Driving Over Chestnuts

I may have mentioned before, but it is Autumn in Asturias. The leaves have turned. The cider lorries collect the roadside sacks of apples daily. And round every bend on every winding back road huddles of people clutching baskets, carrier bags and, of course, sticks hunch to their task of collecting chestnuts.

As do we. It’s quite impossible to resist. The proliferation of the sweet chestnut tree is such that the roads are carpeted in their fruit at this time of year. In fact, I regularly suffer pangs of conscience as the car bumps over yet another prodigious patch of them, plastering them pointlessly to the tarmac. Such waste.

So, quite apart from dedicated foraging trips to the woods or chestnut groves, and much to the annoyance of our energetic greyhound, our daily roadside walks have become grossly extended in time but not distance, as I cannot resist stopping to stuff my pockets to bursting every few paces. As I roll yet another spiky chestnut casing underfoot to reveal its shiny bounty within, the hound prances about impatiently, occasionally resorting to a gentle nip on my sleeve to remind me where my focus ought to be.

Luckily, in addition to bones, meat and all things stolen, our greyhound is also partial to a roasted nut or two, so his payoff comes in the evenings, as he lolls in front of the woodburner which currently doubles up as a perpetual chestnut roaster.

We heart chestnuts

The history of the chestnut in the culture of Asturias is as rich as the velvety flesh of the nut itself.  Introduced by the Romans, the chestnut was the staple food of northern Spain for many centuries, providing the main source of nutrition and being consumed in many forms, including flour. Knowing this, the nutty autumnal abundance falls neatly into place.

And so it is that the Asturian version of harvest festival, ‘amagüestu’,  is a celebration of both the apple and, primarily, the chestnut. And where better to learn about the traditions of a harvest festival than in a school?

Our little country school celebrates amaguestu in fine style, involving people from across the community and the generations. The children and teachers wear full traditional dress and there is gaita music (the Asturian pipes) to accompany their dramatization of chestnut picking throughout the ages. Chestnuts are roasted and the first (non-alcoholic!) pressing of the apples (sidra dulce) is drunk. Families provide the food, with an emphasis on local and seasonal specialties (and cake, because that’s always appropriate!)

All in all it’s a wonderful event and we feel privileged to be part of such a strong community that is still so clearly attached to nature and the traditions that spring forth from that. Mind you, you don’t actually need to go to any school to realise that – you just need to drive down an Asturian country road in Autumn and see all the chestnut collectors in action.

 

Breakfast

This photo was taken a fortnight ago outside La Cuadrona bar in the village of La Hermida, Cantabria. It represents a moment of breakfast bliss.

Firstly, note the two large cafés con leche. The coffee served in Spanish bars is almost always excellent (these certainly were) and is uniformly cheap (1.10 euro up to1.40 for a large). And yes, that really is a large – no Starbucks bucket-sized mugs in sight. (Let your over-worked bladder heave a sigh of relief.)

The fact that coffee has leapt to number one on the list of my breakfast priorities is just one symptom of my advancing age and parenthood.  I actually didn’t drink coffee at all for many years. Now if I leave the house in the morning without consuming a cup, bad things happen. Like ‘grazing’ a crash barrier with the car. Ahem.

So, yes, coffee is the number one component in the perfect breakfast. Next, the substance of the meal needs to be addressed.

My favourite Spanish breakfast has to be ‘tostada con tomate’. All you cunning linguists out there will correctly surmise that this is simply toast with tomato. As with all simple food quality is the key. Here in Bar La Cuadrona the tomatoes were fresh from the bar owners’ huerta (veg plot). Big, fat, juicy and flavourful. We cut them in half and rubbed them along  the slab of toast, squeezing the goodness into the porous surface. Topped off with a drizzle of good quality olive oil and a light sprinkle of salt it was delicious.

Depending on your tastes and your plans for the day you can incorporate a raw clove of garlic into the process. A quick rub of this along the toast, before the tomato, really makes the flavours sing.

When we ordered our ‘tostada con tomate’ the barman asked us if we also wanted jamón. We hesitated just long enough for the couple who were breakfasting at the next table to tell us enthusiastically ‘yes, you want the jamón. Está muy bueno.’ When a Spanish person tells you the jamón is good you listen to them – they take their jamón extremely seriously.

We duly ordered the jamón and, of course, it was excellent.

In another instance of ‘I’ll have what they’re having’ the previous evening, we had sampled the delights of the the cook’s light, fluffy pancakes and now we couldn’t resist adding them to our breakfast order. Totally unnecessary but delightfully indulgent. We were on holiday, after all.

The crucial finishing touches to this perfect breakfast are also evident in the photograph. The dappled sunlight dances on the glass top of the table, underneath which are detailed maps of the surrounding limestone gorge and nature reserve. Ah yes, with our bellies full we would be ready to set out on our day’s adventures. Bliss.

