Earlier this month, we thought we’d celebrate our wedding anniversary by spending a few days in Almeria’s beautiful Cabo de Gata but the weather forecast for that region was so bad at the time that we had to abandon our plans and decided, instead, to treat ourselves to a meal at a restaurant we’d heard about in Padul, in the Lecrin valley. To make the evening more special, we left early so that we could spend a few hours strolling around Granada city, something I always enjoy doing and, for a change, we took the scenic route from Guájar Faragüit via Pinos de Valle to Restábel, from where it’s only a short run up the autovia to Granada.
Although the scenic route is slow and winding, it’s interesting because the landscape changes as you round each bend; you pass exposed stretches of olive and almond trees; damp, fertile, sheltered zones where there are citrus trees and palms; arid mountain slopes where only thorny scrub survives. As you climb higher, the vegetation changes and there are deciduous trees, such as hazel and poplar, growing on the roadside verges; in the distance you can see the town of Lanjarón and the recently installed, enormous wind turbines. At the summit of a hill, before you reach Pinos de Valle, there is a large, abandoned house, now crumbling into a state almost beyond repair and, on the opposite side of the road, a curiosity in the form of a castellated tower, painted red, Moorish style. The bleak, windswept location creates a rather spooky atmosphere so that it’s something of a relief to descend into the sheltered Lecrin Valley, verdant with its extensive groves of citrus trees.
Although I’ve visited Granada quite a few times during the daytime, it’s many years since I spent an evening there and I’d forgotten how different the relaxed, pleasant atmosphere of that time of day is from the mad, frenetic, bustle of morning. People were sitting outside bars and cafés, strolling about, meeting friends, walking their dogs or simply enjoying the evening sunshine. We made our way to one of Granada’s main streets, Recogidas, and from there turned down a quiet side street, one of those where you are likely to find the most fascinating shops. In fact, it wasn’t long before we came upon just such a one, typical of those old-fashioned establishments, reminiscent of the 1940’s and 50’s, which still exist in Spain. In the rather gloomy interior were rows of shelves on which were innumerable jars of herbs, spices and teas of every type imaginable. Behind the counter was an elderly gentleman, himself not unlike a character from a bygone age. I requested half-a-dozen or so different spices, including chili powder, something I’ve not been able to acquire since I moved to this country five years ago; each one was poured from the jar onto a square of waxed paper placed on some ancient scales. The paper was then deftly folded into a neat envelope on which the name of the spice was written, with great care. Traditional Spanish cuisine can often be rather bland (hence the difficulty in obtaining chili powder) and a Spanish friend who once visited me while I was preparing a pasta dish commented that I used a great many herbs and spices when I cooked.
In the local press, for the past couple of years, there has been quite a lot of publicity about the nuisance caused by a huge increase in the number of starlings roosting in the city at night. I had no idea just how bad the problem was until we actually passed a leafy square at dusk just as a vast flock of the birds was descending. There were hundreds of thousands of them, blackening the sky with a great whirring of wings, swooping down to find a place to perch until every, single, last twig of every tree was occupied. The noise they made as they jostled and squabbled for a place was deafening and there was no possibility of crossing the square at that moment without being badly splattered.
We wandered back to Recogidas and from there to the big department store, El Corte Inglés, the perfect establishment for a spot of retail therapy. I would have liked to spend longer there, but time was getting on and we had to make our way back to the car park. It was dark by the time we reached the autovia and the traffic was busy with people going home to the suburbs. Travelling towards Granada, Padul is one of the last towns you pass as you ascend to the point known as El Suspiro del Moro (the Moor’s sigh) which, according to the legend, was where the deposed Moorish king, Boabdil, turned round to gaze for the last time at his beloved Granada.
We soon located the restaurant, La Cantina de Manuel, which is situated on the main street where there are plenty of places to park. Opening the door, we found ourselves in a large, evidently well patronised, bar but, because we were hungry, we went straight to the dining room where we were greeted most cordially and offered a choice of tables. Everything on the menu sounded so delicious that we hardly knew what to choose. While we were poring over it, the waiter brought a tapa of partridge paté which was utterly divine. Finally, we ordered a starter of tropical salad followed by jabali (wild boar) for Digby and duck breast for me. The tropical salad was an exquisite work of art: there were slivers of endive, plus the usual mango, kiwi, pineapple and other fruits, with a centrepiece of pine nuts, dried fruits, crunchy vegetables and other delicious things, drizzled with miel de caña, the extract of the locally grown sugar cane. We’ve sampled tropical salads in a number of different restauarants, but this one was definitely the best. My duck breast, served with plain, boiled potatoes, was perfect; that, too, was garnished with miel de caña, something which I often use myself when cooking. Its rich, malty sweetness complements a number of savoury dishes, especially those comprising rabbit and pork, and it is also perfect for sweetening desserts. I tried a piece of Digby’s jabali, expecting it to have a coarse, rather gamey, texture and flavour. To my surprise, it was sweet and tender and subtly flavoured with thyme.
