Comida

One of the things I miss most about Spain is the food. And not just the food in itself, but the style and culture of eating in Spain-- food isn't just for nourishment, it is a tool for being together and for conversation.


Spanish cuisine currently holds a reputation for innovation and creativity previously only given to French cuisine. However, the imaginative recipes being developed by today's Spanish chefs are, despite their innovation, based on the solid traditions of Spanish food which is unpretentious, simple, healthy, and delicious.


Traditional Spanish cuisine is very much a product of the resources, geography, and the different cultures that have influenced Spain. Spain and Portugal form the Iberian Peninsula, separated from mainland Europe by the Pyrenees Mountains and surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea. Spain's miles of coastline, more than any other country in Europe, provide bountiful seafood and fish which appear in many traditional dishes like paella, Spain's national dish. Spain is also a very close neighbor to Africa (Morocco is only fourteen kilometers/eight miles across the Strait of Gibralter) and many of the spices, like cumin and safron, used in Spanish cooking are from African influences. Different cultures that settled in Spain throughout the ages brought their own contribution to Spain's cuisine. The prominence of wine is a result of the time Spain spent as part of the Roman Empire. The Greeks introduced the quintessential Spanish ingredient, olive oil, while seasonings and spices that we associate with Spanish food are a legacy of the Moors.


Spain's culinary traditions rely on an abundance of locally grown vegetables and fruits as well as meats and poultry. The Greeks may have brought olives to Spain, but the arid climate of Spain is perfectly suited to grow them as well as many other fruits and vegetables. Jamón serrano, a cured ham, and chorizo, a seasoned sausage, are very popular as well as a multitude of other dishes with ham and pork. Seriously, they like ham so much that there is a museum, El Museo de Jamón in Madrid, and they have jamón flavored chips. Seafood and fish are popular in coastal areas like Valencia and Andalucía. Other popular foods are cheeses, eggs, beans, rice, nuts (especially almonds), and bread (a crusty white bread, baked fresh daily, is common and was part of my daily diet). Olive oil and garlic are also common ingredients; my señora made a traditional dish called sopa de ajo (garlic soup) made with olive oil, day-old bread, and garlic.


One of the best-known Spanish dishes, a stew called paella (pie-AY-ah), originated in Valencia, an eastern province on the Mediterranean Sea. Rice, a main ingredient, is grown in Valencia's tidal flatlands. Though there are numerous variations, paella is usually made of a variety of shellfish (such as shrimp, clams, crab, and lobster), chorizo (sausage), vegetables (tomatoes, peas, and asparagus), chicken and/or rabbit, and long-grained rice. Broth, onion, garlic, wine, pimiento (sweet red pepper), and saffron add flavor to the stew. My señora also made paella with chicken, which I liked better than the traditional seafood paella.

Home

So I am back in California, home from my adventure in Spain. And I miss Spain already. California, forgive me; I did not realize how much I loved you until I was away. But, culture shock on re-entry is much worse than it was going into Spain. It is crazy to think about all that has happened and how much I have changed in the past few months. Even though I am no longer in Spain, there is so much I am still thinking about and still processing. So, even though I will not be posting things that are currently happening, I think I will continue writing about memories from Spain and everything I am still working through.

Some of the reasons why Spain has stolen my heart

For the past week or so temporary stands and booths have been being constructed in Plaza Nueva and in Plaza de San Francisco. I discovered first that, in addition to celebrating the Day of the Book on April 23, today begins the Sevilla Feria del Libro--a ten day festival celebrating the book. When I was in Barcelona, I discovered that they celebrate el día de San Jordi (Sait George in English-- you know the guy who killed the dragon) which also happens to be April 23; it is like their Valentine's day, except they exchange books and flowers. Anyway, the booths in Plaza Nueva and Plaza de San Francisco are filled with books from the bookstores around Sevilla. If you did not already realize, this is Lit Major Heaven, and I need not say that this could be very dangerous for my wallet. (Sevilla, you have a city-wide book fair!? Do you know how much I love you?)


This is not the only way in which Spain has stolen my heart. In Barcelona I visited the Chocolate Museum, or the Museu de Xocolata as it is known in Catalan. Besides the fact that sweet chocolate was a Spanish invention (the Spanish took the bitter chocolate used by the Aztecs and mixed it with milk and sugar which was the beginning of what we know as chocolate), the first mechanized chocolate factory was in Barcelona, Spain. Many of the displays are chocolate sculptures, including various well-known Barcelona buildings and illustrations from various stories. It is owned by the Gremi de Pastisseria de Barcelona (the city pastry-makers' guild) and on the other side of teh courtyard is the school for pastry chefs. The wall of the building is practically all windows, so I stood there watching them bake for a long time. It was like the Food Network, only better.

So, this one time in Spain I ate...

A bowl of melted cheese. Seriously.

Some friends and I went out for tapas and copas the other night, and I ordered the restaurant specialty: a tapa called provoleta napolitana. The menu described it as grilled provolone cheese with tomatoes, olives, olive oil, garlic and other herbs (my best translation). I was expecting something like an empanada, or something on top of bread, or... I don't exactly know what I was expecting. What I got was all of those ingredients melted together in a bowl.

Literally, it was a medium-sized bowl full of melted cheese that I ate with a spoon. It was surprisingly and amazingly one of the best things I have tasted in Spain. I suppose it might be almost like a pizza without bread or tomato sauce. Even so, I still can't get over the fact that they served a tapa that is just melted cheese...

Archivo de Indias: AARRGH!

Today I visited the Archivo General de Los Indias (The General Archive of the Indies), a museum and the place where archival documents are stored that illustrate the history of Spain's empire in the Americas and the Philippines. King Carlos III, the king who my Civ profe argues is the best king of all the Bourbons, started a project to bring together under a single roof all the documentation regarding the overseas empire, which until that time had been dispersed among various archives. At the moment there is an exhibition about pirates in the Caribbean (not the movies, the REAL pirates). The exhibition gave a history about famous pirates, what piracy meant for Spain, and how the Spanish goverment tried to fight back. If you did not know, almost all the territory (and thus gold) of the Americas and the West Indies belonged to Spain. Other countries, England and France specifically (but Spain has always had problems with France, so what else is new?), wanted "un trozo de la pastel" and decided the best way to get it was to steal from Spain. Remember Sir Francis Drake? Hey was a privateer, meaning he was paid by the Queen of England to be a pirate and rob as much gold and silver from Spain as he could. Then he was knighted for doing a good job. Imagine how Spain felt about that... Then, the Dutch government saw what a success the English had had with that plan and decided to give it a try as well with their brand of privateers called corsairs. After that, it was anybody's game and buccaneers, freebooters, and smugglers roamed the open seas. Aarrrgh, me mateys! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! And all those other pirate things... Anyway, the Islands of Tortuga, Saint-Domingue, and Jamaica (which was owned by the English, who consequently did not care that Spain was being robbed blind) turned into bases for them because the governors there promoted their expeditions and offered them refuge when needed. Reading about all of this coincidentally made me feel very piratey and I admit that I rather wanted to get some rum, but I had to run back to class asking myself "Why is the rum always gone?"

Teatro de la Maestranza

Last night, my roommate Christy and I went to the Teatro de la Maestranza, a famous modern theater here in Sevilla, to see the English National Ballet’s production of Cinderella. I have a list of things I need to do before leaving Sevilla, and one of the things on the list is to see something in the Teatro de la Maestranza. Christy and I noticed signs for the ballet on the street during Semana Santa, and after Christy told me that we could get tickets for only 26 euro, we decided to go for it. I am so glad that we did. Amazing. The music, by Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev, was beautiful beyond words. The grace with which the dancers moved seemed contagious, as if I gained grace and peace simply by watching them.

Pablo Picasso said, “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life,” and it is so true. This has been a crazy week for me with projects due and a big exam yesterday. I have been trying to get things sorted out for next year at Point Loma, mainly housing and class registration. Without wasting your time with too many of the details of my problems with scheduling classes for next year, I will simply say that it has been a mess and so have I. I have been emailing just about every professor in my department trying to get things worked out, and yesterday I received an email that eliminated an option I had been counting on. I was crushed and at the end of my rope. Seeing the ballet after all of the stress and emotional exhaustion of this week was tangibly refreshing, even cleansing. And this weekend I am going to Madrid with my Art class to see some museums, so I am looking forward to a weekend of art.

¿Una Moto? Ok, whatever you say.

In addition to the upper-division Spanish program CC-CS has for American college students, they also hold English classes in the Center and offer English tutoring for Spanish children. As I am studying to be a teacher, have had experience with children and with tutoring, and would love to have some extra cash, I decided to sign up to be a tutor through the program. Because it had been a while and I had not heard anything, I assumed that I was not going to receive any students to tutor. However, when I checked my email today, I had a message saying that I did indeed have students and the parents would like me to start today.

I nervously proceeded to call the phone number given to me and to talk with Ignacio, the father of the two children whom I will be working with. After we determined that 3:30 to 4:30 in the afternoon on Mondays and Wednesdays would work the best for everyone, he asked that I meet him in front of the Corte Ingles in Nervion so he could walk with me to their house so I did not get lost. "Ok. I can do that," I thought. "No pasa nada." This, however, required that I rush home immediately after my class ended aty 1:45 pm, eat quickly (which never exactly works out in Spain because meals always have a way of taking longer than you think), and leave my house at 3:00 pm to power-walk to El Corte Ingles by 3:30 pm. No pasa nada, right?

Well, Carmen was out when I arrived home; because everything happened so quickly while I was at school, I did not have a chance to tell her that I was in a hurry for lunch today. After I was eventually able to gulp down some lunch and run out the door, I made it to our meeting place in time. Except I was the only one who was on time. I waited there for about twenty minutes before I received a call from Teresa, the mother of the family, apologizing for the confusion and saying that Ignacio was coming to get me "en la moto" because it was a little before 4:00 pm and they did not want me to be late for my class at 5:00 pm. As I was too busy being relieved that they had not forgotten me and wondering about how on earth I was going to get to class, it did not quite register in my brain that "la moto" is short for "la motocicleta." ......

Ignacio showed up a few minutes later, sure enough on a moto scooter. As he explained that he had been caught up at work and apologized for being late, he pulled out a spare helmet and handed it to me. To his question of "¿Te da miedo las motos?" (Are you afraid of motos?), I replied, "No, no. Está bien," even though that was not exactly the truth. He assured me that we would go slowly anyway. I put on the helmet, got on the back of the scooter, put my feet on the small foot rests, and then we were off-- in the direction from which I had come! I had just power-walked twenty minutes down Calle San Francisco y Javier to get there on time, and now we were riding back in the direction I came from. I could do nothing but smile (trying not to laugh). There I was in Sevilla, with the wind in my face, riding on the back of a scooter with someone I had just met. The situation was, well, just ironically funny, but here in Sevilla-- with a wave of the hand and "No pasa nada," we just go with it.

We got to the house, and I met Teresa and los niños-- Nacho, the boy, is 12 and his sister Teresita is 10. We did a few exercises and talked for while, so I could get to know them a little and get a feel for how much English they knew, but we did not have enough time for a full hour. Ignacio told me that he would take me back to school on the moto today so that I would not be late, for which I was very grateful. I strapped on the spare helmet again-- a little tighter this time so it did not slip to the back of my head in the wind-- and we were off once again. To get back to the Center, we drove along the river (which was very scenic from my view on the back of a moto) and through some back streets to avoid traffic before pulling up in front of the Center on Calle Harinas. I thanked Ignacio for getting me there on time for class and said good-bye, thinking to myself, "Well, that was interesting."

¿Una moto? Ok, whatever you say. No pasa nada.

