españa, saturday day 4: zahara de la sierra.

I know my blues don't match, OK? I'm not about continuity, I'm about fucking art.

These shots are from (above) our failed churros hunt and (below) our lunchtime visit to Zahara de la Sierra. Another example of natural beauty that, on a Saturday afternoon in every other country I've ever been to, would be mobbed with picnickers, boaters, fishermen, etc. Here: nobody nowhere.

At the bottom: tortillas de camarones (fried shrimp omelette), and yet another example of the slightly revelatory (not a word?) Andalusian approach to salads: really boring iceberg or Bibb lettuce, lots of outstanding olive oil and a healthy amount of salt. Possibly a splash of lemon juice or sherry vinegar. Which all kind of sounds like the Italian approach to insalata mista, but this was so much better: it always looked like it was going to be the lamest, most unconsidered garnish ever, and almost every time it ended up being totally gone.


No comments: