I think it would be great to pick one.  Not smart.  They're really a lot more prickly than they look!

 Today I discovered three new things:

1) This view.  I usually take the shortcut up the hill and don't bother with the road.  Today we took the road.  A nice walk, a different perspective and this view where I can actually sort of fit the entire "old" Roman theater in my camera view with part of the camera and the sea too.  It's nice.  They have concerts here.  I'd like to go to one some day.





2)  There's a long rectangular building of no particular interest along the long stretch of path between one part of the city and the other.  It's been there, but I've never cared to go inside.  Today I did.  Apparently here in this not-horribly-publicized place there resides the largest collection of epigraphs in the Iberian peninsula.  It's pretty impressive with many column heads and engraved stones from the first century A.D. and even a few B.C. stones as well. 

See this one?  This is the top of a column.  You can see the tiny cut marks where it was carved into the coil.

3) A cute cafe.  La Taverna de la Serp is a tiny little bar/cafe just below the theater where we stopped to have a cafe con leche and a small snack.  They serve tapenades here of various types with bread.  We had one of olives that was absolutely delicious and one with bacalao and potatoe that was good, but didn't quite have the kick that I hoped for.  I ordered from my table to the man behind the bar, the only one in the tiny cafe at the time.  "Dos cafes con leche y..."  The man behind the counter looked at me and asked in Spanish, "Do you want the coffees after your meal or now?"  "Now."  Again, I get the inquisitive look like I surely must be mad.  It's just one of those things.  Americans, I tell him, will drink coffee at any time of day and with just about any food.  Yes, I know it's strange, but we just really like our coffee.  So he brought them and they were good and I've now discovered a nice little place in Segunto to go for a bit of something.  The service is inquisitive, but nonjudgmental and quite friendly.

I love having house guests.  House guests bearing chocolate?  Even better.  Bring fancy Parisian chocolates and you can stay a whole month.

This little gem is the hostess gift that Dad and Angie brought when they visited.  It held three layers of surprises with no little folder to tell me what flavor I'd find inside which really added to the fun. 

Pure rich buttery flavor, there isn't even the slightest hint of the waxiness of so many American chocolates and nothing to really bite into.  Hold it too long and it will melt in your fingers.
 
If you go to Paris, stop here.  Then come to Spain and I'll help you out.  ;)

Halloween is on the 31st, but that's only really known here through commercial efforts and the sweet tooth of children.  It's not a Spanish holiday at all.  Here, on the 1st of November, they celebrate All Saints Day by going to the cemeteries and remembering their relatives.  The don't celebrate with pumpkins or chocolates, but with simpler treats like this.

My bakery knows tradition and serves it happily.  So many treats, so few days of the year.  These, we'll only see for these few days and once the 1st has past, these will be gone until this time next year.

Too bad.  Though I didn't try the marzipan creations in the foreground, I did buy 6 (sadly, why only 6?) of the buñuelos in the back.  These donut-hole sized balls of deep fried dough are filled with rich custard, coffee cream, caramel cream, or chocolate mousse, then rolled in sugar.  I knew they'd be good. I didn't know how good.

Only six.  I thought I'd get one for each of us... then I forgot... then dad and Angie arrived.  So one night, I brought these out.  Angie asked if I would cut them in half so she wouldn't have to eat a whole one, then laughed as we demolished the plate and picked off the crumbs.  We hadn't needed to cut them in half after all.

I have the most amazing friends.  Globally.  It's really phenomenal.  I remember one day in Germany, I came home to find a potted plant and a bottle of malt vinegar by my garage door.  Maria.  She has a talent for leaving wonderfully fun and sometimes quirky gifts then apologizing that the flowers weren't perfect because "they toppled over" in her car.

Here, my friend Eva is the occasional bearer of some really spectacular fruit.  One day I was just getting into my car from the bus stop and she sped up next to me and handed me these tomatoes.  Royal tomatoes.  These are what the prince prefers.

And today I was out running errands and returned to find this.

I am spoiled and I absolutely love my friends... all of them... even the ones who don't bring me vinegar and fruit.  ;)


But there's really nothing quite like a tray of really spectacular fruit. 


Later tonight Kirk will prepare an absolutely delicious Korean meal.  Bulgoki and several different types of kim chi.  All delicious, but so much work.   I'm really missing the Korean House in Midwest City right now.

A good day is one when you have the perfect balance of work and play.  A day when a glowing sense of accomplishment is rewarded with something cold and made on premises.

So my three youngest darlings and I need to renew our passports and the best way to accomplish that quickly is to head into town and go to the US Consulate in Valencia, a first for me.

We took the train in and walked to a narrow pedestrian street with about 20 mopeds parked in front of a very fancy building with enormously tall old wooden doors and a doorman sitting at a desk watching the security cameras.

I told him we had an appointment at 11.  He said the consulate would be closed until noon.

Huh.

