8.8.17

12: tarifa, or "I am in the european southern point."


















Above: coffee/breakfast at Pozo el Duque, the hotel we retreated to when Nelson fell ill last year. Below: the road to Tarifa, two times.



















Then: the first thing we did was to walk 30 minutes out of town looking for an outlet store. Arguably my idea, but I'd imagined driving there. Anyway, it was closed, like permanently, and even the closed location was difficult to find, and then someone pointed us "just down the road" to another place, etc etc etc etc.

It was hot and windy, and the idea of walking back the way we came was Death Mope x 1000 so these are pictures of the cab ride back into the center. Lasting Corporate America Lesson #8: any hotel worth a shit will always call you a cab if you don't look homeless.

 

















Then lunch at the one address I had truly researched, La Burla, Italian/Spanish cooked by Italians, which I didn't know at the time is kind of a thing in Tarifa. Pictured: pulpo alla Gallega, Galician-style octopus with smoked paprika and potatoes, which I'd kind of been waiting to try. Not pictured: fried zucchini flowers; bacalao with olives, tomato and capers; Nelson's ravioli with sage and brown butter. All really good although in retrospect it seems to have dimmed a little because of our next several meals.



















So then we got back to our hood and did something, probably just sweated for a while. It was hot. Above: our room's window, which you'll see a view from by the end of this post.

Below: Bar Frances, kind of across the street from our apartment, which served two of the best versions of Spanish things I've ever had: patatas bravas and sangria. I should learn to make both of these exactly like this, just stupendous. The other things on the table are eggplant with goat cheese, stuffed mushrooms and some kind of vegetable timbale, none of it bad but not as superlative as the potatoes.

























The rest of these pics are just Tarifa, another nice surprise of a city. Our dinner, not really pictured, at No. 6 Cocina Sencilla, was one of those "how can they possibly serve this food at these prices" dinners. I had a tuna skewer with wakame that was maybe the best thing I ate on the whole trip, 2 euro 50 cents. Like wonderful steak. So good I ordered another one immediately. We had a broccoli tartare (basically a slightly refined version of my Nan's broccoli salad); a "wok of vegetables" which unexpectedly included 8 wonderful shrimp (if you're a vegetarian in Spain, always ask); a mango salmorejo that was one of the best of the trip; and some kind of slightly disappointing hazelnut ravioli. Plus 4 glasses of really delicious Rioja: 23 euros (note to self: Lopez de Haro, 2014). I mean the whole thing cost 23 euros, not just the wine.


11: zdla finally gets its shit together.





10: goodbye ronda.

9: heatwave lucifer part nine.


Today's primary accomplishment other than not dying of heatstroke was rescuing a correctly-made but completely stuck to the pan, falling apart frittata by scooping/scraping the contents into a truly nonstick pan and merely forming them into the shape of a frittata. Nobody was the wiser.

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4.8.17

7: ronda.

6: ronda, nothing.



Pretty sure all this day consisted of was being in the pool and then making paella in the evening after it cooled off. This must be why Spanish people eat so late, it's just no fun to cook before 9pm.


4: cádiz, bolonia, ronda.


Above: breakfast #2 at La Vaca Atada because it all looked great, that's a dulce de leche croissant. Below: Cádiz's big beach; a rather elegant older man getting ready to sell some fresh seafood on said beach.


Below, Càdiz to Bolonia, supposedly "Spain's most beautiful beach." I don't know about that but it was pretty ok. The water was brutally cold but clear and clean. There were above-average food shacks clustered here and there. I ended up with my third food mistake of the trip so far (1. satan's fried chorizo, 2. dirty sea worms) because of a confusing conversation in Spanish about various squid sizes and their related appropriateness for frying (vs grilling). Basically, the smaller the squid, the better it is for frying, and above a certain size you want to grill it instead.

As you can see a few photos down, we had a bit of a miscommunication. That thing on my plate that is the size and shape of a small baguette is "fried squid body."


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Bolonia to Ronda: