Postcard from Madrid: Move over macaron

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Time to move past the macaron, I learned today both by word of mouth from Laurence van Strydonck and by taste in mouth on Calle de Villalar in the Salamanca neighborhood. Laden with bags of fresh cheese, bread, vegetables and fruit from a visit to Centro Commercial La Paz Mercado, I was waiting in the shade near her doorway for the Mister to buy some wine nearby.

Communication was easy, as I seem to understand food in almost any language and she spoke fluent English. Belgian-born, raised in France, Cordon-Bleu-trained and living in Spain, Laurence micro-produces hybrid pastries – les petits choux – that are wonderful. Packed with flavorful filling, the outer pastry shell has the crispy texture and taste of Florentine cookies – much better than even the best macaron. Plus, visually they have so much more personality.

The website for Miss Chou Paris is here, but I don’t think the shop’s offering shipping to Texas yet.

Next time I’m wandering nearby, I’m leaning toward tasting Miss Citron Meringue.

Wonder how long it takes a trend like this to jump from Spain to Texas….

 

Postcard from Segovia, Spain: Suckling piglet box checked off

They are everywhere. Their eyes seem to follow you wherever you walk in Segovia, demanding you stop and carve into one. Segovia takes great pride in regarding itself as the capital for roasting tender little piglets not yet weaned from their mothers. No part of a piggy goes unused. Dogs in Spain would be so lucky as to get those big bags of dried pig ears found in pet stores in the United States; those are fried up for tapas here.

Rather than a stuffy, formal restaurant, we chose a place popular with locals and with more of a mom-and-pop feel, Meson Don Jimeno. I gamely gave into sampling a piglet – tender, succulent, juicy from the fat of its crispy skin. Mama sow should be pleased with how flavorful her baby tasted, but after a couple of bites I was looking around for vegetables. Meaning more than the accompanying fried potatoes. The roasted pork was preceded by judiones de la granja, a traditional hearty stew stocked with giant beans enriched by saffrony chorizo.

El Fogon Sefardi was much more formal, even though it was filled with families celebrating Mother’s Day over a three-day weekend. The Mister hoped to repeat his experience with eggplant and honey in Granada several years ago, but, alas, a heavy tempura batter overpowered the eggplant here. Our stacked fish entrée was more successful, and dessert was a welcome simple baked apple.

While the service was old-school at Restaurante Jose, almost directly below our apartment on Plaza Mayor, the intimate dining room was filled with regulars engaged in exuberant conversations. Starters included a bean and clam stew and seasonally prevalent white asparagus wrapped in smoked salmon. We followed this with a rich lamb stew and a nicely grilled fish.

Totally strayed from traditional Spanish fare at La Juderia, know for Indian and Pakistani flavors. Vegetable pakora provided a nice intro, followed by vegetable biryani and daal. Dessert was a bowl of refreshing chunks of pistachio ice cream.

Still recovering from my piglet encounter, we ventured into the vegetarian Restaurante Azabache. Although I’d recommend the spot, we erred by ordering two too-rich dishes, a vegetable cannelloni and an eggplant dish, tomato-sauced and cheese-topped to the point they looked identical.

Which made the platter of grilled vegetables at La Tasquina all the more appreciated. The fish soup was wonderful, as were the mussels in a rich, saffron broth.

While roasted suckling pig traditionally steals the show in Segovia, the city’s contemporary cuisine is much more diverse.

Postcard from Spain: Storks bearing Mother’s Day wishes

Building a house made of sticks might not be wise for a pig warding off a big bad wolf, but these storks in Spain have the engineering down. We encountered an afternoon too windy for even creatures as large as we are to venture out, but not a single twig in their nests appeared out of place the following day.

White storks, with wings dramatically tipped with dark feathers, are partial to nesting atop Romanesque church towers. They seem to prefer man’s architectural accomplishments to nature’s own; nesting in town is fine.

If fertility is what they bring, they might need to go elsewhere. Most of the worshippers we see entering these churches are well beyond child-bearing years. Certainly, I feel safe exploring the altars beneath their perches.

But, while Spain’s birth rates might have been dipped downward for a few years, the storks appear to be correct. We are dodging baby carriages everywhere we walk.

Happy Mother’s Day (albeit this post is a week late for celebrations of the day in Spain).