After the richness of the duck and jabali dishes, the sharpness of the lemon sorbets we ordered for dessert made the perfect contrast. Our meal had been superb and the restaurant certainly deserves the favourable reports it has been given. Our evening in Granada, followed by the visit to Cantina de Manuel, made our wedding anniversary an occasion to remember.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
AUTUMN FRUITS OF GUAJAR ALTO
The long, hot summers and the cool winter nights of Guájar Alto provide perfect conditions for olive production and for centuries, since the time of Moorish occupation, it has been a major crop in this area. Whereas olives destined for the mills are harvested in late December, those intended for the table may be picked now. However, If they are still hard and green, then they are not ready; if they have turned a pale, yellowish colour and feel slightly soft, then that’s fine. During the ripening process olives change colour from pale green through to violet and finally black and they may be collected for curing during any of these stages. I use only the most perfect fruits for preserving and carefully select the best from each tree. If you bite into a freshly-picked olive, the astringency shrivels the mouth, hence the need for curing.
Everyone here seems to have a favourite method of preparing olives for preservation but the one which I find most reliable is as follows: firstly, with a small, sharp knife make a slit in each olive; it’s important to do this in order to draw out the bitterness. Secondly, into an adequately sized container pour in enough spring water ( not tap water ) to cover the olives and throw in a good handful of coarse salt. Cover with a cloth and leave for four days, stirring occasionally. After four days, drain the olives and put them into fresh saline solution, again using only spring water. This process needs to be repeated at least four times, at the end of which the olives should be ready to be put into jars.
I sterilize the jars and their lids in a moderate oven for at least five minutes. Next, I fill them with the rinsed olives, plus a few cloves of peeled garlic. I then add to each either a sprig of rosemary, thyme, a couple of bay leaves or some wild fennel. I also use sliced oranges or lemons, chilli flakes or soft, green, pickled peppercorns which are so hard to come by in the U.K. but are often sold in supermarkets here. Finally, I pour olive oil over the olives, filling the jars to their brims, and screw the lids on. In this way they will keep for months. Last year, I preserved some olives in saline solution and the rest in oil but the former did not keep as well as the latter. I’ve sampled other people’s home-cured olives conserved in saline and thought they were rather soggy; they should be firm when you bite into them. As a preserving medium I find that olive oil, as with my sun-dried tomatoes, locks in and enhances the flavour, as well as enabling the fruit to maintain its firmness.
Pomegranates have also been grown for centuries in Guájar Alto but, nowadays, no-one bothers to pick them and it is such a pity to see them lying on the ground, rotting. Eating a pomegranate can be quite hard work so a good alternative is to juice the fruit, strain it and pour it into ice-trays. Similarly, frozen grapefruit cubes are absolutely delicious when added to a gin-and-tonic. In Spain, blackberry or mulberry cordials are very popular and, added to sparkling white wine, make a delicately coloured, exquisitely flavoured, drink.
We have a great many oaks ( of the evergreen variety ) in this area and I have noticed that it has been a very good year for acorns. In fact, they are rather a nuisance because I have to keep sweeping them from the terrace in order to avoid slipping on them. The wild boar love them, of course, and every night can be heard snuffling and snorting about wherever there are oaks. Acorns are also an important food source for jays and whereas in England you hardly ever see them because they are such shy birds, in Guájar Alto there are so many of them that we see them all the time. We have a big oak tree outside the kitchen and often, when I’m standing at the sink, I see jays stripping the acorns from the twigs. They are strikingly handsome birds with rose-tinted breasts and wing feathers striped with the loveliest shade of blue but their cries are loud, raucous and startling.
Since it’s been such a good year for acorns, I think there might also be a good crop of chestnuts this year. Last autumn, we were given so many that my fingers were sore from the painstaking task of skinning them. I’d had visions of luscious, home-made marrons glacés but these were thwarted when I consulted my Larousse Gastronomique and read that the process involved in the making of them was long and intricate and seldom undertaken in the home. We had to make do instead with endless purées and stuffings.
Amongst the myrtle, box and other shrubs typical of the Mediterranean, there are many juniper bushes growing on the mountainsides here and this year they’ve produced a great many berries. As well as being used for the distillation of gin, their astringent, aromatic flavour makes them ideal for adding to marinades or savoury dishes.
In the mountain villages of Granada it used to be the custom to preserve surplus produce using vinegar, salt or oil but, unfortunately, very few of the youg women these days seem interested in carrying on the habits of their mothers. I think it’s a great pity.