 

This post is for The Gallery, where this week’s theme is Breakfast. Click the link below to find out more and visit more posts.

Spanish Street Theatre: Of Culture and Community

For the last three weeks the sleepy village of Santolaya de Cabranes (pop. 174) has been home to 26 university students drawn from the four corners of Spain, participants in a summer theatre workshop camp which culminated in a hugely successful performance of ‘teatro en la calle’ on Friday night.

The picturesque village served perfectly as the set for the performance, with a total of ten ‘stages’ dotted throughout, hosting ten different set-pieces that were reprised time and again as the audience was guided in carefully timed groups round the theatrical trail.

The theme of the show was ‘retratando el pasado’ – portraying the past. An apt theme for a production in a locality that is very much rooted in tradition, despite having some not inconsiderable modern trappings (e.g. the fastest fibre-optic broadband I’ve ever come across anywhere in the world!)

The show itself is only one part of the story however. The three week programme as a whole also tells a more contemporary tale of Spanish culture – a tale of collaboration, community and cross-generation co-operation.

The theatre camp (for the third year running) is sponsored by the local council. The students spend the three weeks of the camp sleeping in bunk beds in the village sports hall, being fed in the local bar, visiting some of the outstanding local attractions and learning about Asturian tradition from the very heart of elderly Asturians. In addition to all this, from 5pm – 7pm every day they offer their services as child entertainers for the very young in the village square.

The final show, product of this cross-generational collaboration, showcases the talents of the local children and old folk as well as the visiting students who all contribute to the set, costume and poster production in addition to performing. The players in the performance itself number 80 and range in age from 8 to 80.

Even those without a theatrical bone in their body willingly contribute their time and skills. My elderly neighbour Julián, for example, manned the sidra (cider, the typical Asturian tipple) stall, pouring ‘culines’ gratis for footsore and thirsty street theatre-goers. Contributing something, whatever you have to offer, is the name of the game.

An Octopus-y Odyssey

The 25th January was Richie’s birthday and after a nutritious breakfast of flumps (Jack’s marshmallowy and only ever so-slightly self-interested birthday present to his father) the day progressed into a galloping gourmand gourmet odyssey.

I know what you’re thinking – this woman feeds her family Flumps for breakfast….how well placed to pontificate on all matters culinary

It was a gloriously sunny day as we headed to Gijon, which with its beaches, restaurants and the best play park ever, satisfied all members of our (birthday) party.

San Lorenzo Beach, Gijon. Blue skies and sunbathing in January – North Wales it ain’t

From the beach, our attention was drawn to ‘La Bella Vista’ resturant (the blue one on the end in the photo above.) With a gorgeous terrace  shimmering in the January sunlight and very ‘bella’ views across the bay to the old quarter of town, it seemed like the perfect spot to celebrate.

A quick check of the menu on display by the gate confirmed that this was an upmarket joint with a menu selection that gave an inventive twist to traditional Asturian fare. Prices were correspondingly on the slightly sophisticated side but just enough so that we could feel like we were celebrating in style without risking bankruptcy.

The ‘Menu del Dia’ lunchtime formula option was priced at 14 Euros for three courses with wine/cider (weekday ‘menu’ price in Gijon ranges between 7 to 15 euros) but we threw caution to the wind and went a la carte.

The birthday boy had a yen for octopus (nothing new there – pulpo, as it’s called in Spanish, is a firm family favourite). As the only such dish was ‘pulpo a la brasa’ in the ‘to share’ section we naturally plumped for that for starters.

When the waitress deposited the gorgeously presented dish to us, Richie’s face fell like that of an 8 year old whose aunty has just bought him the wrong football strip for his birthday. ‘I think we’ve made a horrible error,’ he whimpered. (We actually have a history of making dodgy dining decisions on his birthday. E.g. seven years ago we spent Jan 25th in a deserted Polish restaurant in Sheffield. Pity for the proprietors should never be a factor in your choice of restaurants. If they’re always empty there’s probably a good reason.)

Jack tucks into the tiny but perfectly presented octopus dish

To be fair, the octopus tasted great. There just wasn’t enough of it. The portion wouldn’t even have been large enough for Jack on his own – and sure enough he polished off a good half of it. (Ways in which Jack is a Spanish toddler Number 3 – he happily devours all kinds of tentacled foodstuffs.)

At 16 euros for the portion it a) seemed rather pricey and b) just wasn’t going to satisfy our penchant for pulpo.

Our mains, albondigas de perdiz (partridge meatballs) and carpaccio de gacela (gazelle carpaccio with a cherry salsa) were a big improvement, being imaginative and well-executed but also more generous in size. (We’re really not that greedy, honest, but it’s a fairly basic requriement of the whole dining experience to leave the table sated.)

