Tapas tales 2, Madrid

I usually avoid museum food (see Dateline: Bilbao) but I'm glad I made an exception at the Prado. The museum cafe had a good selection of tapas and hot dishes. Everything looked so fresh and smelled so good, it was hard to choose.

We settled on Serrano ham with honeydew melon, and smoked salmon with white asparagus. The ham and melon both had a hint of a smoky flavor, the sweet fruit balanced the salty meat, and the juicy, ripe honeydew was a great pairing with the meat's chewy richness.

The rich, salty, tender salmon and crisp, earthy asparagus also complemented each other in taste and texture.

Crusty bread and cafe con leche rounded out our meal. Rested from lingering over our midday feast and freshly fueled with caffeine, we couldn't wait to head back for more fun with El Greco, Velazquez, Ribera and their gallery mates.

Another thing -- besides the good, fresh food -- that surprised me at the Prado's cafe was the pricing. The tapas and hot food seemed very reasonable for a place that has a captive audience: most things were 5 to 7 Euros. But the "junk food" was pricey: 3 or 4 Euros for a small bag of chips or an ice cream bar. Small bottles of Coke cost about the same as small bottles of wine.

Fast Good and Farggi, Barcelona

Visiting Ferran Adria's Fast Good was high on our list of things to do in Barcelona. Several books recommended it and the website looked great: a reasonably priced restaurant with an appealing menu and recipes devised by the chef often dubbed the world's best.

An address in l'Eixample guaranteed that we'd want to walk there: The district is full of amazing Art Nouveau-flavored moderniste architecture by Gaudi, Puig i Cadafalch and others. We schlepped up there, taking lots of pix and oohhing and aahhing to our hearts' content.

But Fast Good was gone. Closed. Empty storefront. "For rent" sign in the window closed. We double-checked on the Blackberry, we were at the right address as posted on the very much alive Fast Good website.

We considered going to Tapas 24, another highly recommended cafe, but their website wisely provided the information that it's closed on Sunday, as are many other businesses in Barcelona.
We ended up with an overpriced so-so bocadillo at a sidewalk cafe near la Pedrera and excellent ice cream from Farggi -- also kind of pricey but definitely worth it. I went for the fruit flavors, peach and strawberry, very rich, not too sweet. Since I love a research project, I had to try the brand again to make sure it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't -- Farggi ice cream was excellent, regardless of location or flavor.

Tapas tales 1, Madrid

From the moment we stepped out of our apartment on Calle de Carretas, there seemed to be something to look at. On this particular day, we checked out the view of the Madrid skyline from the top of Catedral Almudena, and ogled the Tiepolo ceilings and five Stradavari instruments (among other things) at el Palacio Real.
Ravenous and not realizing how close we were to restaurant-rich Sol,we had tapas at a cafe right across from the palacio. It was really a bit too chilly to sit outside, and the place felt too touristy, but we did it anyway. The food was pretty good: marinated mussels, potatoes with mayo and spicy aioli, atun on a thick slice of bread, and a big vegetable and hard-boiled egg sandwich.

More meandering and gawking after lunch, running into some fun and interesting places and activities by chance: Plaza de Espana, Templo Debod, a reliquary full of miscellaneous mememto mori at Real Monasterio de la Encarnacion, music stores (including one with a fascinating George Crumb chart in the window) and a late-Monet exhibit in an elderly building with gloriously beautiful modern restrooms.

But there's nothing like watching a passing pot parade to stoke your appetite. We heard heard some horns and commotion, and wandered over to see what was up. Hundreds of people were marching from Puerta del Sol, waving signs, shouting into bullhorns and smoking Louisville Slugger-size spliffs. We watched for a while, breathing deeply, and went in search of snacks.

We settled in at Meson Gregorio III, which we've dubbed "the old man's bar." No frills. A bar, a couple of tables, a few hams hanging from the back bar (now there's an unusual touch), numerous framed shots of the bartender in autographed photos with people we didn't recognize.

Every time we bought a round, we got a free dish of tapas, starting with some very tasty olives and moving on to ham croquettes. Very nice. Other people who looked like they were there for the night got plates of sliced ham, dishes of nuts, cheese assortments. Made me kind of sorry that two's my limit. I think we spent 5 Euros for our night on the town.

We hoped to find our way back there before we left Madrid. We never did. But it was a cozy, old-fashioned, non-touristy neighborhood joint, very comfortable.

Inspired by Spain

Learning about new ingredients and getting inspired to try new recipes are among my favorite travel souvenirs. A while back I reported on trying to replicate a patata relleno con atun dish I tasted at Cafe Gijon.

For the past couple of weeks it's been practically too hot to eat, so I've been enjoying going to the farmers market and fixing gazpacho as soon as I get home. I've been using Jose Andres' recipe as a starting point, always using a lot less oil -- maybe two tablespoons rather than the 3/4 cup that he recommends. And I'm pretty random about the garnishes -- a quick cup of gazpacho fresh from the fridge is a great snack or light meal. If you take the time to add Andres' suggested garnishes you have slightly heartier fare, pretty enough for a photo shoot.

Though I've used pimenton for years, I've been turning to it more often since I went to Spain. For example, with the help of a mortar and pestle, I've been making a paste of a clove of garlic, a garlic scape, a heaping teaspoon of pimenton, coarse salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. A mini food processor would also work for this. The paste is great spread or rubbed on tuna or steak, either right before putting it on the grill or several hours in advance. The paste goes together really fast and adds a nice dimension to a simple meal.

Benny Powell

Everyone who knows me at all knows that what goes into my ears nourishes me as much or more than what goes onto my plate. So it doesn't feel entirely inappropriate to remember the late trombonist Benny Powell in this space.