So we waited a bit hoping that it was he who made the mistake. We were early, after all.  And sure enough, a wirey man with disheveled hair came walking briskly into the room and over to us shaking our hands, sweetly greeting the girls, and welcoming us before asking us to wait 5 minutes downstairs while he opened up the office and disarmed the usual security.

Five minutes later the security guard nodded and looked towards the elevator to indicate that we could go and soon we were up the elevator and buzzing to enter the tiny little office that takes care of all the Americans in the province of Valencia all the way down to Murcia.

It doesn't seem like it would be so hard.  There can't be that many of us, I think.  But apparently there are... and apparently they aren't all here on official business.  And this good-natured man is required to visit the Americans who sit in Spanish prisons every three months. 

[Shudder]  I can't imagine.

The service in this small office was fabulous though and so friendly.  He apologized for the thick protective glass that he has to stay behind while serving us.  I think he would have rather been sitting down at a cafe doing our paperwork there.  It was a nice government experience.

Afterward with a bit of time to kill before catching the train back to Puzol, we stopped at il Gelataio near the Plaza de Toros for a bit of ice cream.  Perfectly located at a main tourist thoroughfare, I've passed this dozens of times assuming it would be commercial and ordinary.  Boy, was I wrong.  Il Gelateio serves up the best ice cream I've tasted so far here in Valencia.

It's creamy and rich without being heavy.  The flavors are true with a melon that tastes as if you're biting into the fruit itself and a dark chocolate ready to take on the best of the chocolate lovers.  If you can't decide on one, the friendly staff will combine two flavors into a generous "small" scoop.  Perfect for kids and belly-conscious adults.

It isn't mass produced.  Every ice cream served including their small variety of soy ice creams are made right there on the premises.  The small family business is open year round with the exception of a few weeks in the January and February when they take a short vacation.

This little pueblo is what brought us down here this weekend.  Not the sun or the sand or the sea, but this tiny village set in the mountain overlooking the sea just 20 minutes from the water's edge where we'd spend every evening until dark.

I'm lucky enough to have friends from here so I was excited to see the village I hear them talk about and to participate in a celebration that's been going on for 150 years (next post).

The loquat, or níspero in Spanish, is originated in southeast China, but is grown all over the Mediterranean.  In Spain, Callosa is the leading producer of this delicious fruit.   Leading up to it you only see fields of these large leafed trees sneaking up into the hills, some open and some covered in white tented areas.  In the spring they'll be hanging with a tender fruit that is slightly sweet and a little sour with juices that run down your chin when you bite into one.

Like many old Spanish towns, the streets stemming from the church are narrow with a line of two story homes standing wall to wall on either side with only a couple feet of sidewalk between the front door and the street.  Made for horses, cars use these roads now, but Callosa is great at directing traffic through them with easy signs pointing the way at each intersection.

Oh, I will be back... there are several restaurants to try including one run by a man in pirate costume that I met this weekend.  His is next to a huge waterfall just north of the village.

This trip I was able to try one thing that is native to Callosa, some home made ice creams at the Heladeria Emilio Colomina.

This tiny place is just to the left as you walk down S. Francesc from the main square.  There are just a few tables, all full of locals who know a good thing when they taste it.   My girls try the cookies ice cream so thick with oreo bits that it's more black than white.  I'm looking back watching these two older ladies talking together at the table behind me sipping on something that I've never seen before.   So I ask what it is.  "Alaska." 

I have no idea what "Alaska" has to do with this refreshing cup of goodness, but I'll order one.  Lemonaide with a generous scoop of home made vanilla ice cream floating on top.   The sour lemon and sweet vanilla balance themselves so nicely, I really wanted to order another.  Now that I think of it, a 90 minute drive isn't so bad... can't I just get one now?

My little bakery won first prize!  Santi's brother (one of these days, I'll learn his name) hand-made each one of these little marzipan sculptures and displayed them in his bakery case where they could be seen and not broken.  The pineapples and sunflower are especially fragile.  The last few were displayed yesterday just before the judges came.  Look at the seeds in the pumpkins and pomegranates.  The detail absolutely amazes me and the talented man who makes these is not a tiny guy.  He's a big football sized guy with huge hands.  There's no team of bakers.  All of these are the work of one very talented man from Puzol.
As delicious as they are beautiful, these beauties are not for sale.  At the end of the Nou d' Octubre festivities, Carmen and her family will give these as gives to close friends and donate most to people who cannot afford such little luxuries.   Just above the case are three baskets full of marzipan fruit and vegetables that we can buy and it is delicious.  Softer and smoother than German marzipan, it has a more delicate flavor.  Made from regular almonds instead of the bitter almonds that the Germans prefer, they also use less sugar giving these creations a nicer almond flavor that isn't overpowered with sweet.