Everyone here seems to have a favourite method of preparing olives for preservation but the one which I find most reliable is as follows: firstly, with a small, sharp knife make a slit in each olive; it’s important to do this in order to draw out the bitterness. Secondly, into an adequately sized container pour in enough spring water ( not tap water ) to cover the olives and throw in a good handful of coarse salt. Cover with a cloth and leave for four days, stirring occasionally. After four days, drain the olives and put them into fresh saline solution, again using only spring water. This process needs to be repeated at least four times, at the end of which the olives should be ready to be put into jars.
I sterilize the jars and their lids in a moderate oven for at least five minutes. Next, I fill them with the rinsed olives, plus a few cloves of peeled garlic. I then add to each either a sprig of rosemary, thyme, a couple of bay leaves or some wild fennel. I also use sliced oranges or lemons, chilli flakes or soft, green, pickled peppercorns which are so hard to come by in the U.K. but are often sold in supermarkets here. Finally, I pour olive oil over the olives, filling the jars to their brims, and screw the lids on. In this way they will keep for months. Last year, I preserved some olives in saline solution and the rest in oil but the former did not keep as well as the latter. I’ve sampled other people’s home-cured olives conserved in saline and thought they were rather soggy; they should be firm when you bite into them. As a preserving medium I find that olive oil, as with my sun-dried tomatoes, locks in and enhances the flavour, as well as enabling the fruit to maintain its firmness.
Pomegranates have also been grown for centuries in Guájar Alto but, nowadays, no-one bothers to pick them and it is such a pity to see them lying on the ground, rotting. Eating a pomegranate can be quite hard work so a good alternative is to juice the fruit, strain it and pour it into ice-trays. Similarly, frozen grapefruit cubes are absolutely delicious when added to a gin-and-tonic. In Spain, blackberry or mulberry cordials are very popular and, added to sparkling white wine, make a delicately coloured, exquisitely flavoured, drink.
We have a great many oaks ( of the evergreen variety ) in this area and I have noticed that it has been a very good year for acorns. In fact, they are rather a nuisance because I have to keep sweeping them from the terrace in order to avoid slipping on them. The wild boar love them, of course, and every night can be heard snuffling and snorting about wherever there are oaks. Acorns are also an important food source for jays and whereas in England you hardly ever see them because they are such shy birds, in Guájar Alto there are so many of them that we see them all the time. We have a big oak tree outside the kitchen and often, when I’m standing at the sink, I see jays stripping the acorns from the twigs. They are strikingly handsome birds with rose-tinted breasts and wing feathers striped with the loveliest shade of blue but their cries are loud, raucous and startling.
Since it’s been such a good year for acorns, I think there might also be a good crop of chestnuts this year. Last autumn, we were given so many that my fingers were sore from the painstaking task of skinning them. I’d had visions of luscious, home-made marrons glacés but these were thwarted when I consulted my Larousse Gastronomique and read that the process involved in the making of them was long and intricate and seldom undertaken in the home. We had to make do instead with endless purées and stuffings.
Amongst the myrtle, box and other shrubs typical of the Mediterranean, there are many juniper bushes growing on the mountainsides here and this year they’ve produced a great many berries. As well as being used for the distillation of gin, their astringent, aromatic flavour makes them ideal for adding to marinades or savoury dishes.
In the mountain villages of Granada it used to be the custom to preserve surplus produce using vinegar, salt or oil but, unfortunately, very few of the youg women these days seem interested in carrying on the habits of their mothers. I think it’s a great pity.
Monday, October 1, 2007
A CHANGE OF SEASON
Our long summer drought ended last week in spectacular fashion with a storm so violent that it was almost as bad as the one which hit us almost exactly a year ago and which, in its two hour duration, destroyed features of the landscape which had been here for centuries. Whereas, this time, the force of the storm was not so great, the amount of rain which fell during it was unbelievable; such was its volume that anyone standing underneath it would certainly have been washed away, together with the giant boulders, trees and other debris which cascaded down the mountains and ended up in the swollen torrent of the river Toba.
It took us the entire weekend to clean up after the deluge, mud being the biggest problem. Our vegetable garden was completely destroyed but, since October is the time for digging up summer crops, such as tomatoes and peppers, and putting in winter lettuces, sowing parsnips, beetroot and so on, it wasn’t too much of a disaster. However, we lost a good deal of this year’s olive crop and many of those remaining on the trees were bruised by the huge hailstones which descended at the height of the storm. For those whose crops are their living it is much more serious, of course. Some growers were able to retrieve some of the almonds which the storm had stripped from the trees but, in most cases, they had been washed away in a tidal wave of mud.
This is the time for harvesting the grapes and making wine. Fortunately, the netting with which we had covered our vines to deter marauding foxes, wild boar and birds protected the grapes quite well from the damaging effects of the hailstones and we had a satisfactory crop. After we’d picked them, we laid the bunches on a table outside for a couple of days so that the sun could dry them and intensify the flavour by increasing the sugar and resulting alcohol content. The next step was to break them up in order to prepare them for the final pressing and for this an impressive piece of apparatus resembling a giant mincing machine is used. Once the juice has been extracted by the wine-press it is poured into wooden casks and left to ferment for forty days after which time it is ready to drink. The grapes most commonly grown in our area are the muscatel variety but to improve the colour of the wine the juice of small, sweet red grapes is often added. The making of mosto (village wine) is a serious business and there is an element of competition, everyone thinking that theirs is the best. Certainly, it is always very pleasant to drink, especially when young, and it is also very pure, being free of additives, and rich in antioxidants. However, the seemingly innocuous sweetness and fruitiness of its flavour are deceptive: mosto is very potent indeed!
We were told an amusing anecdote about a neighbour who had stored his grape harvest in a shed but had not closed the door properly afterwards. When he returned to press the grapes, he discovered that they had all been eaten and the culprit, a jabali (wild boar) was lying on the ground asleep, quite intoxicated.
The weather settled again after the storm and we enjoyed days of warm sunshine and cloudless skies with hardly a breath of wind. There was a rain-washed purity and a softness in the air after the fierce heat of summer and from our cortijo which overlooks the village and the surrounding mountain panorama there was such a tranquility about the scene below us that it was hard to imagine it had been so recently subjected to a storm of such ferocity. The light this time of year is particularly beautiful and, for me, one of the joys of living here is being able to stand on my terrace with my morning coffee watching the sun rise over the mountains, the first rays illuminating the distant sierras with the loveliest, most delicate shades of blue and violet.
This time of year is very good for birdwatching because all the migratory species are in transit. Our swallows departed a few days ago, followed soon afterwards by the bee eaters. They do an excellent job of keeping irritating insects at bay and now that they’ve gone, suddenly we find that we’re being plagued by flies when we sit on the terrace. We shall be really pleased to see them back again next spring.
It took us the entire weekend to clean up after the deluge, mud being the biggest problem. Our vegetable garden was completely destroyed but, since October is the time for digging up summer crops, such as tomatoes and peppers, and putting in winter lettuces, sowing parsnips, beetroot and so on, it wasn’t too much of a disaster. However, we lost a good deal of this year’s olive crop and many of those remaining on the trees were bruised by the huge hailstones which descended at the height of the storm. For those whose crops are their living it is much more serious, of course. Some growers were able to retrieve some of the almonds which the storm had stripped from the trees but, in most cases, they had been washed away in a tidal wave of mud.
This is the time for harvesting the grapes and making wine. Fortunately, the netting with which we had covered our vines to deter marauding foxes, wild boar and birds protected the grapes quite well from the damaging effects of the hailstones and we had a satisfactory crop. After we’d picked them, we laid the bunches on a table outside for a couple of days so that the sun could dry them and intensify the flavour by increasing the sugar and resulting alcohol content. The next step was to break them up in order to prepare them for the final pressing and for this an impressive piece of apparatus resembling a giant mincing machine is used. Once the juice has been extracted by the wine-press it is poured into wooden casks and left to ferment for forty days after which time it is ready to drink. The grapes most commonly grown in our area are the muscatel variety but to improve the colour of the wine the juice of small, sweet red grapes is often added. The making of mosto (village wine) is a serious business and there is an element of competition, everyone thinking that theirs is the best. Certainly, it is always very pleasant to drink, especially when young, and it is also very pure, being free of additives, and rich in antioxidants. However, the seemingly innocuous sweetness and fruitiness of its flavour are deceptive: mosto is very potent indeed!
We were told an amusing anecdote about a neighbour who had stored his grape harvest in a shed but had not closed the door properly afterwards. When he returned to press the grapes, he discovered that they had all been eaten and the culprit, a jabali (wild boar) was lying on the ground asleep, quite intoxicated.
The weather settled again after the storm and we enjoyed days of warm sunshine and cloudless skies with hardly a breath of wind. There was a rain-washed purity and a softness in the air after the fierce heat of summer and from our cortijo which overlooks the village and the surrounding mountain panorama there was such a tranquility about the scene below us that it was hard to imagine it had been so recently subjected to a storm of such ferocity. The light this time of year is particularly beautiful and, for me, one of the joys of living here is being able to stand on my terrace with my morning coffee watching the sun rise over the mountains, the first rays illuminating the distant sierras with the loveliest, most delicate shades of blue and violet.
This time of year is very good for birdwatching because all the migratory species are in transit. Our swallows departed a few days ago, followed soon afterwards by the bee eaters. They do an excellent job of keeping irritating insects at bay and now that they’ve gone, suddenly we find that we’re being plagued by flies when we sit on the terrace. We shall be really pleased to see them back again next spring.
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