españa, thursday day 2: ronda.

españa, thursday day 2: estepona to ronda.

Yes-a those are shorts, don't worry I didn't wear them in public. Below: breakfast on the upstairs terrace, tostada con aceite, according to El Capitan the most normal Andalusian breakfast there is: a piece of toast, a pool of great olive oil, a sprinkle of salt, and a freshly-cut garlic clove to rub on the toast; insect-oriented tilework on the way from the house to the parking lot.

españa, wednesday day 1: estepona.

I know I haven't written more than 100 words in total out here over the past few months, I'm just going to ignore that fact and pick up as if nothing had happened, hope that's OK fictional readers.

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I learned and/or was reminded of a few things when I was in Spain last week. One: if you're going to a country where you don't speak-a the language: izza really helpful to travel with someone who does. Is 392 times even more helpful if that person's family has owned houses in that country for many years and is a kind and gracious enough person to let you stay at these places. In other words: get started making wonderful new multilingual friends with expatriate tendencies and exotic tastes!!!

Two: I learned/was reminded that I don't know aaaaaaaaaaanything. I've been interested in the Spanish kitchen for several years now, and have cooked a pretty good amount of what I considered to be "Spanish food". The Spanish cookbooks I own are not "fancy" by any stretch of the imagination: Penelope Casas' "Tapas" doesn't even have any pictures for chrissakes, and it has like 8 different but very similar recipes for tuna salad. Unfancy. José Andrés' "Tapas: A Taste of Spain in America" is slightly fancier in that it has glossy well-staged pictures, but the recipes generally have less than 10 ingredients and can be easily cooked in an hour or so.

Annnnnyway, my point is, I kind of thought I knew what I was doing/ordering/etc. I did not.

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Luckily/unluckily, our journey begins somewhere utterly familiar and well-known: Schiphol airport in Amsterdam. Our flight to Málaga was at 06:50, yes that's early, meaning we had to be at the airport by say 05:30 at the latest, meaning that the alarm was set for 04:30, which is, yes, early.

If you're like me, or if you're actually me, you're liable to make some not-so-good decisions under these circumstances, and let's just say I did not disappoint: below is my toasted "broodje Caprese" breakfast idea. You're going to SPAIN, why put something like this in your stomach first.

After landing in Málaga, our first destination was Estepona, where the Captain's brother has a house. A gorgeously appointed little house about three minutes' walk from a placid rocky beach with clear blue water. But you'll see that in a second. Here's the drive to Estapona in our underpowered Fiat Panda.

Before heading to the house, we stopped at the grocery store, one of my absolute favorite things to do in a new country. What am I talking about, I love grocery shopping in any country. But anyway, so I found some fun things, marinated artichokes; supergarlicky allioli; giant scallions called javeloyes; padrón peppers, membrillo, fresh mint...

Then, the house, this is the view from the upstairs terrace.

And after throwing together a quick (check out my Spanish) bocadillo (artichoke, mint, allioli, queso manchego) or two, we were off to a real lunch.

El Capitan had warned me that one of the only downsides to her brother's apartment was that you couldn't walk to restaurants and bars, you had to drive everywhere. Wellllll, although: there was this one pretty great restaurant that you could walk to, but it was "kind of posh", and about an hour's walk.

But sure, OK, hey, the weather was fucking gorgeous, 70F and sunny, we kind of had time to kill, lunch doesn't really happen til 14:00 or so here in southern Spain. Yes, let's walk for an hour.

OK, here's the walk:

Now, I don't know where you live, Fictional Reader, but on the planet where I live, if you have a beach like this and it's 70F outside, certainly you will not be the only human being (you and your senior officer I mean) who decides to partake of this lovely stretch of coastline. Will you?

Yes, at 13:00 Wednesday afternoon, you will be. Obviously looking at the sand, some other exotic creatures were gallivanting around here earlier in the day, possibly even the, ha ha, dogfish that will enter the narrative on Day 2, but yes etc etc etc there was nobody else about.

Which, "Ooooh," we thought, does that mean the restaurant will be closed? Because it's off season? Noooo, El Capitan ate here with her family last February. OK so we're cool. Keep going. Plus there's a flag flying on top of the restaurant. That must mean something. Say, walking on sand is kind of tough after a while. And then-a:

We were Guggenheimed. This refers to a trip to NYC in the mid-to-late 1990s where, I think we were staying in Chelsea or Tribeca, we decided it would be educational and informative to try and walk the 65 or 85 New York City blocks to the Guggenheim Museum. It was a Thursday.

"Ahhhhh", the more informed Fictional Reader is now saying to themselves. Yes. The Guggenheim is open every day except Thursdays. 65 or 85 NYC blocks is a long fucking walk. Definitely well over an hour, possibly two. I think that was the first and last time I ever howled into the sky "Who in God's bloody fucking name closes their business on a fucking Thursday for the love of Saint Fucking Peter, Paul and Mary etc etc etc". From that day on I would never again be surprised to find a business closed on an inconvenient or illogical day.

Which is why, upon finding Bahia Beach closed, there was no howling or swearing. The Captain and I simply looked around for a moment, acknowledged the dim misty shapes of Gibraltar and FUCKING AFRICA off in the distance....

And asked the first people we saw if they knew anywhere in the hood we could get our grub on. They were German. They said "Oh ja, you juss valk a little vurder, you cant miss it". But they said it either in German or Spanish, I don't know, the Captain related the story to me in English, but she speaks every language, so who knows what actually happened.

In any event, yes, it was "juss a little vurder", and this potential Death Mope suddenly ended the way all good Death Mopes end: with a perfectly-sized and -weighted beer and a bowl of awesome, cold, orange-marinated Manzanilla olives.

This is Chiringuito La Sal, and this would present the first of my lessons in Real Spanish Food. I will explain soon, por favor espere aquí.

spanish bombs.

sus movimientos son torpes.

Sooooooo I go to Andaluuuuusia (that's in Spain!) for the first time ever earrrrrrly Wednesday morning, for five days-ish. Exciting! I hadn't planned on doing any research, but then, well, I remembered I was me so I did some.

We're going to be mostly in Rrrrronda, up in the mountains, but our first night will be spent in Estepona, on the coast, because of a meeting the next day, maybe in Marbella? I don't know. I also don't really understand how/where Torremolinos fits into all this, I just know that it was described to me as being "a coastal resort town stuck in the 1970s" and I thought that sounded great so it ended up on the list of things to maybe do.

OK, so here's what my quick rummage turned up, along with some tips from my lovely host The Captain Nelsker.

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RONDA
Bodega San Francisco, Plaza Ruedo Alameda 32.
1.30-5pm & 8pm-1am Wed-Mon. Closed Thursdays. One of the Captain's very few recommendations, but she eats here "often" when in town, described as "simple good food, super Spanish, cramped seating, chaotic service.". 

Thus, worth putting high on the list. Things to order according to Yelp: setas (mushrooms in garlic/parsley), serranitos (small pork and chile sandwiches, sorry piggies), revuelto de patatas (eggs with potatoes and peppers). Interesting little article about this corner of Ronda (where three of these six bars I've listed are) here. 

Almocábar, Calle Ruedo Alameda 5
1.30-5pm & 8pm-1am Wed-Mon, so....closed Tuesdays? Eat at the bar, not the restaurant. Hardly undiscovered (TripAdvisor) but out of the center enough to maybe be tourist-free. 

Traga Tapas, Calle Nueva 412:00 – 4:30 pm, 8:00 – 11:30 pm. Former El Bulli chef. Lots of great reviews, but I'm skeptical about this only because everything about their decor and graphic design on their website offends me deeply. Will have to see what the atmosphere is like in person, Yelp makes it seem just fine. IN ACTUALITY: everything about the lighting and atmosphere was so wretchedly lounge-y that we couldn't even go in.

Cafe Bar Faustino, Calle Santa Cecelia 4
Closed Mondays. This showed up on both Chowhound and TA. Open noon-very late.

Bar Maestro, Calle Espinel.
Had read good reviews on Chowhound and TA, but then found this funny review of it that makes me think it's kind of a "only if we're in the hood" option.

Casa Maria, Plaza Ruedo Alameda 27
Closed Wednesdays? 
More of a sedate, sit-down restaurant. But it was another one of the Captain's few recommendations, with the caveat that she hadn't been there in a while, so I checked it out on TripAdvisor and it's their #1 restaurant, which as we know, doesn't necessarily mean all good things, but "doesn't mean nothing".

Bodega El Socorro, Calle Molino 4.
Berenjenas fritas con miel de caña (fried aubergines with honey). Croquetas de espinacas (spinach croquettes), pimientos del piquillo rellenos de bonito de norte (tuna-stuffed spicy red peppers).

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capsules.

Oh, hello there. What a...surprise.

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So I've been doing an unusual amount of restaurant eating lately, I thought I'd share some one-sentence insights.

Pomorosso Trattoria, Amstelveenseweg 41. P-Woe has been telling me for about 4 years now, "you gotta try this pizza", and last night we finally did, a rucola-truffle oil version and a margherita: solid, honest, real Italian pizza, not as downright "I could eat another one of these right now" as La Perla is, but shit I don't even know if La Perla is like that anymore. But this is worth trying again.

Renato's Pizzeria, Karel du Jardinstraat 32. I'd been hearing about Renato's for years but never knew exactly where it was, but then it ended up being one block away from my bill-paying custodial/concierge job, and since it won some random "Best Pizza in Amsterdam" contest last year, I figured we should try it. Diagnosis: not bad in any way, unless you factor in the detail that, with my newly failing eyesight, I couldn't read the unbolded-black-text-on-dark-brown-paper menu properly and accidentally ordered a pizza strewn liberally with parma ham to share with my darling vegetarian dining companion. But ok, I'll take responsibility for that. The pizza itself: not bad, but not terribly exciting in any way either: I'd call it the fifth- or sixth-best pizza in Amsterdam, still nothing to be ashamed of, unless of course you're going around telling everyone you have the first-best pizza in Amsterdam, then, well, yes, that invites a little extra scrutiny doesn't it.