Benny was one of the first people I met when I moved to NY in the early 1980s. He was at a Sunday brunch at an antiques store/listening space that was struggling to get off the ground -- kind of like my career. I had four years of on-air broadcast experience and a thick book full of features and news stories I'd written, much of it about jazz. I couldn't get anyone to look at my writing or listen to my demo tape. I lamented to Benny, also new to New York, that everyone told me to put that stuff away and go take a typing test.

He listened with interest and encouraged me to keep on trying, and said things would eventually work out if I kept making an effort. He had a benign, comforting way of talking, and his positive input came to mind from time to time over the years.

Since I'm enormous fan of Randy Weston, I heard Benny play regularly over the past two decades, especially savoring his gorgeous 'bone solo on the Melba Liston arrangement of "African Sunrise."

I heard the band in April, Benny looked frail and sat on a stool while he was playing. Afterward, I talked to him in the bar for a while and reminded him of his early encouragement, thanked him for his kindness and talked to him about doing the JazzWomen column for Hot House -- he was familiar with it, which pleased me no end. As usual, I walked away feeling uplifted by the evening's music and conversation.

The next day I wrote about it a bit in my morning pages: "Loved hearing Randy Weston last night, talking to the band, especially Benny Powell, dispenser of random acts of kindness. His 25-plus-year-old encouragement has really stuck with me: Benny Powell never told me to take a typing test! He knows my work, says I'm doing a good job. And he's still figuring out what life is all about, and he's still interested and entertained by it. He's frail, but plays like a musical saint. The flesh may be weak, but it's strong enough for low brass."

Benny died on June 26. I feel lucky to have heard him so often and to have gotten to know him a little bit. I hope his kindness, wisdom and beautiful, beautiful tone with stay with me for the rest of my life.

Cuines de Santa Caterina, Barcelona

When we were in Spain (as almost every sentence seems to start out these days), some of our time was destination focused (El Prado! La Sagrada Familia! The Guggenheim!). And then there was the random wandering, which practically always turned out to be an absolute delight.

We started out one day chowing down on pastries from La Boqueria, then walking along the beach and the marina. We heard marching bands in the distance, very cool, but couldn't figure out if it was a holiday of some kind, or if this just happens on Saturdays in Barcelona. We headed west past the Parc de la Ciutadella (the site of some of the action in The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon), to the Arc de Triomf.

We looped around into the Born section of town and just as our lunch bell went off, we came across the Mercat de Santa Caterina. Originally one of a handful of traditional markets in Barcelona, this one has been rehabbed to within an inch of its life. It doesn't have the earthy, down-home feel of La Boqueria, but still has a lot going on, inside and out.
Outside, a group of devils and demons in appropriately Luciferian costumes had gathered, setting off fireworks and blowing whistles. We asked around and later did some research on the Web, but still couldn't find out why a mid-May Saturday would warrant marching bands and pinwheel-wielding demons. Maybe just an average day in Barcelona. Move over, City That Care Forgot!

Inside, we found one of the most exciting meals of the trip at Cuines de Santa Caterina. There was a mix-and-match menu with categories like Asian, Mediterranean, pasta, vegetarian, tapas and more printed on paper placemats. And if that wasn't inspiring enough, reader boards spread the word on the daily specials.

I love to try things that I'd never fix at home, and the calamari appetizer fell into that category. Rigatoni-size pieces of meltingly tender calamari grilled with olive oil, topped with slender, crisp asparagus and julienned calcots. The plate was painted with squid ink, dark luscious, salty, smoky and redolent of the sea. I do follow my late father-in-law's philosophy that the best meal of my life is usually the one in front of me right now. However, I'd be tempted to rank this calamari a la plancha among the most fascinating and delectable dishes I've ever eaten.

For the main course, I chose fideua, a.k.a. fideo, a kind of noodle version of paella. I actually have cooked fideo at home recently, following Mario Batali's recipe. And I remember fixing a traditional sopa seca, which is similar, on a hotplate way back in the day. I didn't really enjoy the process either time, there's something about browning the noodles, then taking them out of the pan to drain while cooking the veg and seafood that just seemed like too much fuss. But I was eager to try someone else's version of it, and this one was a winner: scallops and garlic sauteed in olive oil, with the pasta cooked al dente in stock seasoned with pimenton and saffron. The top was a bit crusty, as if it had been run under the broiler for a minute. Kind of cozy and exotic all at once. Still, I'm glad someone else did the work. Crusty but light whole-wheat bread, a glass of the house vino blanco and some agua minerale came with our entree.

We finished the meal with the postre del dia, a chocolate sponge cake rolled around fresh whipped cream, topped with a glaze-consistency bittersweet-chocolate sauce, served with vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce. What's not to like?! It was wonderful, rich but light, how did they manage that? And it would have gone wonderfully with a cafe con leche.

Cuines de Santa Caterina bordered on too fabulous in its slick decor, teams of waitstaff, noise level, and unisex restrooms in which the fixtures were more decorative than functional (motion-sensitive lights that seemed to go on and off at random, splashy sinks, tiny wastebaskets). And, we couldn't order cafe con leche at the end of our meal without moving into the bar. Though that felt rather ungracious, up to that point the service was amazing and nonintrusive and we felt comfortable lingering over our food. As was often the case in Spain, we sat down to lunch on the early side, and by the time we finished our meal Cuines de Santa Caterina had a line out the door. We had to ask for our check and didn't feel rushed to pay, unlike at some U.S. venues where the check is presented while you're still eating and talking, and the server hovers till you whip out a credit card. But our cafe con leche craving and our interest in seeing more of the city propelled us out into the sunshine before long.