Spain Vol. 2: Almuñecar

This post is subtitled "Spain, and What We Ate There." But first, I thought I'd lead with a non-food photo:

In all its untechnical, unedited glory, this is my favourite picture taken yet. I didn't do anything to it. It was perfect, and I'll tell you why. This is a photo with a story.

It started with Erik craving tapas. After a long day at the Alhambra, we didn't want to hunt around--we beelined for Granada's main strip and started looking at posted menus. Note to travellers: Main strips are a) touristy and b) expensive. Always. We knew this and were disappointed anyway. We were almost ready to get fast food, but I voted for us to go off the beaten path a bit and see if we could find something on a side street. Suddenly, we hit a tiny corner street where an old man in a woolen sweater flagged us down from where he stood in a lighted doorway. "Tapas?" We wanted to know. Yes, he served tapas. He walked over to show us his menu, with very reasonable prices, describing in Spanish all the different dishes with promising hand gestures. We decided to give it a go.

Do you know when people sigh dreamily and say they want to experience authentic culture off the beaten path? This was the place: one-room restaurant, pictures plastered over the wall, a TV in the window set to a Spanish news station, the smell of frying oil.

Erik unfurled a crumpled bit of paper on the table; it was a list of foods that Bianca (having grown up in a Spanish family) had recommended to us. Erik and Marc each decided to try sangría, and I stuck with water. But when those tall, round glasses came with dark red wine and juice and orange slices floating with the ice, I took a sip of Erik's and changed my mind. The owner shook his finger at me and nodded with a sage grin. "Aha!" he said, followed by something that was probably along the lines of "I thought so."

He was the only one working in the restaurant, and he hummed as he got the seafood out of his fridge for our tapas. First he brought out a plate of jamon, which is Spanish cured ham. It was the colour of very rare steak, and rather dry compared to the juicy ham we're used to. Salty, lightly smoky, very rich and very meaty. The way I saw it served in Granada, you take this enormous pig leg, put it on a stand, and just shave away at it until it's all been eaten. Delicious.

Then came fried calamari. I have nothing to say about that except it was the most tender, fresh, non-rubbery, burn-your-fingertips-hot calamari I've ever eaten. 

The owner so pleased we were enjoying his food that he decided to cook us his specialty as an extra dish. We tried to say no, but he already had it in the fryer, and there was no refusing.

The specialy, tapas #3, turned out to be whole fried sardines. I had been reading a memoir about living in Paris, and when he described fried sardines as delicious, non-oily treats, I didn't believe him--but this dish changed my mind entirely. Instead of being heavy, greasy, and overpoweringly fishy, the little white-fleshed fish were delicate and flaky. The owner, in between conversations with his friend who had showed up for a coffee, showed us how to take off the tail and lift out the spine (although the bones were so soft and small that Marc just ate them whole to save himself the bother). We got up from the table very, very satisfied.

I wanted something to remember the meal by, though, and so as the owner held the door open for us, I asked him rather shyly for a photo. His friend jumped up all excited and posed with the three of us, while the owner tried to work the camera, and ended up taking the picture at the top of the blog with all our faces cut off except for that infectious Spanish smile of his friend. (By the way, Marc, on the left? His smile is fake. He was busy being uncomfortable that the guy's hand was on his neck). Then the friend told the owner to pose with us, and as luck would have it, he couldn't work the camera either, and the shutter clicked just as I was telling him which button to press.

Catherine is 0 for 2 on good photos taken of her tonight.

All in all, fantastic night, fantastic meal. I think this photo perfectly captures what it's like to go off in search of the real culture of a place; it won't be perfect, and there will be parts that make you uncomfortable or that you don't understand, but you'll be left with a story that is better than any tourist trap, and in the end, it's the people that you remember and who are important--not the things. After all, just look at that smile!

*

Continuing the food theme, the Spanish do breakfasts far better than the Italians. The Italians largely get by on no breakfast except a strong sugary espresso, and my theory for this is that pasta is not a breakfast food, therefore breakfast must not be that important. The Spanish, on the other hand, have TOSTADAS.

At just 3.50 euro in the bar attached to our hostel, this baby will keep you going well into the afternoon. This one was spread with tomato, and served with a good strong coffee and pineapple juice. It was a warm and clear morning, and I was waiting for Marc and Erik to wake up, listening to the Spanish dance music playing on the radio while the hostel/bar lady chatted with her friend over the newspaper. I ate the tostada slowly, which was toasty and warm with olive oil and pepper spread in with the tomato, and wrote postcards while I munched.

The aim of day 2 was a relaxing day on the beach on the southern coast. We asked the hostel receptionist for recommendations for beaches, and between our Spanish and her...well...Spanish... she pointed us to a little beach called Almuñecar, near Málaga.

Well. It was a two-hour bus ride through the most gorgeous set of mountains (the Sierra Nevadas). We were snapping pictures like Japanese tourists, to the amusement of all the Spanish people riding the bus with us.

It is hard to impress how dry Spain looked; all warm colours, orange dirt, and a hot, strong sun, although the shade was very cold. All the mountains were green, sprinkled with trees and olive groves with the occasional white-washed town. We passed ponies with clipped tails, and citrus farms, and a field bright with poppies.

Almuñecar was the real gem, though. The bus snaked around the roads cut into the hillside, and we all crowded against the window to get a look.

We stopped in a restaurant just off the beach and ordered the menu of the day. People. People, I have to tell you about this meal.

First course (after the crusty hot bread): Paella made with mussels, whole shrimps, teeny clams, calamari, and real saffron! (You know, the most expensive spice in the world).

Second course: Swordfish steaks with garlicky butter sauce, warm potatoes, carrots with peppers, and a little pansy flower on the plate. <3

Dessert course: Zuppa Inglese (left) with caramel sauce and apples, Chocolate mousse cake with raspberry sauce and whipped cream (top), and my dessert, at the bottom right...the mysterious nameless dessert. We asked the waitress what it was called, and she spelt it out for me: "tarta queso"...cheesecake. But it was so much better than any cheesecake I'd ever eaten. There were alternating layers of cake and cream cheese filling, and then it was topped with a blueberry sauce and then decorated with raspberry and kiwi sauces (they were so delicious that we completely cleaned the plate of them).

Digestif: We weren't even expecting this, but suddenly they came out with three frosty glasses of a non-alcoholic drink, which was sweet and tasted faintly of raspberries.

BUT.

BUT.

BUT.

Then the bill came. We had been expecting it to be at least 30 euro a head, with the seafood, saffron, and swordfish, as well as all those desserts. But no:

Eleven euro a head for all of that, and the service and tip was included! What a perfect start to a day on the beach.

The weather was HORRIBLE. Look at all those clouds and wind.

The beach was rocky, but we didn't care--it meant that it wasn't crowded.

This is what I did.

This is what Erik did. He had the right idea, seeing as it was too cold to swim.

Marc mostly waited for the waves to swamp Erik, but they never did.

Then we found an outcrop that was kind of a rocky hill overlooking the ocean, where there was a cross monument, and some great photos and people-watching happened while we waited for the sun to set. :)

Little girl in a very big world.

We don't know who this statue was of, but he was wearing a turban. :)

 

This is the cross monument atop the outcrop.

 

Parting photo: I call this one, Best Seat in the House. (As in, the guy in the middle right of the photo--he had a good thing going).

Thank you, Almuñecar. It was a pleasure.