Tag Archives: Madrid

Deliberately Lost

Hungry, wilting under the Spanish afternoon sun, I actively look for a lunch spot. Scanning storefronts, I encounter no English, only the bemused faces of locals gawking at these clearly lost Americans. I am, luckily, trying to get lost, taking hallucinogenic turns and ignoring my GPS-enabled iPhone. Finding a proper luncheon involves an epiphany, stumbling into a perfectly delicious and unspoiled experience.

When off-the-beaten path still proves too well trod, deliberately wandering a few more blocks usually yields less trafficked and more interesting restaurants. Of course, this process of intentionally losing oneself in a city is understandably frightening; touristy streets exist to assuage anxiety, providing comfort in unfamiliar environs. Starbucks, McDonald’s, even Yves Saint Laurent outlets—a proliferation of recognizable brands and accompanying brandistas decreases discomfort to a minimum. Fundamentally, the “tourist” searches for safety in recognition, whether a famous Picasso or a generic gelateria.

Although I oftentimes play the tourist part, I also enjoy losing myself in the real of the city. Not losing oneself in the sense of “I have lost myself in these romantic, twining alleys. Now, I shall stop for a coffee and ponder culture and life.” No, I mean the heart-pounding, adrenaline inducing tingle of realizing that I am completely ignorant of my location. Behind a graffiti-ed train station, in a shuttered marketplace, under the romantic, twining alleys in a narrow lane where a dirty cavalcade of housewives marches to do battle with delinquent husbands—I want to feel in danger of losing my identity to the city, swallowed alive in the gaping maw of the plazas.

Beyond the Museo Reina Sofia, though I couldn’t say exactly where, there is a hill that cuts through the touristed districts, transecting old Madrid and the Paseo del Prado. Crossing the street, I see a worn sign and a blackboard, sure signs of a tavern. El Horreo beckons to me, and I step closer, enchanted.


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Ladies and gentlemen… The Chocolate Room

Zach B., Yale University

This is why I love Spain:

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Filed under Dining Suggestions, Restaurants, The Ocular Omnivore, Travel

Just Like Momma Made It

“Squeeze it out like toothpaste onto the cracker.” Not instructions expected in a Michelin starred restaurant. But when confronted with a white tube of “olive oil butter” and a boat shaped receptacle, one follows directions without undue questioning. The tube looks like an over-the-counter cream, suspiciously unmarked. The “olive oil butter” even appears akin to antibiotic ointment, translucent yellow and gelled. This rather medicinal, almost surgical procedure feels creepy, because the juxtaposition of medical objects and food products is, to be frank, revolting.

At La Terraza del Casino, chef Paco Roncero follows in Ferran Adria’s footsteps, preparing a menu similar to El Bulli’s: cocktails, snacks, tapiplatos, desserts, and morphings. Of course, Adria consulted on the restaurant back in 1998, so his strong influence comes as no particular surprise. Nevertheless, rethinking  Spanish cuisines within an avant-garde framework seems tired in 2010. However delicious a “sphericated green olive” tastes, mimetic canapes no longer shock, especially since chefs like Grant Achatz introduced Adria’s best known tricks to Americans.

Therefore, Roncero’s techniques typically stray into familiar territory: liquid nitrogen tableside? Jaded diners have seen it all before. Roncero does manage to chart new cartographies of gustatory sensation though, manipulating ingredients without inducing the  freak-out factor.

For example, “meringued cashew with soya” (picture far right) concentrates the known universe of nuts into a singular, crisp bite. False “espardeña” (center) mimics a sea cucumber with nori and puffed rice, an intellectual approximation of fishiness without the fish. Finally, pumpkin seed and yoghurt sponge (far left) billows in the mouth, the softest pumpkin bread imaginable, its sweet squash flavor tightening the platter’s composition.

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Baby Squid and The Oldest Restaurant In The World

In Madrid, food is forever. Meals remain engraved in the collective memory, idiosyncratic ingredients and preparations occupy the urban consciousness. Caught between tourism and tradition, the city strives to preserve a fundamental way of life: the siesta, the antiquated streets, the boisterous community that flourishes amongst precariously tilting churches and eroding stone walls. Food, however, is never in question—even while exploiting naïve foreigners, restaurateurs maintain a sense of the original.

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