Carpaccio de gacela and albondigas de perdiz

We skipped dessert – mainly due to a crabby toddler who needed his post-prandial siesta (soooo Spanish, I’m telling you). Discretion being the better part of valour we beat a hasty retreat to the promenade where Jack soon nodded off in his pushchair.

A meander along the seafront brought us face to face with the dilapidated looking Galician Bar-Restaurant which we had previously pondered over as a dining destination, being, as it is, a dedicated pulpo restaurant. We caught each other’s eye. We couldn’t, could we? Well, it was his birthday….

Never mind the rundown exterior – it’s a pulpo palace!

The last lunchtime patrons were leaving the bar as we entered. The floor beneath the counter bore testament to the passage of a busy lunch service – hundreds of cider spattered napkins and toothpicks littered the floor. An excellent omen.  The frontage may be past its best but if the diners keep coming the food must be good.

We ordered a restrained half portion of pulpo gallega (priced at 9 euros, with a full portion at 16) and when it came, unlike its tentacled colleague from earlier in the day, it did not disappoint. It was a mound of succulent, olive oiled, rock-salted, juicy octopus. Perfect!

Finally satisfied we headed for home. If there’s one thing about getting older, you sure do know exactly what you want and, if you’re lucky, how to get it.

Spanish Home Cooking – Croquetas

Today I feel like a real Spanish mamá. I just cooked some croquetas from chicken left-overs. It doesn’t get much more Spanish than that. Well, except maybe if I cooked it whilst wearing a supremely practical blue housecoat. And in a spotlessly clean house….Well, anyway…..today I cooked croquetas. And they were great.

Me and my homemade croquetas – plain but fabulous!

Croquetas are a classic Spanish dish and a fab finger-food that is beloved of children and bar-propping tapas eaters alike. They are also a fantastically frugal food, helping you use up every last scrap of any left-over cooked chicken (or ham) that you happen to have.

I have to confess that I always thought that croquetas were made with potatoes (maybe because I’m Irish?) so it was a revelation the first time I actually saw them being made, by my neighbour Rosi, and realised that the basis for the filling is in fact a thick white sauce or bechamel.

Watching Rosi make her croquetas also made me realise just what a simple, good home-cooked food they are (or can be at their best) and it inspired me with the confidence to incorporate them into my own kitchen repertoire. It’s the kind of plain, real cooking that is best learned at the elbow of a kitchen matriarch.

Real Spanish food as cooked in real Spanish kitchens

Just in case you’re not so lucky as I and that’s not an option for you, below is the basic recipe for you to have a play with. ¡Que aproveche!

Recipe for Chicken Croquetas / Croquetas de Pollo

You’ll need:  Nothing you don’t already have! (That’s the whole idea )

whatever cooked chicken you have left over and need to use up! I grind mine in my new whizzy food processor but Rosi just chops hers up into tiny pieces with some kitchen scissors

for the white sauce:  olive oil (note: not butter, this is a Spanish recipe!), milk, plain flour, onion, salt, black pepper, nutmeg (optional)

for the coating:  egg, breadcrumbs

Olive oil to fry

The quantities all depend on the amount of meat you have and how far you want (or need) to make it go.

On this occasion I made 12 croquetas and used approximately: 2 tbsp of olive oil, 4 tbsp plain flour and 8 fl oz of milk plus some finely chopped onion (a small handful).  I had 250g of chicken to hand.

Heat the olive oil then add the onion and fry gently for a few minutes until it becomes soft and translucent.
Sprinkle the flour in and stir for a minute or two more then add the milk slowly, stirring constantly and bring the paste to a boil.
The aim here is to make a gloriously thick white sauce that ultimately winds up with the consistency of a dough mix.

Once the sauce is thickened, turn the heat off and add the chicken and season to taste with the salt, pepper and nutmeg.

Spread the mix on a large plate and place in the fridge until fully chilled. This is important as it makes the mixture much more easy to work with and shape. Allow at least a couple of hours or even overnight.

Once it’s thoroughly chilled you’re ready to shape the croquetas – line up your plate of paste, a plate with beaten egg, a plate with breadcrumbs and a plate for the moulded croquetas.

Rosi uses a dessert spoon to get the perfect Spanish croqueta shape. You can do this or shape them with your hands by rolling. Next dip them in the egg and finally in the breadcrumbs, making sure they are nicely coated.

Now all that remains is to fry them in very hot olive oil. I use a deep-fat fryer set to 190 degrees c. You could also just do them in a deep frying pan.

Once they are a gorgeous golden brown (a matter of just a couple of minutes) take them out and soak off the excess oil onto kitchen paper.

Serve immediately.  Riquísimo!!