Easter is almost upon us, a time of rebirth, Easter egg hunts and a raging bull charging down the main street of Arcos de la Frontera. Named the ‘Toro de Aleluya,’ this incredible spectacle happens every year on Easter Sunday in this beautiful whitewashed village in Andalucía.

A few years ago, I was living in El Puerto de Santa María with my wife and two young daughters. We heard about the Toro de Aleluya festival online and decided to experience it firsthand. So, we put on our Easter best, all shiny shoes and polka dotted dresses. We hopped into the car and headed for Arcos.

Arcos de La Frontera is an ancient village perched atop a limestone crag overlooking vineyards that reach the famous sherry town of Jerez de La Frontera. This is one of the famous White Towns of Andalucía, and you can see it glimmering in the sun for miles as you drive across the plains. Once you enter the town, the narrow main road curves up the hill, then under a narrow archway – part of the defensive walls around the castle that perches atop the hill. The archway was definitely made for horses, not SUVs, as evidenced by the colorful stripes of car paint decorating the stone on either side deposited by scratched bumpers and mirrors over the years.

The old town beyond the archway is magical, a fairytale tangle of winding cobblestone streets and impossibly narrow alleys. Then you come upon the Plaza de Cabildo. Bordered on three sides by castle walls, a 15th century Gothic-Mudejar church and a stunning Parador hotel, the fourth is open to spectacular plunging views over the Río de Guadalete river valley.

On Easter Sunday, nobody was driving through the narrow archway into the casco antiguo. The main street was fenced off with barred metal barriers awaiting the running of the bulls. So, we parked our car in a field by the river specially set aside for the festival. As we got out of the car and straightened our Easter outfits, we joined the crowd of revelers walking towards the village. It began to dawn on me that we were embarrassingly overdressed.

We walked beside young men in Adidas track outfits shouting and telling jokes, and families in jeans munching on snacks, all in a rather irreverent mood for Easter Sunday. Most surprising, a good percentage passed around liters of Cruzcampo beer and bottles of brandy. As we walked into the village there was a carnival atmosphere, with vendors hawking cotton candy and cheap trinkets from folding tables.

We elbowed our way along the metal barrier flanking the main street, Calle Corredera, looking for a good place to post up and await the drama. All the way up the hill people were crowded in the narrow space between the whitewashed buildings and the barrier. We found a space halfway to the top of the hill in front of a small tree, and I hoisted my 5-year-old daughter on my shoulders.

At noon we felt a surge of electricity run through the crowd. At the bottom of the hill the first bull had been released, and while we could not see or hear what was happening yet, the sudden excitement and alertness of thousands of spectators reached us long before the bull arrived.

My daughter squeezed my head as the first group of men sprinted by. The powerful fighting bull rounded the corner at an energetic trot then came to a stop, jerking its massive head left and right to follow the closest runners. His two-foot-long horns shined in the sun. A man waved his shirt in the air and the bull charged up the street as the runners sprinted to safety.

The bull was past us in less than a minute, but it seemed like time had slowed to a crawl. Along with the rest of the crowd, my family talked excitedly about the experience and breathed a sigh of relief. All of a sudden, the crowd above us surged and people started to shout – something was happening, and it was on our side of the fence. A group of men ran down the sidewalk and my daughter shouted that the bull was coming! As the men got closer, I could see they were clad in neon EMT jackets carrying a runner who had been trampled by the bull. Thankfully the bull had stayed inside the barriers!

After a few hours the crowd dispersed. Unlike in other cities, this ‘running of the bulls’ did not end in a corrida, or bullfight. The bulls were rounded up and sent back to their ranch, exhausted I am sure, but none the worse for wear.

We wandered the streets and ended up having lunch at Bar Alcaravan, a restaurant located in an ancient cave carved into the limestone walls of the city. Sipping mint tea, we talked excitedly about the morning’s adventure. This was an Easter celebration we would never forget!

If you have ever tasted a bite of paella, you’ve enjoyed the deep culinary legacy of the Moors, who ruled much of Spain for 800 years and introduced rice and saffron to Iberia. The list of Moorish ingredients at the heart of Spanish cuisine shows the profound legacy they left behind. What would Spain’s recipes look like without foods such almonds, oranges, rice, saffron, eggplant and artichokes?

Spain has been influenced by several great civilizations. Legend has it that Hercules founded the city of Cádiz, though that is hard to verify! For certain, the Phoenicians established cities and towns across southern Spain around 3,000 years ago, imparting seafaring traditions such as the Almadraba tuna harvesting methods. The Romans ruled for six centuries, and during that time, Spain became a major source of grain, wine and olive oil for the empire. In the north, Celtic tribes and Visigoths brought other food traditions, such as ciders, lard and beer, along with pastoral foods from pigs, sheep and goats.

Arriving in 711, the Moors from north Africa quickly conquered the fragmented post-Roman Visigoths and within eight years they controlled nearly all of Iberia except for the mountainous regions of Asturias and the Basque Country. For the next 800 years, their culture influenced all of Spain, though some regions were only under their rule for less than a century.

The heart of the empire was Ál-Andalus, the vast southern region now called Andalucía. The Moors transformed cities like Sevilla and Granada into prosperous centers of culture, and Córdoba was arguably the biggest city in Europe in the 10th century. Over time every aspect of life began to reflect the new culture, from architecture and language to the spices and ingredients used to make everyday meals.

I recently visited the Triana neighborhood of Sevilla with my friend Ika Zaken, a Sephardic Jew of Moroccan descent. As he walked through the market and passed restaurants and historic buildings, his face kept lighting up. From the intricate ceramic tilework to the local foods, he saw so much that was familiar. Other than the fact that everyone was chatting in Castilian, he swore that he could be in Morocco.

Even the Spanish language was transformed. There are hundreds of words with Arabic roots, especially in food, including arroz (rice), aceite (oil), aceitunas (olives), azafrán (saffron), albaricoque (apricot) and almendra (almond), to name a few.

This speaks to the changes in agriculture brought by the Moorish conquerors. These invaders from an arid land were delighted by the relative abundance of water, and their expertise in irrigation brought an increase in farming production. They planted groves of oranges, lemons and grapefruit, expanded the olive groves, and introduced almonds to the hills. Rice was one of their greatest gifts, and soon rice fields were established not only in the lowlands of Valencia and Catalonia, but even in mountain valleys such as Calasparra in Murcia.

Many of these foods became so established that we now simply consider them Spanish. As I mentioned, paella, the rice dish seasoned with aromatic saffron, has become famous worldwide. Turrón candy, a delicious confection mixing roasted almonds and honey, is enjoyed across Spain to this day. An aside - because almonds are harvested in the fall, most turrón is made in November and December. Through this coincidence, ironically, this candy with Arabic roots is now closely associated with Christmas celebrations in Spain.

Seafood preparation is also strongly influenced by Moorish techniques. The Moors introduced the idea of deep-frying fish in olive oil. Thus, was born the tradition of ‘pescaito frito,’ where fresh fish like anchovies, flounder, squid and cuttlefish are tossed in a light garbanzo flour and fried until crispy. One of my favorites is puntillitas – tiny squid fried whole, so small you can eat fifty of them in a serving!

Another Moorish tradition is preserving seafood in salt and vinegar, basically pickling them. A great example is boquerones en vinagre, or anchovy fillets preserved in wine vinegar. Another is cazón adobado, shark prepared with vinegar and paprika.

Even Spain’s passion for jamón and other types of cured pork was partly a response to the influence of the Moors. Because Islam forbids consumption of pork, eating jamón and other pork products was a source of pride for the Christians, and a way to prove you weren’t loyal to the Moors.

Moorish rule in Spain officially ended in 1492 when Emir Muhammad XII of Granada surrendered to Queen Isabella of Castilla. By then Spain’s architecture, language and cuisine had been irreversibly transformed and enriched. The next time you nibble on a piece of turrón candy or a enjoy a tasty white anchovy, remember the legacy of the Moorish culture and all the other great civilizations that made Spanish cuisine what it is today.

The largest fishing port in Spain is the Barajas airport in Madrid, or so the saying goes! When I think of iconic Spanish foods, my first thought is of the amazing jamón and chorizo sausages, or the 400 artisan cheeses, or the incredible extra virgin olive oil. But seafood is just as important to the cuisine of Spain, and every coastal region of the country boasts a wealth of distinct and delicious food traditions.

Spain is virtually surrounded by the sea and eating fish and shellfish has been at the heart of Spanish cuisine for millennia. In fact, Spain trails only Japan in fish consumption per capita. Eating lots of seafood is a core part of the Mediterranean diet and a big reason that the Spanish are among the healthiest people on earth.

Pescaíto Frito
When I lived in El Puerto de Santa María in the province of Cádiz, amazing seafood was everywhere. This is the land of pescaíto frito, super fresh seafood lightly floured and fried in olive oil. One of my favorite places to eat was Restaurante Romerijo, where you could select a variety of fish and have it cooked to order. I remember devouring piles of boquerones fritos (anchovies), puntillitas (tiny squid – there must have been 50 to a plate!), acedias (tiny flounder), merluza (hake) and so much more.

Camarones, Gambas y Langostinos
And no seafood is overlooked. Once I visited a local market to buy some seafood and vegetables and I saw an old woman holding a basket filled with tiny brine shrimp called camarones. Every few minutes she would tap her basket and the shrimp would jump in the air, thus proving that they were fresh. Later I visited the famed Casa Balbino restaurant in Sanlúcar de Barrameda to sample their tortillita de camarones. As I decided what I’d like to eat, the bartender wrote my order in chalk on top of the bar. In a few minutes he delivered the hot, crispy tortillitas. These light, lacey fritters are made by mixing fresh brine shrimp with chickpea flour and diced onions, then fried in very hot olive oil. I’ll never forget how tasty they were.

Some other local shrimp and prawns are even more sought after. For Americans, shrimp are categorized by size and not much else. By contrast, the Spanish take great pride in the hyper-local varieties. Gambas blancas de Huelva are delicate white shrimp only found near the city of Huelva, with a flavor so sweet it is required that you suck the heads to taste every last drop of flavor. Langostino shrimp are fished by hand off the shores of Sanlúcar de Barrameda, and have a rich, lobster-like flavor that I can taste just thinking about it. These local delicacies are revered, and people are willing to pay eye watering prices for them.

Atún Almadraba
There is a theme I have witnessed over and over again – the deep pride that the Spanish have for their local region and the food traditions that are part of their identity. A perfect example is the ancient almadraba, a tuna harvest first introduced to Spain over 3,000 years ago by the Phoenicians. Every spring bluefin tuna (atún rojo) migrate from the Atlantic Ocean into the Mediterranean Sea to spawn in the warm waters. The almadraba technique involves fishermen creating a labyrinth of nets that the fish enter and can’t escape. Finally, the tunas end up in a central net surrounded by fishing boats. The fish are lifted to the surface and fishermen jump into their midst, put a rope around their tails and hoist them out of the water.

For centuries, the annual harvest provided essential food for the local communities that lasted the rest of the year. Most of the fish was salted and dried to be eaten later. In the fishing town of Barbate, I visited a small company that continues to preserve tuna in the old ways, although they generally work with the more common yellowfin tuna. They told me that none of the fish is wasted - I was impressed that they even salted and dried the intestines and roe! The owner took us to the roof to see the most prized cut, called mojama. Hanging in the open air, caressed by sea breezes, were hundreds of mahogany colored tuna loins. They reminded me of cured hams in miniature and, in fact, the drying process is quite similar. My host carved some thin slices of mojama, drizzled them with olive oil, and served them with fresh bread and a glass of fino sherry. The tuna was salty and tasted of the sea, with a firm, lean texture. It struck me that I was sharing a meal that the locals had been eating long before the Moors or even the Romans arrived on Spain’s shores.

With the decline in the bluefin tuna population, the current harvest is limited by the government. I rarely eat bluefin because of its rarity, but I had to try the fish caught in this ancient way. My opportunity came at a chiringuito beach café in El Puerto de Santa María. Built right on the sands of the beach, the chiringuito served frosty Cruzcampo beer and amazing seafood, like grilled sardines caught fresh that morning. One day in June their special was atún almadraba, I had to order it. Cooked simply on a plancha griddle with a pinch of sea salt, it was a revelation. Each bite of dark red tuna was tender and ridiculously rich. And because of the Spanish reverence for great seafood, it was exceptionally fresh and perfectly cooked, with no spices or sauces to get in the way.

Bacalao

While almadraba tuna sustained a relatively small group of fishing towns near the mouth of the Mediterranean, bacalao was the most important fish across the country. Situated in the north of Spain, the Basques were famed fishermen and whalers even in Roman times. It is even possible that they set foot in North America before Columbus’s journey as they sought richer fishing grounds. Sometime after the year 1,000 they perfected a way to salt and preserve cod. Being both accomplished seafarers and savvy businessmen, they began to sell the fish to traders who introduced the inexpensive, transportable and tasty fish to the rest of the Iberian Peninsula. Thus, bacalao became a staple food for nearly all of Spain.

Tasting a dish of bacalao al pil pil in the Basque city of San Sebastián helped me understand why salt cod was so important. After the cod is soaked to remove excess salt, the cooked bacalao is firm and flaky with a pleasant saltiness. Centuries ago, when meat was scarce and fresh seafood wasn’t accessible to most inland communities, this fish must have been a treasure.

Bonito del Norte
Another Basque seafood tradition is the harvest of bonito del norte tuna. Again, the Spanish reverence for quality seafood becomes clear as you see how the tuna is harvested and prepared. Translated literally as “the nice one from the north,” these special albacore tunas migrate to the cold waters north of Spain to feast on anchovies. This rich diet plumps up the tuna for their return journey into the Atlantic. During the Bonito del Norte season, boats filled with burly Basque fishermen head out from fishing ports like Ondárroa and Getaria. When the captain finds a school of tuna, chum is tossed into the water, then shiny hooks are dropped into the feeding frenzy. The fishermen then use rigid fishing poles to manually haul each fish onto deck, no easy task when you are talking about powerful tuna that can weigh close to 70 pounds! Because they don’t struggle in a net, the fish don’t burn off their fat reserves during the harvest. The result is arguably the tastiest tuna in the world.

Once on shore the fish are transported to the local canneries close to the port. There the bonito del norte tuna is poached, packed by hand in jars and cans, then covered with olive oil. Tasting this delicate white fish has changed my whole concept of canned tuna. Forget about the chalky tuna you’ve tasted before, bonito del norte is tender and rich, best enjoyed on a piece of toast or as the star of a fresh salad.

Mariscos de Galicia
Another region famed for their exceptional seafood is Galicia, in the northwest of Spain. Surrounded by the cool, rich waters of the Atlantic, Galicia has a special geography with large river estuaries, called “rías”. This is an ideal habitat for clams, mussels and scallops. One of my favorite cities of the region is Santiago de Compostela. Visit any restaurant in the old city and you will see a display of fresh seafood in the front window. One of my favorites is berberechos, tiny steamed cockle clams. Each little clam is tender and delicious, bursting with seawater as you bite into them. The region is also famed for mejillones (plump orange mussels), almejas (large tender clams), veiras (scallops) and navajas (razor clams).

While all of these shellfish are amazing when prepared fresh, they are arguably more famous in their canned form. Again, this has to do with the care and effort that the local canneries put into capturing each clam or mussel at the peak of freshness. Our friends at Conservas de Cambados visit the port early every morning to bid on the best clams and mussels at the commercial market. Within hours the shellfish is steamed and placed by hand in each tin, preserving the flavor and texture at its best. This tinned seafood is celebrated across Spain – there are even bars as far away as Barcelona that feature cans of seafood for as much as 50 euros each!

Pulpo
Octopus is another famed seafood of Galicia. I was surprised and delighted to learn that there are many restaurants that specialize in this one seafood, called “pulperias.” Often there is a large cauldron in the front of the restaurant where the proprietor cooks fresh octopus, then chops the tentacles into pieces seasoned with sea salt and smoked paprika (pimentón de La Vera) and serves them on simple wooden plates. During one trip, my wife and I devoured a plate of pulpo at a communal table at a pulperia in Galicia. When we asked what wines they had available, the owner pointed at two barrels on the wall and said “blanco y tinto.” It was one of our favorite meals - simple, rustic and all about the fresh seafood.

Percebes
Finally, I want to tell you about one of the rarest and most unusual seafoods in Spain. On the coast of Galicia, where waves smash relentlessly on the rocky shore, a wild looking creature clings to the water’s edge. About the size of a finger, these percebes (goose barnacles) have a rubbery reddish stalk capped with a hard shell that looks like the toenail of a dinosaur. When the weather is right, brave (crazy?) fishermen clamber down the rocks and chip the percebes off with a sharp knife, in peril of being crushed by a rogue wave at any moment. In fact, several “percebeiros” lose their lives every year.

As you can imagine, this precious seafood fetches a very high price. At the market I’ve seen them cost over $80 per kilo. So, what is all the fuss about? Once boiled, you remove the leathery stalk to expose a bright orange tender center. It has a rich flavor, similar to Maine lobster or Dungeness crab. Because it is such a special local delicacy, and because of their reverence for great seafood, Spaniards are willing to risk their lives and pay top dollar for a homely crustacean rarely eaten anywhere else. To me this is the perfect example of what makes seafood so central to Spanish cuisine. In Spain, the people demand the highest quality food and are willing to pay for it.

This is a reprint of one of Don's favorite stories, we will be back next month with a new article.

Many of us hardly give the cycles of nature a second thought – spring, summer, autumn and winter are little more than markers of passing time. We blissfully eat food from all corners of the earth: grapefruits in July, raspberries in December and cranberries in May! But in Spain many people spend their whole lives in one area and the changing seasons directly affect their lives.

Once a year in the United States we recall our agricultural heritage by setting a bountiful harvest table on Thanksgiving Day – I think of a verse from the old English hymn: "all is safely gathered in ‘ere the winter storms begin." We Americans are an amazingly mobile society. This is not more obvious than on Thanksgiving Day when our airports are full and our trains and highways are swollen with people who want to be with their families.

On my travels to Spain, I notice the strong connection that many in Spain still have to their region and the changing of the seasons. If you travel the byways of Spain during the autumn, you sense that harvest is in the air. In the wine regions across Spain, the people are joining in festive wine celebrations called vendimias, now that the grapes have been picked, pressed and are now on their way to becoming wine.

In the La Vera valley, farmers have already gathered, dried, smoked and milled the autumn pepper crop to make the pungent pimentón, or smoked paprika, we enjoy in our chorizos and stews. In La Mancha, our friends María Angeles, Juan Antonio and their neighbors in the village of Minaya have concluded another labor-intensive harvest of crocuses, toasting the stamens in a special way to make the very best saffron. As you read this, olive growers are harvesting olives by hand much as they have for over two thousand years.

Winter is here and Christmas is nearly upon us. Days are getting shorter, the leaves have fallen to the ground and the bare branches of the trees remind us that the winter season is appreciably different from the rest of the year. The cycle of the Earth continues on its way unmindful of how important we may think our human events may be.

It is a time of dormancy and refreshment. And there seems to be a natural yearning for us to be closer together – to share each other’s warmth and hopes. That is why it is the season for children. Children are pure life – as any grandparent understands most fully. In their exuberant play and spontaneous activity, they dispel the lengthening shadows.

This, then, is the essence of Christmas: in the depth of winter we dwell on the tender image of a mother cradling her newborn child. It elicits hope and recalls the joy of families surrounded by love. Christians celebrate the light of God’s love coming into the world in the person of a newborn child. For all of us a new baby and the laughter of children elicit universal feelings of joy and hope common to us all.

In many a store window in Spain is a crèche or manger scene called a Belén (“Bethlehem”) so that shoppers will see small figures of the Holy Family seeking shelter in a stable, surrounded by animals and shepherds. Many years ago, we were ‘window shopping’ in a village in Cáceres, and saw small hand carved Belén perched in a Samsonite cosmetic case in a travel agency window!

This yuletide is a time for caring: touching others with our warmth. For all of the hustle and bustle of holiday preparations in which we may find ourselves involved – cooking our favorite recipes, dropping off some special plate of baked goods for our neighbor, contacting old friends – our motivation is to bring joy to one another.

Our family, as well as our extended La Tienda family who are working so hard to serve you, extend to you best wishes for a joyful holiday season.

¡Feliz Navidad!
Don

I remember walking into the Museo del Jamón in Madrid, a restaurant with literally hundreds of hams hanging behind the bar and all around the customers! That was when I realized how much jamón is venerated in Spain. It is more than great ham; it is at the center of Spanish cuisine and culture. And there is a reason – jamón is arguably the finest cured ham in the world!

To bring this spirit home, I love to feature a whole jamón at parties or holiday gatherings as a centerpiece where my guests can try their hand at cutting slices for themselves. Over the years I’ve gotten a lot of questions about Spanish ham, so here are some answers to help you choose a great jamón and care for it correctly.

What are the types of Spanish Jamón?

There are three main types of ham in Spain: Serrano, Ibérico and Ibérico de Bellota.

Jamón Serrano, which means ‘mountain cured,’ is the most common and least expensive. Made from normal pork, usually Duroc or Landrace breed, these jamones are aged for 12 to 24 months. They have a mild flavor with a pleasant salt level.

Jamón Ibérico is made from the Ibérico breed pigs, indigenous to the Iberian Peninsula. Jamón Ibérico can be from farm-raised or pasture-raised pork and is aged for at least two years. It has a deep red color and a full, complex flavor from extended aging. I prefer hams from pasture-raised pork, which have a more complex flavor.

Jamón Ibérico de Bellota comes from Ibérico pigs that are pasture-raised in the ‘dehesa’ forest, where they eat a huge amount of sweet acorns – called ‘bellotas’ in Spanish. Because the acorns are only available in the fall, only a select group of pigs have access to this acorn feast. The acorns are packed with antioxidants which transform into oleic acid during the curing process - the same healthful fat found in olive oil. These hams are aged for two to four years, but we have heard of hams aged seven years or longer! Jamón Ibérico de Bellota is the masterpiece of ham, and each marbled slice is a concert of intense flavors.

Which type of Spanish ham should you choose?

Serrano ham is enjoyed every day in Spain. I like to nibble on a few slices with a glass of wine while talking with friends, but it is also delicious added to dishes like salads, sautéed vegetables or served with eggs and potatoes. It is also the most popular addition to the Spanish bocadillo sandwich – basically a loaf of great Spanish bread cut in half, drizzled with olive oil with paper thin slices of Jamón Serrano.

Jamón Ibérico is more of a gourmet event and is typically served on a warm plate with good bread and a bottle of fine wine. It also makes for a fabulous bocadillo, but it is not usually used in cooking.

Jamón Ibérico de Bellota is the ultimate in Spanish jamón and is almost always served very thinly sliced and savored by itself or with a bowl of almonds or olives.

Should I buy a whole Spanish ham, or buy it pre-sliced?

To enjoy jamón at its finest, slicing from a bone-in leg is the best. If you plan to have a party or holiday gathering, a whole jamón is a great centerpiece and you will have plenty of friends to help out. Whole hams also last for weeks, so you can cut fresh slices every day.

That said, not all of us can manage a 15-pound leg of ham. That is why we also slice jamón fresh at La Tienda, packed in nitrogen flushed trays to preserve quality and flavor. We also offer center-cut boneless pieces if you want to carve your own slices, but don’t need a whole ham.

How do I store Spanish ham?

Thousands of years ago, jamón was invented as a way to preserve precious pork for later in the year – there were no refrigerators back then! Sea salt and careful aging transform the pork, decreasing the water activity and protecting it from spoilage. Because of this, jamón can keep for weeks or months if stored properly.

Bone-in Ham Storage:

Store your whole bone-in ham in the refrigerator in its original packaging for 2-3 months or until the best-by date. A day or two prior to cutting into your jamón, remove from the plastic packaging and store it uncut at room temperature on a ham holder or hang from the rope provided. Harmless white mold on the exterior of whole cured hams is not uncommon and can be wiped off using a cloth and some olive oil.

Once you have started slicing into it, the ham can be kept in a cool, dark place on a ham holder for 6 to 8 weeks. Cover the cut surface with reserved fat from the ham, and drape with plastic wrap and a light breathable cloth. Only cut into sections of your ham you plan to carve and eat within a few days. Do not remove skin or fat from other areas. Chunks of ham may be stored tightly wrapped in the refrigerator or freezer for longer term storage.

Boneless or Center Cut Jamón Storage:

Store your boneless or center cut ham in the refrigerator. For easier slicing with an electric slicer or ham knife, place the ham in the freezer for 20 minutes prior to slicing. Leftover pieces can be wrapped tightly in plastic and stored in the refrigerator or freezer for longer term storage.

Sliced Jamón Storage:

Your sliced jamón should be stored according to the package instructions. Serve slices at room temperature. Keep leftover slices refrigerated in an airtight container and consume within 3 to 5 days.

Do I need a ham holder?

If you are slicing a whole ham, a holder is highly recommended. I once saw a master ham carver in Jabugo hold a whole ham in the air with one hand, and slice with the other, but that is best left to professionals! A holder allows you to safely cut thin slices and carve every last part of the ham. We offer holders for both bone-in and boneless hams.

Does jamón have a lot of fat?

Spanish hams have a protective layer of fat that covers the ham and keeps it tender and delicious. The fat can be up to two inches thick in some areas. Before carving, it is important to cut away the outer fat which can be oxidized and won’t taste very good. That said, in Spain they always include a little clean, white fat on each slice which holds a lot of flavor. My daughter once declared the she likes the white meat on the jamón the best!

How does jamón differ from other types of ham?

There are many cured hams in the world, including Prosciutto di Parma from Italy, Bayonne from France and Smithfield from Virginia, to name a few. Spanish jamón is very lightly salted and never smoked. Jamón Serrano is generally aged longer than other European hams for a firmer texture and more intense ham flavor. But the Ibérico and Ibérico de Bellota hams are the most distinct. The special Ibérico breed pigs produce an intensely flavorful ham with a ruby color. And the acorn-fed ‘bellota’ hams are truly exceptional, with a rich nutty flavor and a marbling that melts at room temperature.

Jamón is a central part of Spanish culture and cuisine, and you will find it featured in almost every restaurant and bar from Bilbao to Barcelona. Whether you decide on an impressive whole bone-in ham or a platter of slices, jamón is the best way to taste the essence of Spain.

¡Buen Provecho!

Jonathan Harris

The other day I was daydreaming about traveling to Spain. I pictured landing at the Barajas airport in Madrid, grabbing a bocadillo de jamón and a café con leche from an airport café, renting a car, then heading out to explore cities and towns across this amazing country. And, of course, sitting down for delicious meals wherever I stopped.

Since La Tienda started over 20 years ago, I’ve had the privilege of eating my way across the country as our family searched for new products to bring back to America. Over that time, I’ve developed a list of my very favorite Spanish foods. Most are distinct to one part of Spain, such as paella from Valencia, or rich fabada stew from Asturias. Others are more universal, like croquetas with their crisp shell and creamy interior, or tortilla Española potato omelet, both popular in tapas bars and cafés across the country.

It was hard to narrow the list down to only 10! There are some iconic dishes I had to skip, such as ‘arroz abanda’ from Alicante, or ‘bacalao al pil pil’ from the Basque Country. We will save those for another day, but here are the top ten you must try when you visit Spain.

1. Croquetas

My father, Don Harris, always says the best way to rate a tapas bar is the quality of their croquetas, since a well-run restaurant will make them from scratch daily. These crisp fried croquettes have a warm, creamy interior - I call them Spain’s comfort food. Tapas bars in Spain feature a dizzying variety of flavors. Diced jamón is my favorite, but you can also get croquetas with hongos (wild mushrooms), bacalao salt cod, Bonito del Norte tuna, chorizo sausage, piquillo peppers and so many more options. For just a few euros, you can devour one of Spain’s very best dishes.

2. Pimientos de Padrón

These tasty little green peppers originated in the town of Padrón in the lush green northern region of Galicia. The local saying is ‘algunas pican, algunas no,’ translated as ‘some are hot, and some are not.’ When fully grown, the peppers are bright red and flaming hot, so they are harvested when they are very small, green and mostly mild. Fried in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt, most are mellow and delicious with a nutty flavor. But keep a cold beer close by! Every once in a while, you will get a boldly spicy pepper, one of the few picante foods in Spain. No wonder The New York Times dubbed them “Spanish Roulette.”

3. Gambas al Ajillo

So simple, but so delicious, gambas al ajillo are small shrimp served in bubbling hot olive oil seasoned with garlic and a piece of cayenne pepper for a touch of spice. They are usually cooked in an earthenware cazuela and served stove-to-table in the same dish. Slices of great bread are a must to sop up the delicious olive oil.

4. Boquerones en Vinagre

Boquerones are fresh anchovies, filleted and marinated in olive oil and vinegar, seasoned with parsley and sliced garlic. These delicate white fillets are mild with a nice vinegary zing, very different from salted anchovies. Again, simplicity is the key – the delicious and healthy fish can shine when not covered with a bunch of other ingredients. Especially popular in Andalucía, boquerones en vinagre are enjoyed at tapas bars across Spain. I like to serve them with a bottle of white wine and freshly baked bread.

5. Paella

Paella is arguably the most famous Spanish dish. Its popularity has spawned many shockingly bad versions, especially in Spain itself. If you want to taste great paella in Spain, it is best ordered at a restaurant in the area of Valencia where it originated – northern cities like Santiago de Compostela and San Sebastián are not places to try paella. Paella began in the rice fields of L’Albufera near the city of Valencia. It started as a simple dish that farmers cooked outdoors over a wood fire. They prepared the rice in a rustic pan with ingredients on hand – some fresh beans, a rabbit snared in the fields, snails harvested from nearby bushes.

Over time paella became more sophisticated, with seafood versions and pricier ingredients. But a few rules are still sacrosanct. First, the rice is the star and should not be overloaded with other ingredients. Second, meat and seafood should not mix. Third, chorizo is never an ingredient. If you break these rules, Valencians will scoff that you are serving “arroz con cosas,” meaning “rice with a bunch of stuff in it,” not real paella. If you want a great paella in Valencia, go to the restaurant ‘El Famós’ where brothers Vicente and José María Navarro have cooked their rice over orange-wood fires for decades.

6. Ibérico Pork

I recently grilled a plump shoulder steak (presa) of acorn-fed Ibérico pork over charcoal and served it to some friends at a party. As I sliced the dark red, marbled meat no one could believe it was pork – they thought it must be aged beef. As they tasted the first bites their eyes widened as they experienced this amazing pork for the first time.

Ibérico pigs are the noble black hogs of Spain. Hearty and inquisitive, they are at home wandering the forests of southwestern Spain (called ‘la dehesa’), munching on grass, herbs and sweet bellota acorns. Since Roman times, Ibérico hams have been acclaimed as the finest in the world. The rest of the animal was typically ground and made into chorizos and other sausages.

In the last 20 years, Spanish producers started rescuing select cuts of Ibérico pork from the sausage grinder and offering them as grilling cuts. With dark flavorful meat and meltingly luxurious marbling, these cuts are now celebrated. I’ve even tried Ibérico pork carpaccio – it was amazing!

7. Gazpacho Andalúz

Another icon from Spain, gazpacho combines vegetables at the peak of ripeness with olive oil and a little bread to become the most refreshing soup in the world. When we lived in Andalucía in the 1970s, our housekeeper, Milagros, taught us her personal recipe which we make to this day. Andalucía in southern Spain is scorching hot in the summer – Sevilla can reach 120 degrees regularly. No wonder gazpacho became such a staple. So, if you want to find a great gazpacho, visit southern Spain and order it only in the summer when tomatoes are ripe.

8. Berberechos

When I was in college in the 1990s, I hiked over the Pyrenees Mountains and across northern Spain, following the ancient Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route. I will always remember entering the old city of Santiago de Compostela, carrying my backpack down streets paved with granite blocks and viewing the breathtaking spires of the cathedral after our six-week journey.

Soon after arrival we sat at the outdoor patio of a local seafood restaurant within view of the cathedral. We ordered a couple of cañas (small beers) and a plate of berberechos, which are little cockles steamed in sea water. I will never forget those amazing tiny clams – tender and sweet, with a little pocket of seawater that bursts as you bite into them. Years later I visited an artisan Galician canning company and they showed me the tidal flats in the pristine estuary nearby. The sandy bottom was divided into large squares with sticks, marking the locations where families seed these clams, then rake them out when they are ready for harvest.

9. Fabada Asturiana

Asturias is a stunning region in the far north of Spain, where the steep Picos de Europa mountains plunge down to meet the north Atlantic Ocean. Asturias is famous for its hearty, rustic foods such as tart hard cider poured in the glass from high in the air, impossibly bold Cabrales blue cheese aged in damp caves and Roman mines, and their famous stew called Fabada Asturiana.

They call this the dish that changed history, since legend has it that the soldiers of Pelayo, King of Asturias, feasted on this stew before the pivotal battle of Covadonga in 718, ending in the defeat of a band of Moorish invaders. This victory was the beginning of the reconquest, as the Spanish battled for the next 700 years to expel the Moors from the country. It must have been a pretty great stew!

At the heart of this stew are Fabes de La Granja, broad white beans grown slowly in the cool valleys of Asturias, then hand-husked and dried. It is impossible to substitute another bean if you want authentic fabada – the texture and rich, buttery flavor are unrivaled. The beans are then soaked and cooked with slices of chorizo and morcilla sausage, along with fatback or Serrano ham pieces. The stew is seasoned with garlic, a pinch of saffron and the intensely smoky Pimentón de La Vera paprika. Don Pelayo’s men would not have had access to saffron (unknown in Spain at the time) or pimentón (made from peppers that didn’t arrive in Spain for centuries), but I am sure it was an energizing dish all the same.

