Cafe Ronda, Ronda de Toledo, Madrid

El Rastro, held every Sunday in Madrid's La Latina/Lavapies districts, is supposed to be the largest flea market in Europe. The market goes on for blocks and blocks, with lots of old and new merchandise: vintage hardware and toys, wind-up phonographs, furniture, paintings and prints, T-shirts, Indian-print tablecloths and clothing, didn't see any tube socks, but a lot of the new stuff was of that type.

It was fascinating to go into some of the old buildings and to explore these new-to-me neighborhoods. And Calle de la Cava Baja, which is supposed to have some of the best tapas bars in Madrid, sounded like a fun area to check out after el Rastro.

After wandering up and down the streets and checking out the fleas for several hours, I was ravenous and forgot all about Calle de la Cava Baja. My only requirement was to eat in an actual building rather than from a street vendor. Cafe Ronda was nearby, looked ok and seemed to be full of locals. The cafe has a half-dozen tables, a stand-up tapas bar, a remarkably pleasant and accommodating waitress, and some of the best cafe con leche ever.

I ordered a couple of tapas staples: patatas bravas and bocadillo de calamares. The patatas bravas were crisp quarters of unpeeled thin-skinned potatoes, which seemed to have been roasted rather than fried. Doesn't seem likely, considering the tiny, open kitchen, maybe they were cooked on a well-seasoned plancha (griddle). The practically grease-free spuds were topped with a thick, spicy tomato sauce, seasoned liberally with smoky pimenton. The serving was big enough to share.

Don't order a sandwich in Spain if you can get a bocadillo. Sandwiches seem to rather mundane, kind of the equivalent of bland, packaged boiled ham and yellow American cheese on Wonder bread, no toppings. Bocadillos, on the other hand, are made on crisp-crusted mini-baguettes, their chewy, light centers layered with any number of tasty fillings, it could be prosciutto-like Serrano ham, hearty manchego cheese, creamy, frittata-like tortilla Espanola, or thinly sliced spicy chorizo.

My bocadillo de calamares was full of tender rings of calamari, lightly fried and vigorously seasoned with salt and garlic. Excellent, either plain or dipped in the nice salsa brava that topped my patatas.

My tasty and inexpensive lunch -- plus two glasses of strong and sweet cafe con leche -- gave me the energy I needed to head back to el Rastro for another hour or two of digging for treasures.

La Boqueria, Barcelona

One of the great advantages of having an apartment was getting to shop at La Boqueria, Barcelona's huge covered market. We had heard about it, but we found it almost by accident. We woke up early our first day in town and decided to go out to pick up coffee and a few items to stock the fridge. Our landlord had told us where to find a little grocery store nearby. Didn't find it.











We wandered through el Barri Gotic till we got to La Rambla, where there just had to be a store ...

We followed a stream of people down an alley ... ...and found ourselves in La Boqueria, an active market since 1701.

La Boqueria is a huge space crammed with tables and stands and open stores selling everything good to eat: cheese, chocolates, divine flaky pastries filled with chocolate, long braids of sesame bread, meat from rib roasts to goat heads to feet of who knows what -- my cook's heart wanted to take home a bunch of bones to start a pot of soup. Chickens, seafood, mountains of spices, a dozen kinds of mushrooms, beautifully arranged fruits and vegetables, prepared foods, everything beautiful and fragrant and vying for my attention.

With huge self-control we managed to spend only 20 euros and not buy more than we could carry: eggs, butter (a choice of French, Spanish or Swiss, salted or unsalted, offered in various sizes and containers), potatoes, Spanish olive oil and jerez vinegar, coffee, pastries, fruit, a bit of cheese, just enough to start the day and stock our new apartment a bit.

The market was packed, it was practically impossible to get down the aisles. The variety of products offered was overwhelming -- and I wanted everything. I heard vendors speaking mainly Spanish and Catalan, with bits of English and French. Fortunately, they also spoke sign language. That was great, since my pre-coffee brain was having trouble getting around simple phrases like "mas poqueno."

We went back several times that day and over the rest of the week. In addition to bread and cheese and garlic and wine and pastries and fresh veg for salad and fruit and tapas supplies, over the next few days we feasted at home on rib roast, tuna and salmon steaks, anointed with fragrant Spanish oil, fresh herbs and garlic. Yum!

Oh, the little grocery the landlord mentioned was about 90 seconds away from our apartment and would have required a left turn out the front door instead of the left turn we took at the end of our street, just steps from the aforementioned door. The mini-mercado was nothing special, an ok place to buy paper towels and the like. I wouldn't have missed that first glimpse of La Boqueria for the world.

