Postcard from Ronda, Spain: Best croquetas and pizza award?

croquetas at Gastrobar Deja Vu

Ronda’s hilltop setting is drop-dead gorgeous (photos to come in next post). Unfortunately, that means it is no secret. Hordes of day-trippers from Seville or Malaga descend upon it. Tourists have taken over the old town to the point of forcing most locals to abandon it to live in somewhat “newer” neighborhoods down below.

So most of the restaurants in the historic center cater to tourists, with little need to worry about repeat business. Normally, in places we stay only a couple of days, I do not post separate restaurant reviews.

At this point in time, we had been in Spain about seven weeks. But here, in petite Ronda, we were shocked to find two “bests” in a pair of restaurants. The best croquetas, in our admittedly amateur opinion, and the best pizza we had found in Spain so far.

Gastrobar Deja Vu presented an assortment of croquetas. I think there were squid ink, traditional jamon and two more varieties. The presentation with numerous sauces and salad greens was handsome, and the croquetas were incredibly good. And we tried them twice to make certain.

Everything we had at Deja Vu surpassed expectations, from gorgeous salads to a bison burger. Perfectly cooked salmon with an imaginative combination of vegetables. Remember Fruit Roll-Ups? Deja Vu employed a beet version to wrap up a truffled-up barley risotto like a enchilada. The understated dessert described as a “brownie” consisted of rich chocolate multiple ways. And we enjoyed the hospitably-offered finish of Licor de Hierbas.

And pizza? We cannot blame Spain for not living up to our unrealistic expectations for that. If we want pizza, we should go to Naples (where I am now typing this). But here, in little Ronda, we encountered the first one to appeal to us on that trip. Prepared by an Italian on the main tourist row of restaurants, the pizza at Il Forno a Legna hit the spot.

Postcard from Saluzzo, Italy: Meals from last summer

My apologies to the restaurants of Saluzzo. Although they delivered a rich sampling of the foods of the Piedmont region of Italy, the “postcards” are so slow to be delivered everything is now a jumble.

Le Quattro Stagioni d’Italia is a surprisingly large restaurant with a spacious patio always packed with locals. We found ourselves drawn to both food and patio several times. Taverna San Martino is small, cozy and intimate and regarded by many as the best in town. Osteria Nuovi Mondagli is completely unpretentious, with its magnetic draw a shaded patio perched above one of Saluzzo’s picturesque petit plazas.

Obviously, the town kept us well-fed.

Postcard from Genoa, Italy: A seafood-lover’s paradise

The sounds woke me up Monday through Saturday in Genoa. The way-too-early alarm echoed from two doors and two floors down the steep 10-foot-wide street, actually only a pedestrian passageway. The fish monger hurling up the metal shutter, hauling out the trough and filling it with ice to hold the fresh catch of the day. Those jarring noises were followed shortly by the first customers, evidently all friends as interested in exchanging pleasantries, amplified by the four-story buildings, as purchasing seafood.

But the morning sounds quickly reminded me of a meal ahead and what always is central to menus in this port city – an abundance of fresh seafood. Mussels, squid, octopus, shrimp, butterflied fried sardines. The Mister often has remarked that Italians frown upon mixing seafood with cheese, but Genoa breaks that rule. Several restaurants feature striking black and white squares of ravioli filled with fish and ricotta cheese.

Also, Genoa is the home of pesto. Demanding Ligurians expect pesto alla Genovese to be made with D.O.P. basil, found only in the immediate region and terroir-dependent for its flavor. A favorite Ligurian pasta often paired with pesto is trofie, rolled out by hand on a flat surface to taper its ends and then twisted. Another regional specialty sold like pizza by the slice is farinata, made from a mixture of chickpea flour, water, olive oil and salt. The baked-until-golden, somewhat floppy slices are most commonly offered and consumed unadorned .

Almost every guidebook or travel feature tells you to head to Eataly on the harbor. We ventured inside, as we did in Rome, and tried to talk ourselves into eating there. The food did indeed look amazingly good and the display of high quality, authentic Italian food products were enticing. But the atmosphere felt manufactured. The customer base appeared composed of  passengers recently disgorged from the massive cruise ships docked there. Disneyland for foodies. A place to avoid crossing paths with any of the immigrant population now calling the center of Genoa home. We declined to dine. And for shopping? The alleyways in the historic center of Genoa are packed with charming and pristine specialty cheese and pasta shops and meat markets – the places where the locals go.

Instead, we enjoyed a wonderful meal at Locanda Spinola, so popular with locals on a Saturday afternoon that we felt fortunate to get a table. Parents pushed strollers in and out of an upscale cheese shop and a deli across the narrow pedestrian-only street. And now for the gritty side of a port city that keeps many tourists unnecessarily clustered near their cruise ships: a prostitute was standing on the corner. When an interested party approached, the pair subtly would disappear up the street somewhere to take care of business. Another woman immediately took up the station. But Genovesi, young and old alike, were unfazed by their presence. The prostitutes were not harassing or blatantly soliciting passersby, and most locals walking by took no more notice than they would a door of a shop selling products they did not want. The only gawker was me, albeit screened from being caught by the restaurant’s curtained window.

We enjoyed the slow-rise gourmet pizza topped with seared tuna at Savo Pizza Gourmet, and the Mandarin shrimp at Pesciolino were tasty. The casual Le Piastre di Emma is always packed; expect waiting lines. Contributing to the bustling confusion inside is one of the flamboyant owners who dramatically scurries about like a mother hen, perhaps almost to the point of flapping like a chicken with its head cut off. But the place that kept drawing us back was the family-run Trattoria le Maschere. The almost-homely décor fails to draw in many tourists and leaves the tables with their inexpensive platters full of perfectly prepared fresh seafood and classic pesto to the locals. And us.