10. Tortilla Española

The final dish is possibly the most ubiquitous across Spain – the beloved tortilla Española potato omelet. Simply a cake of sliced potatoes and eggs cooked in olive oil, tortilla became a staple across Spain - a filling, inexpensive and delicious meal for all to enjoy. Go to almost any café or tapas bar and you can order a tasty wedge of tortilla, or even a bocadillo sandwich with tortilla in the middle.

There are many different variations, and if you ask anyone in Spain, they will usually say their mother makes the best. Some swear that a tortilla should be prepared so that the eggs are not fully cooked, leaving it a little juicy in the center. There is also a disagreement about whether onion adds a nice level of flavor or ruins the whole thing. I’ve been known to mix in in diced chorizo, mushrooms or jamón, though it would be shocking to most Spaniards.

Great Spanish food is simple and delicious, showcasing the best quality ingredients without hiding them under creamy sauces or complex preparations. Some of my favorite meals are universally loved across Spain, but I try and seek out the treasured local dishes of whatever region I am visiting. In a country so big and diverse, there is so much to discover and so many great foods to eat!

¡Buen provecho!
Jonathan Harris

It all started in Andalucía. In the 1970s, Navy chaplain Don Harris moved to Spain with his young wife and three rambunctious boys. Instead of staying on the base in Rota with all of the familiar comforts of the U.S., they chose to live among the Spanish in El Puerto de Santa María a few miles away. The family was embraced by the local community and soon fell in love with Spain - the warmth of the people and the sense of community we found has stayed with us ever since.

In 1996, we decided to begin an adventure – to work together as a family to share our love for Spain with America. It’s hard to believe now, but Spain was not well known in the 1990s. Most Americans presumed it was something like Mexico, but with flamenco and bullfighting! And the food is spicy, right?

Back then I was a recent college graduate, returning home after a stint in San Diego. Our family – Don, Ruth, Tim, Chris and I – brainstormed the best way we could share our passion for Spain. We decided to offer the colorful Mozarabic tiles that are so popular in Spain, especially in sunny Andalucía. In El Puerto de Santa María, these tiles were everywhere – in tapas bars, grocery stores, the central market and even covering the walls of our home. So, we bought some tile samples and created a display in the basement of our home.

While we started to grow, we soon we realized that our part of the country was not ready for this burst of color. Williamsburg, Virginia, is a beautiful city with a famous historic colonial area. But we could not have found a place more influenced by English traditions if we had tried! It is a place of understated decoration and subtle color tones. I remember many visitors to the shop would look around, then ask, “Do you have anything in beige?” We needed to find another way to reach an audience for these vibrant ceramics.

As it happened, the perfect marketplace had just become mainstream – the internet. It was slow and clunky (remember the eeee-oooo-sshhhhhhh sound of dial-up modems?) But its reach was enormous. With one webpage we were able to get in touch with Spain enthusiasts across the country. The website had to be built from scratch, so we recruited a friend and began posting pictures of ceramic tiles in all their colorful glory. But it turns out that tiles are not the ideal ecommerce item either. Heavy and fragile, they are very difficult to ship, and we would get many complaints about breakage. We needed another idea.

What would be the irresistible product for the homesick Spaniard? We brainstormed again and decided on the obvious answer – jamón! So, we posted a photo of a whole bone-in Serrano ham on the homepage and asked for feedback on whether people would be interested. The response was passionate and immediate. In just a few weeks, dozens of people signed up to learn more.

In the late 90s, getting this much attention online was a big deal. Remember, there were very few people on the internet at the time. A company called Amazon had launched a website in 1995 selling books, but there were few other options for ecommerce, and it felt like the whole internet was visiting us.

So, we were on our way. There was just one catch; jamón was not allowed in the United States at that time! We researched and found out that several companies were investing in USDA inspected curing houses, so we got on a plane and visited their facilities in Spain and learned everything we could about jamón and the importation process. Every month my father, Don, would send an email newsletter updating everyone on how things were progressing and sharing his passion for the Spanish people and their culture. In fact, this essay here is a direct descendant of those first few emails!

While our friends waited to hear more about Jamón Serrano, they began asking for other favorites. Could we find Marcona almonds? How about chorizo? Rice for paella? Product by product, we began building a collection of great foods from Spain, most suggested by our customers. We shipped the orders out of my father’s garage, and every time an order was placed on our website, we would open a little music box shaped like Fenway Park that played ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame.’

Finally, in 1998, the first Serrano hams were allowed in the United States. Redondo Iglesias was among the first available on La Tienda, and we still sell their jamones to this day. One of the early shipments from Spain was held up in the port because the whole hams were a little moldy – a normal thing in Spain, but a novelty to the USDA officials. My father, Don, promptly drove to a local store and bought a Smithfield Virginia ham, which was also moldy. He then drove all the way to Washington, D.C, and dropped the ham on a table in front of a USDA official to show that mold was typical of hams on both sides of the ocean and was an example of aging and not spoilage! His efforts helped gain release of the hams for the U.S. market.

In 2000, we decided to move to an office located on the second floor above a dentist. I am sure the UPS driver was cursing us as he thumped his dolly down the tall staircase. A year later, we moved into a small first floor retail space. Our desks were surrounded by secondhand shelving holding all our inventory, with towers of whole ham boxes tilting precariously in the back room. When orders were placed, we would run the credit cards manually, print out the order, carry it to the back room, pack it in a box and load it on the delivery truck ourselves.

In 2001, the first chorizo sausage from Spain arrived. Made by Palacios, this all natural chorizo was the first permitted for import, and it began to sell quite well. Then on March 6th, The New York Times ran an article by Amanda Hesser extolling the virtues of this tasty sausage, and orders started flooding in! It was the first big boost for La Tienda and helped us reach hundreds of new customers.

Over the ensuing years we have continued to grow, adding a full color print catalog and moving to a proper warehouse. We opened our own slicing room in our warehouse to make sure we offered the freshest sliced jamón and chorizo, then we added a store and tapas bar on the other side of town. We have built a great team of almost fifty people, but Tim, Don and I are still at the heart of everything La Tienda does, from discovering great products in Spain to making sure your order is packed beautifully and arrives at your door in great condition. From the very beginning we have depended on our customers to help guide us as we’ve sought to share our love for Spain and her amazing cuisine over the last 23 years. From our family and our wonderful team, we thank you for your support that makes La Tienda possible.

¡Viva España!
Jonathan Harris

Summers in Andalucía can be brutally hot. In sunny Sevilla, July temps over 110°F are a part of daily life. No wonder Sevillanos usually wait until after sunset to socialize! Last year I was wandering back to my hotel at midnight, past the massive Santa Maria de la Sede Cathedral with its beautiful Moorish Giralda tower. Lining the street were restaurants and cafés, filled at that late hour with families enjoying the relatively cool night air. I marveled at the site of small children playing together while their parents chatted, hours after I would have put my kids to bed back home.