(BTW, Saveur magazine's June/July issue features markets around the world, including a nice spread on La Boqueria. The mag's website has a recipe from Bar Pinotxo, the tapas place in the market, which our landlord recommended. We never managed to eat there. If only every day had 29 hours and I had an even more robust appetite!)

Random thoughts about food in Spain, No. 1

We stayed in apartments during most of our time in Spain, for several reasons, some of them food related. Sometimes when we're traveling our clocks get really turned around and we're hungry at strange times. A couple of times in the past we've been out searching the streets for a restaurant at a time when everything was closed except American fast-food franchises. Eating at home saves money, it's fun to explore the markets, the four of us all enjoy cooking, plus shopping and eating together gave us time to talk about what we'd seen and done during the day.

We stayed near Puerta del Sol n Madrid, and we hit El Corte Ingles, Spain's largest department store, almost every evening on our way back to our apartment. In their basement supermercado we stocked up on eggs, cheese, bread, jamon Iberico or Serrano, olives, roast peppers, smoked salmon, fruit, fresh veg and the like for tapas dinners and hearty breakfasts. We bought and consumed several containers of blood-orange juice every day (Tropicana brand -- do we have that here?!), and sampled unbelievably inexpensive and highly enjoyable riojas and albarinos. We all appreciated having such great variety less than five minutes from home.

Dateline: Madrid

There are only a handful of Goya's paintings in New York, so I wanted to see as many as possible while in Spain. Looking at the broad variety of his work in the Prado and the deep honesty of it, in a flash I was hit with the analogy of Goya as the John Coltrane of late-18th/early-19th-century painters. The cartoons Goya did for tapestry designs were like Trane's early days: Solid talent, paying dues, earning a living, honing technique, attracting attention, but not necessarily making a unique personal statement. Like Trane walking the bar at the Ridge Point in Philly circa 1950.

Goya's court paintings are like the Coltrane years documented on his Prestige recordings, many of them as a sideman: Amazing technique, remarkable creativity, an honest vision, this guy can do anything and consistently do it very, very, very well. He could bring a lot of soul and expression to a standard, a la "I Want to Talk About You."

There's something entirely different going on in Goya's black paintings. He's channeling something higher, producing something deeper. His chops are so enormous by this point that it feels like the paintings just flowed out of him, covering the walls of his house. The work may not have been as commercially viable as the cartoons and not as accessible as the court paintings, but it's intensely passionate and personal, like A Love Supreme or Meditations. Looking at these pieces took my breath away.

Seeing that breadth of expression made me want to track down as many Goyas as possible, which eventually brought me to Ermita de San Antonio de la Florida. The artist painted frescoes on the ceiling, including the rotunda, which depicts the monk who became St. Anthony raising a murder victim from the dead so he can exonerate an innocent man who just happens to be the future saint's father. It's amazing work, intense, dramatic and sensuous. From the looks of these frescoes alone, Goya influenced everyone from Matisse to Monet to Degas to Picasso.

As Uncle Louie says, Goya's work is ahead of his time and continues to have a remarkably modern feel. Goya is buried in the little Ermita de San Antonio de la Florida.

So what does all this have to do with being a food soul? Goya's tomb just happens to be right across the street from Casa Mingo, a classic sidreria (cider house) reputed to have the best pollo asado in Madrid. I believe it is the only pollo asado I ate in Madrid, but it was slammin'. Hot and juicy roast chicken, simply seasoned with salt and garlic, two gorgeous golden halves served on a plate with their own natural juices, with delightful crusty bread and a simple green salad on the side, plus agua mineral and the house brand of the mildly fizzy, mildly hard cider (3 or 4 percent alcohol). Simply perfect. We didn't have room for dessert.

In Spain, no matter how full a restaurant is, your table is yours for as long as you care to stay. We were on the early side, so Casa Mingo was practically empty when we got there, but it filled up as we lingered over our meal, talking about what we'd seen and watching the parade of people passing along the paseo.

In spite of a full and fulfilling day, Goya and pollo asado helped us find the energy to walk back to our apartment, taking the long way in the twilight past
el Templo Debod, el Campo del Moro, el Jardines de Sabatini,
la Plaza de Oriente, el Palacio Real and la Plaza Mayor to our home in Sol.

India House, Montrose, NY

I've been hearing about this restaurant for more than a decade. A colleague moved to the area and India House practically achieved speed-dial status in the first month. She rated Indian food on the Sirtaj scale, so I figured that India House must be good. Recently I had a chance to find out for myself, when I made plans to take lunch to a friend and former colleague in the area, who was at home with a newborn.

Takeout lunch seemed kind of pricey, until I started unpacking the bag and discovered that two entrees with rice, bread and relishes could easily be enough to feed four or more enthusiastic diners.