Boca's, Sarphatipark 4. Pretty disappointing in every way, though maybe this had everything to do with so many people gushing over it, or maybe that we were ordering vegetarian again, but I didn't get anything about the experience: the food was edible, but radiated a certain unlovability and, maybe worse, a certain "never having been loved by anybody", except for this one goat cheese arancini (arancino?): that little dude was totally lovable, but the whole rest of everything from the decor to the music to the staff just screamed passionless disinterest and/or loveless calculation. We hated it.

Tripel, Lijnbaansgracht 161. Easily the loudest non-concert background music I've ever experienced in a bar that was trying to sell beer and food to people who might want to converse while they ate and drank. At least, in contrast to Boca's, it was above-average music: if Boca's shitty soulless funk-jazz had been any louder I would've had to exit without finishing my meal. Tripel redeemed itself by looking like a great old bruin cafe inside and having a nice long bar you can eat at, allowing you to be physically proximate enough to shout directly into each others' ears. Plus pretty above average bar food, at least the two things we tasted: a totally fine goat cheese salad with a non-standard array of fruit, nuts, and roasted vegetables tucked away here and there, and an accidental double order of frites with supposedly homemade mayo that were just perfect.

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naan.

trickle.

My second no-knead bread, this one was the slow version, left to rise overnight. I thought it was slightly better in every way than the quick version. But really, how can this be all I have to say after months of near-silence.

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het platteland.

Above: Garnwerd, a wierde village, population 320. Below: Cafe Hammingh, possibly built in 1876, with an upstairs full of stampeding ghosts and snippets of techno music, we spent 10 minutes silently exploding with laughter, high-school-style, in the otherwise completely quiet room full of people eating seriously; Noordpolderzijl and the Nelsker, apparently headed off for an afternoon of bowling in the flatlands; the carpet-tabled interior of 't Zielhoes; the harbor at Noordpolderzijl, the smallest harbor in Nederland. However on this particular day as you can see "there is no boat in the harbor".

grunnn.

Although this is still Amsterdam.

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menu planning.

So I just put a lot of thought into a menu that I made all of the components for but didn't really serve all at once. It's really good vegetarian Mexican food though:

-New Mexican red chile sauce, caramelized onion, goat cheese quesadillas and fire-roasted habanero salsa
-roasted pumpkin (with or without Mark Miller's black beans) and smoked mozzarella enchiladas with chile verde (first time doing this from scratch in Amsterdam, using Turkish peper sivri as poblano emulators)
-Mark Miller's black beans with tomato-orange-mint salsa

And then yes half a kilo of pistachio baklava for dessert.

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seyidoğlu.

I Googled "best baklava in Amsterdam" and ended up at Seyidoğlu. Pretty undisappointing, we ate it alllllllll.

hawt maple.

Above: an attempt at Nouf's Hawt Maple (a reduction of maple syrup, dried red chiles, apple vinegar, and sea salt, though my version was missing her version's bourbon element). For use on buttered cornbread or in chili or both. Below: a gift of Groningse homemade kimchi, so authentic it was fizzing like freshly-poured tonic water when I opened it. For use on buttered basmati with a little soy sauce.

barbie q.

fiadone.

Dennis made fiadunes yesterday, really good ones. I only ate three, quite a feat.

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masterbaker.

Yes I baked my own birthday cake this year, at my insistence. I wanted to feel good about eating more than one piece of it, so I made this gluten-free business pictured below, it's a flourless chocolate cake with a raspberry something, coulis maybe? The cake recipe is from Cook's Illustrated, it should've been a tah taha hajt a (this is the new way to indicate a psychotic mandible-chomping fake laugh) "piece of cake", but I am the shittiest baker ever, so I overmelted my chocolate and things ended up the tiniest bit grainy.

Nonetheless! This much good chocolate can never really be bad. Recipe forthcoming someday if I'm ever bored again.

kneadless.

I made fucking bread today. Which means that literally anyone can make bread, because this is maybe the fourth time I've ever baked anything in my life. All you really need is a heavy covered pot that fits in an oven that goes up to 200C/400F.

I used the Bittman/Lahey no-knead recipe that was popularized here, and was updated to a quick 4-hour version with this video here, all run through El Carote Negro's experience filter. Below is what I did. My crust was perfect (t-shirt slogan?), my crumb was decent, I had difficulties cooking the very center, and the whole thing was just ever so slightly on the heavy side, there wasn't much of a rise. I have a feeling it's because it's cold in here, 61F.

Anyway, whatever: in the end it was definitely real bread, baked by me, with very little effort. I give it a solid 7.5 when fresh out of the oven and buttered lavishly.

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no-knead bread. 

3 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp instant yeast
1 and 1/4 tsp salt
1 and 5/8 cups hot water (not boiling, slightly less hot than dish-washing temperature)
1/4 tsp red wine vinegar (i used balsamic b/c that's all i had)

cornmeal

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add the 1 5/8 cups water, and stir just until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 3 hours, or up to 5, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.

3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 30 minutes. When it is ready, dough will be about double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Yield: One 1½-pound loaf.

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