With its famously hot weather, it is no wonder that Andalucía is the birthplace of Spain’s miraculously refreshing chilled soups. Tomato gazpacho is known across the world, though with her fame come many questionable variations that would scandalize a true Andalucian. Gazpacho’s close sibling is salmorejo, a thicker chilled soup garnished with jamón and egg. And my current favorite is the elegant ajo blanco, a creamy white soup made with almonds and fresh garlic, typically garnished with sliced grapes.

All three chilled soups find their origins in a simple dish introduced by the Romans over two thousand years ago. Gazpacho began as a hearty peasant dish, mixing bread, olive oil and garlic. The almonds in ajo blanco arrived with the Moors 1,000 years later. Eventually the Spanish explorers returned from Latin America with peppers and tomatoes which were soon added to the mix. As with much of Spanish cuisine, gazpacho is a blend of influences from the many cultures that have called Spain home over the millennia.

I’ll start with some do’s and don’ts for gazpacho. Because the recipes are so simple, it is critical to start with the freshest, highest quality ingredients. If you can’t source super ripe, sweet tomatoes, don’t even start thinking about making gazpacho. You can use any color tomato you like – I like yellow tomatoes because of their lower acidity – but they must be at the peak of ripeness. While healthy and refreshing, gazpacho is not a veggie smoothie or a version of V-8, so don’t add tomato juice or water. Avoid ice cubes because they can water down gazpacho – you want it to be somewhat thick.

Now for the do’s. Using excellent extra virgin olive oil is key. Olive oil adds richness and flavor to the soup, so choose an oil that you enjoy. I like to add olive oil made with Picual olives, which has a bold, peppery flavor. Other people prefer a milder, fruitier oil such as Arbequina. It’s up to you to choose your favorite, just avoid bland grocery store blends.

Sherry vinegar is another key ingredient. This barrel-aged vinegar is bone-dry and has a bright acidity and complex flavor which elevates gazpacho to a new level. If you like you can also add a dash of sherry wine, choose an aromatic style such as Oloroso or Amontillado.

Bread is very important as well, it adds a smoothness and body, and offsets the acidity of the tomatoes and vinegar. In Spain they usually use 'pan de ayer,' stale bread from yesterday. The bread is soaked in water for a couple of hours, with the extra water squeezed out right before preparation. Why soak the bread? I guess it helps the bread to blend in, but with modern blenders this isn’t a big factor. That said, why mess with tradition? Do use a crusty European style bread like a baguette, it makes a big difference.

Speaking of blenders, we recommend using a vertical blender, the more powerful the better. You could use an immersion blender, but it won’t create a smooth soup. If you find that your blender doesn’t blend to your preferred smoothness, you can pour the gazpacho through a sieve.

Now that we have the basics down, what is the deal with salmorejo and ajo blanco? Salmorejo is typical of the beautiful city of Córdoba and has become a favorite of mine when I want a refreshing yet substantial meal. Very similar to gazpacho, salmorejo has a lot more bread which makes it substantially thicker. Whereas you can toss back a glass of gazpacho with no problem, salmorejo requires a spoon. In Córdoba, salmorejo is garnished with slices of jamón and hard-boiled egg. Serve with fresh baked bread and a bottle of vino and you have a delicious summer lunch!

I find ajo blanco to be the most elegant of the three chilled soups. Bright white and silky smooth, it is typically garnished with sliced green grapes. Literally translated as “white garlic," this soup is a blend of blanched almonds, olive oil, bread, vinegar and garlic. Because the bold flavor of tomatoes is absent, the garlic flavor comes to the fore. Most recipes only include one or two cloves of garlic, which lends a mild aroma and spiciness. Garlic lovers, or those fending off vampires, sometimes add five or six cloves for a bolder version.

All three of these sister soups are remarkably healthy. Fresh vegetables and extra virgin olive oil are famously good for you, as are the blanched almonds in ajo blanco. For gazpacho and salmorejo you can adjust the amount of bread and salt to your liking, though I’d advise against removing them entirely.

Andalucía is defined by hot summer days and relatively cool, dry evenings. This is the birthplace of the siesta, a mid-afternoon rest during the hottest time of the day, and dinners that last late into the night. For thousands of years, variations of gazpacho have cooled and refreshed Andalucians. I encourage you to serve the three sister soups of this wonderful region to cool off your summer days.

This is a reprint of one of Don's favorite articles. We will be back next month with a new article.

Dear Friends of La Tienda,

The running of the bulls is deeply imbedded in the Spanish culture – some say for over a thousand years. In an earlier Reflection I described the event in rural Ciudad Rodrígo. Until now, I had never found a perfectly personal and pictorial description of the famous Running of the Bulls at Pamplona. The enclosed was forwarded to me by a dear friend who lives in the Basque Country, and who is quite an armchair enthusiast. In turn, I emailed the author, who had just returned from Spain, and she graciously consented to share her notes with you. I hope you will enjoy them.

Abrazos,

Don
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July 11, 2008
Notes from San Fermín:

We have learned a number of things during the four weeks we have been here in San Sebastian: While numbers one and two probably don't surprise anyone who knows us, I'm guessing that number three might. It has certainly shocked us.

(1) Everything tastes better fried (as attested to by the fact that our rental unit has SIX frying pans in the drawer under the oven);
(2) Walking the paseo is better than walking anywhere else; and,
(3) Participating vicariously in the running of the bulls in Pamplona is addictive.

This week is the famous festival of San Fermín in Pamplona. San Fermín, by the looks of it, is the patron saint of outrageously dangerous behavior. The running (called the encierro here, because the bulls run along a narrow, closed section of city streets) takes place every morning this week. It began on Monday and will finish this weekend.

Several thousand people (virtually all men) line the streets every day, with a low of about 2,500 to a projected high this weekend of as many as 4,000-5,000, for a chance to see/touch/run away from five oxen and six bulls who are moving from the pen where they've been kept to the Plaza de Toros where the bulls will be fought (and killed) in the afternoon. The oxen have apparently figured out that if they keep their heads down, they will live to lead new bulls to their slaughter on the following day.

We turned the TV on Tuesday morning just as the encierro was finishing up. It had taken about four minutes – much longer than normal – because one of the bulls got confused and turned around and there was a lot of dangerous stuff happening until the pastores (shepherds) with their long poles could help him find his way along the street to the plaza.

Since then we have set our alarm to be sure we see the "pre-game" show – which includes interviews with runners (some of whom have been doing this for 40 years), discussion about the bulls and their origins, and a series of cánticos – chanted prayers to San Fermín asking for his protection and blessing.

It is hard to describe what happens in the encierro itself. At exactly 8:00, a small rocket is lit that shoots up to the sky, signaling the start of the run. A line of police is holding the crowd back about 100 meters from where the huge gates open, so the oxen and bulls are moving at a pretty good clip before they meet the first wave of people.