When I ordered tikka masala, I flashed back to the days of ordering from Sirtaj, when there always seemed to be the voice of ... ahem ... a colleague, screaming in the background: "Tell them to make sure the white meat is juicy!" I "should of" done that. The dish was tasty, but the chicken was dry. The flavorful and mildly spicy red sauce helped a bit.

Channa saag -- chickpeas and spinach -- was the star: spicy, creamy, complex, topped with fresh cilantro and julienned fresh ginger. Very, very good.
The entrees came with a huge container of fragrant yellow rice and a couple of tangy relishes, including a brown sauce with an acidic zing. I ordered a side of raita, in case there was any fire to be put out with the nice, creamy blend of yogurt and chopped cucumbers, with a hint of mint and cilantro. And a side of dal seems practically mandatory for an Indian meal. It was ok, very thin, almost sauce consistency.

Two stuffed breads, onion kulcha (stuffed, appropriately enough, with onions, cilantro and spices) and keema nan (stuffed with ground lamb) completed the meal. We hardly put a dent in the bagful of goodies.

I'd like to check out India House again, maybe with a group, to sample more dishes. I suppose the lunch buffet would be a way to do that, or maybe I'll just pick up another bag of takeout when I go to visit the other new baby boy in northern Westchester.

Brasserie Ruhlmann, Rockefeller Center

Here's an elegant destination that really does it right.

The Lady in Red invited me to Brasserie Ruhlmann for dinner, chat and music. She wasn't there when I arrived, but the maitre d' could not have been more welcoming. He made me comfortable at a nice table near the music and personally delivered a cup of tea. In the few minutes it took for my companion to arrive, at least two other people checked in to see if I had everything I needed.

It's a beautiful setting reflecting the timeless beauty of Art Deco: dark paneled walls with inlaid designs, warm colors with a rich, elegant feel. A perfect place to enjoy champagne and potato chips (Marilyn's meal of choice in Seven-Year Itch, though I don't believe hers were home-made, as they are at Brasserie Ruhlmann), and nibble on tuna tartare and oysters on the half shell.

The service was friendly and efficient, I couldn't find fault with it, even after mentally running through the litany of complaints I've heard from my nearests and dearests.

As someone who has enjoyed wine by the glass everywhere from the Lower East Side to the Delaware Water Gap, I found Ruhlmann's list very interesting, varied and fairly priced. I've seen lower-quality wines offered at higher prices in Twin Falls, Idaho.

The women's room was very nice, with three shallow (but non-splashing) sinks scooped from a single slab of Absolute Black granite.

Brasserie Ruhlmann is an elegant place to relax with a drink and a snack in Midtown. Though it has a special-occasion feel, the prices are not stratospheric -- especially for the neighborhood -- and the atmosphere and service alone are priceless.

Beyoglu, 81st and Third, UES

This may be my new fave place to eat in Manhattan, especially during off hours or when weather permits outdoor dining. I've been there three times in less than a year and the food has been great each time. The decor is nice, but the volume is unbearable inside when it's crowded. It's impossible to talk, and that's one of the main reasons I go to restaurants.

We ate outside on a nice spring day, which made conversation manageable, though we occasionally had to pause for street noise. We shared the vegetarian plate and a shepherd's salad. The veg plate consists of six or eight appetizers: hummus, baba ganoush, couscous, a spicy pepper and eggplant dish, spinach, thick and creamy yogurt, stuffed grape leaves, I think I'm forgetting something. The dish is garnished with olives, tomatoes and lemon wedges, and is served with a small loaf of round, chewy bread. It's divine. Such a nice balance of flavors and textures. It seemed like a vast amount of food, I'm sure we each had three or more helpings.

The shepherd's salad contained diced tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, and red onions, with a mild oil and vinegar dressing with a bit of dill and mint. Again, a nice balance of flavors. Strong-flavored ingredients like dill and red onion can be overpowering if not added with a light hand, as they were in this case. Everything was crunchy and super fresh, it tasted made to order.

For dessert we had pistachio baklava, the top layers were flaky and crisp, the bottom layers honey soaked. Lots of nuts, too. Very rich and decadent. The decaf cappuccino was delicious.

The rest room is nice and clean, with good lighting. There's a table for your purse, bag, whatever. The room could use a coat hook.

Though Beyoglu was fairly busy, we didn't feel any time pressure. Service was good, not intrusive. We sat and noshed and chatted for ... almost four hours. That may be a new record. The food and the weather were conducive to relaxing, taking our time, nibbling, catching up, and no one on the wait staff did anything to discourage us, even after the bill was paid.