This week in Valencia you’ll see more “massapan” treasures than any other time of the year as they present themselves as fruits, vegetables, and firework shapes to commemorate the arrival of King Jaime the First in Valencia.  When he arrived in 1228 to conquer the land and drive our the Moors the people thanked him with what they had:  fresh vegetables and fruits from their gardens all wrapped up in the simple scarves they wore around their necks.   Now people give these tiny treats to loved ones wrapped in prettier scarves on el dia de Sant Donis, the 9th of October.

You’ll see signs referring to Sant Donis, but the giving of these fruits has little to do with the saint and everything to do with King Jaime.  It just so happens that 9 October is also Sant Donis day.  Every day has a Saint associated with it and in the Catholic faith, you’ll celebrate your Catholic name on your name day, the day corresponding to the saint that shares your name.
These little fruits are all made by hand.  The almond paste is made in the weeks before at my little Puzol bakery, then these pieces are dyed and formed by hand by one very talented pastry chef from whom we learned to make marzipan roses just last week.

Adding orange coloring and snails.  When I arrived, they'd already added the chicken and rabbit and had added some broth to make the caldo.

Stirring with long metal flat spoons over a hot fire.

In 2006, just a year after the 50th anniversary of the Parroquial de Santa Marta church in Puzol, a group of 11 girls decided to revive a long dead tradition of celebrating Santa Marta with festivities over a two week period of time.  The same group of young women have been doing it ever since funraising, then organizing dinners, dances, and concerts in honor of the saint not just for their church, but for all the pueblo.

A bit of salt.

Today was the final day of the fiestas, a day that began with a special mass in the church and would end with a solemn procession and fireworks.  Between those is a paella lunch for the community.

Until today I've only heard about these giant paellas made for hundreds.  The largest I'd seen served only 50.  I didn't have a ticket for food though I would have loved to stay, but I showed up just a bit early to watch the process and talk the locals who were just as entranced with the giant paellera as I was.

I walked down a narrow street normally just big enough for one car.  Today the cars were all replaced with two long lines of tables with chairs on each side, sodas and beers out and bags of chips.  Someone had marked places and family names with a sharpie and some had brought their own special things from home to add to the meal - salads, sweets wrapped up in foil, cocas, olives.

We arrived in time to see one cook add heaped spoonfuls of yellow coloring into the paella while another stirred.  It used to be saffron that lent it's color to this signature dish, but now coloring is a cheapter way to get the color and no one seems to miss he flavor.  The snails are next.  One big bag of striped shell creatures.  Something that I just can't get used to, but snails were the "red meat" used when beef was too expensive.

Every cook needs to taste.  Two of these guys both tasted the caldo (broth).  One walked away smacking his lips and moving his head from side to side like it was ok, but not perfect.  The other sipped, smacked, then sort of shrugged his shoulders.  Neither impressed, one grabbed the big white bucket of salt and threw a few handfuls in before stirring again.

The watched the pan carefully and the fire... taking long metal tools and putting it between the heavy pan and the stand to move it just a little. 



When the fire was almost out, they added the rice.  That white bucket is one of at least 8 that they added.

Adding Valencian rice.  Short grained, but not sticky.  It soaks up the caldo very nicely.

When the rice has been added and mixed in, they pull all the smoldering coals from under the pan to the outer edge of the pan forming a ring just outside of it.

The paella isn't stirred much after this.  It sits and rests.  The men will throw scrap wood on top of the coal ring to begin a fire there and heat the rice with indirect heat.








When the paella is finished, the caldo has been soaked completely into the rice.  They douse the flames with water and stir them into the sand to put them out completely.  The paella is ready to serve.








A local woman asked me if I was with the news.  We talked a while.  She's a year older than me, but doesn't have any children.  "It's hard to find a man here," she says, "All they want is sex."  Funny to hear this from a complete stranger... it's true.  It is difficult these days for women here.

Another came to talk to me.  She asked me how long I've lived here and if I like Spain.  "Oh, I love Spain," I tell her.  She smiled.  That's the biggest question I hear here.  "Do you like Spain?"
This paella will feed 800 people.  Incredible, isn't it?   I absolutely love the sense of community.  The notion that this one simple dish cooked in one pan will feed 800 people lined up at tables out in the streets.  It's beautiful.
These guys were quick to serve up generous portions.  Folks came with trays and pieces of cardboard to balance plates on to take back to their tables. 

This is the truck that carries the pan.  It will hang from a hook that will lift it up.  Too heavy for a person to carry.  Next time I'll ask the weight.
The line stretched just about forever across the bridge and down the street, but people were happy and patient.
I thought that may be if I hung out a while, that I would be able to sweet talk my way into just a small taste to see how this paella for 800 compares with our little one, but they served it all!  Every last grain.  No leftovers.  Sad.







Not a part of this celebration and with no leftovers to sample,  I walked back to my car through these streets full of happy people filling their bellies.  Sunshine, a giant paella, and these tables full of families and friends.  It's a beautiful thing.


The church of Santa Marta where 11 girls decided to bring this festival back to life.  Just eleven girls.  Good to see young people contribute to their community.