An Artsy Semester

So, I am now in the middle of my second week of regular classes (my first month here was an intensive period of just one language class every day for four hours) and I have sorted out my schedule. I am taking Advanced Spanish Composition, History/Civilization of Spain, Art History of Spain, Spanish Film, and Cultural Realities of Spain. As most of you know, I am majoring in Literature and Spanish at Point Loma, and I was hoping to be able to study literature of Spain while I am in Spain, but it was impossible due to schedule conflicts. On the other hand, I am tremendously excited about how well all of my classes fit together this semester. My Spanish Civ. class and my Art History class are both starting with the fifteenth century and moving forward to the modern era. Studying both the history of Spain and the art of Spain that came out of those eras in the same semester is going to be fantastic. It is also going to be a really artsy semester for me with Art History, Spanish Film, and a water-color painting class I am taking for fun on top of my normal hobby of photography. It should be interesting, and I am looking forward to learning a lot, to say the least.

A Soundtrack for Life

I ride the bus from Nervion every morning to Prado San Sebastián where I transfer to the tramvía (electric/cable train) to continue on to Plaza Nueva where I get off and walk a few more blocks to school. I then do this in reverse to go home for lunch, then come back to school for my classes in the afternoon, and then once again in reverse when my day is finally done. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time on public transportation (when it finally stops raining here, I hope to walk more, but until then...well, we continue on). The tramvía at least is always tuned to what must be a classical radio station-- sometimes it is an intense symphony, a melancholy piano sonata, or famous operatic works. Although I already had a sense of how important music is in a film, I am learning more about it in my Spanish Film class, which, consequently, is changing the way I observe and perceive things. When riding the tramvía, I find myself imagining that the music is part of the soundtrack of my life or someone else's life: "If this were a movie, what kind of emotions should I be feeling, what kind of thoughts would be going through my head, where would I be headed, and where would I be coming from?" Oh, man, my profe would be so proud.

Chocolate

If you don't know how much I love chocolate, maybe this will tell you:
Yesterday I went to the coffee shop Café de Indias close to where I go to school to try the hot chocolate which I have heard so much about and to do some homework. Café de Indias (Indias like the West Indies, not like the nation) is a chain of coffee shops that started here in Sevilla and has begun to spread to other parts of Spain. It is like a café plus specialty bakery plus ice cream shop plus coffee shop plus bar (well, everyone serves alcohol in Spain, even their McDonald's). I had heard a lot about the hot chocolate here in Spain, especially from the Café de Indias, so I ordered a glass. It was unbelievably delicious, like nothing I have ever tasted-- almost as if they had melted semi-sweet chocolate chips and added a little bit of milk to thin it out. Spain's version of what I know as hot chocolate (warm water or milk with cocoa powder) is called Cola-Cao, and it is also very good and more rich than the "Nestle" or "Swiss Miss" versions I am familiar with, but this hot chocolate was something else entirely. The Spanish usually drink this kind with churros (churros con chocolate). I didn't know something like that existed, and now I fear my life will never be the same.

Familia

My family in Sevilla consists of me, my roommate Christy, and our host mom Carmen. Christy is from New Mexico and is in her third year at the University of Tulsa in Oklahoma where she is studying English and Spanish. We seem to have a lot in common and I am so excited to get to know her more. Christy and I left the hotel together and arrived at our house/apartment in Barrio (neighborhood) Nervion to be welcomed by Carmen, a petite, elderly woman. We had about an hour to get settled in our small room with a window that looks out over the tree-lined street before we sat down for lunch. After only a few meals, I already love Spanish cuisine. We had arroz con pollo (a rice dish with chicken and spices), fresh baked bread, and salad. After I asked her, Carmen suggested a few local cafes and bakeries for me to try. I want to find a local cafe with outdoor seating where I can study-- someplace I can become a regular. I am excited to get to know the city-- in Spanish, conocerla, which means to become familiar with, to know personally. I already have done some exploring and am getting closer to knowing her more.