There's no way the people can run fast enough to stay in front of them for very long, so runners pick a section of the street where they want to run. Some of the very first group will literally just be in front of the bulls for a few seconds and then peel off to the sides and press themselves against the walls of the buildings as the group thunders past them. Others will run with them as long as they can, but nobody could go the whole distance.

Some days, the group of 11 animals stays together, but generally at least a couple of the animals lose speed or stumble as they fight their way through the sea of humans and then they are separated from the rest. Apparently, the runners like this because it means they have more of a chance to get in close – experienced runners do not try to touch the bulls (because they know it's really dumb?), but sometimes even they are thrown into that situation by the people jostling and falling all around them.

It is clear that the bulls themselves are just trying to get away from everybody and are trying to follow the oxen, who are in the lead and are wearing bells around their necks. When they fall or become disoriented, however, anything can happen.

Most of the injuries that occur are people-to-people things (when you go down, you are told to stay down – so that you don't stand up in front of a bull, I guess – which means that people are tripping over each other all the time). Occasionally, people will go down and then get run over by one or more of the animals, so getting stepped on by a many-ton beast is another problem.

Amazingly, you can tell that if the bulls have a chance to do so, they will actually jump over something in the road – not because they are trying to avoid injuring the lump on the ground but, rather, because they are trying to avoid falling themselves.

We have seen virtually no one be gored. Bulls will just as often hit someone with their heads as get them with their horns. In the four days we've watched, there was one guy who got caught in the abdomen (he was on the ground and the bull tripped and was trying to get up and away from the bodies down there) and one who got caught in the leg in a similar situation, but there has not been any "attack" on a runner. Most of the injuries, as I said, are related to falls into the sea of humanity (or inhumanity) with people and animals just desperate to get away.

Today there were two bullfighters who ran – one for the first time. They were up in the TV booth just a couple of minutes after it was over and you could see that the one whose first time was today was still beside himself with fear and adrenaline. When asked what section of the course he ran, he said he thought he knew where he started, but wasn't even sure about that anymore.

It was fascinating to see this guy who stands up in the Plaza de Toros and faces these animals on a regular basis admit to being absolutely terrified, disoriented, and lucky to be alive after his few-second encounter with the animals on the street. His comment was that in the plaza he only has to face his own fear. On the street, his fear was joined to everyone else's fear and it was overwhelming.

Watching the faces as they pray and prepare to start, watching them as they run looking ahead of them and behind them at the same time to avoid animals in all locations and to try to avoid each other, watching them go down and watching them drag each other out of harm's way – it is a bizarre and intriguing spectacle.

The risks are absurdly high, but for those who have been there for 40 years, there is clearly something extraordinary about it. Yesterday an older man (one of the 40-year veterans) fell and hit his head on the street. We saw the image of his body as he lay there, unconscious. Today he was there – singing the cánticos with his colleagues. He didn't run today (and may never again), but he wanted to be there with them as they prepared to go.

That devotion to the pageantry and the ritual (and, at the same time, the fearless matador who made it abundantly clear that he will never do it again) is the sense of San Fermín I will take away with me. Images that will stay with me almost as long as the desire for everything fried...

Barbara Hulburt

Spain is a huge country of 17 distinct regions, from the rolling green hills of Galicia to the beautiful island of Mallorca with its palm trees. And every region is fiercely proud of their heritage and local cuisine.

This is what I love about Spain – travel a few hours and you will discover a new landscape and architecture, each with its own beauty and heritage. Because so many cultures have called Spain home over the millennia, there is a richness found nowhere else. And there is no better example of this than in the cuisine. Today I want to feature five of my favorite dishes that express the heritage and history of several amazing regions in Spain.

Let’s begin in Asturias. This mountainous region in the far north was one of the last holdouts during the invasion of the Moors, and it is no surprise why. The Picos de Europa are formidable, ending abruptly at the sea. Steep valleys protected the Asturianos from the invaders and also produced a distinct cuisine that is a source of pride to this day. The crown jewel of Asturian cuisine is Fabada Asturiano, a hearty stew of fabes beans, morcilla, chorizo and jamón seasoned with smoky pimentón de La Vera.

As with much of Spanish cuisine, the ingredients sound simple, but the quality of ingredients elevates the dish to a new level. For instance, official Fabes de la Granja beans are grown only in Asturias, and take twice as long as other beans to mature. They must be harvested by hand then dried in traditional ‘horreos,’ wooden barns resting on granite poles. The result is a bean that is rich and creamy, able to absorb all the intense flavors of the other ingredients.

The perfect pairing to this delicious stew is a glass of Asturian sidra. Grape vines do not grow well in this region, so hard apple cider became the preferred drink. Tart and earthy, Asturian sidra is poured into glasses from a bottle held high over the server’s head, frothing the cider and releasing its flavor.

Heading east along the rocky coast we reach the País Vasco, or Basque Country. Nestled at the foot of the Pyrenees Mountains, the beautiful city of San Sebastián sits on a perfect horseshoe bay. Long famed for their seafaring prowess, it is said that Basque fishermen were the first to reach North America, hundreds of years before Columbus. Their quarry was the codfish, which they caught and salted to preserve for the return voyage. So rich was the fishery, and so skilled the fishermen, that salt cod, or ‘bacalao,’ became one of the main sources of protein for the Iberian Peninsula.

One of my favorite Basque dishes is ‘kokotxas de bacalao en salsa verde,’ or salt cod cheeks in parsley sauce. Tender and delicious, this is the richest cut of the bacalao. The cheeks are sautéed slowly in garlic, olive oil and wine until the natural gelatin is released, creating a creamy sauce. It is typically served with roasted potatoes and a loaf of good bread for sopping up the sauce. This is a dish that speaks to the heritage and history of the region, so distinct from other areas. But still, the simple preparation lets the quality of the ingredients shine through.

I usually wash down my kokotxas with a refreshing glass of Txakoli white wine. Txakoli grapes grow in a very small area of the coastal region. On a recent winery visit, I looked over the vines to see the ocean below. Just then two surfers walked along the side of the vineyard and down a trail toward the crashing waves. This light citrusy wine is the perfect match for bacalao – how could it not be, from the vineyard we could see the port where the fish arrived every day.

Traveling to the heart of Spain, we arrive in Segovia. This beautiful city features a giant Roman aqueduct cutting right through the center of town and a storybook castle with pointed towers, moat and drawbridge. But what brings me back every time is the cochinillo, or suckling pig. The venerable Mesón de Cándido restaurant sits next to the aqueduct, and the hardwood fired ovens blaze year-round. Suckling pigs are roasted whole in earthenware cazuelas until the skin is crisp and chestnut brown. The pigs are so tender that the owner cuts them into pieces with a plate. As I nibble on the juicy pork, I like to sip a bold Ribera del Duero Tempranillo wine and look out the window on the beautiful city.

Heading south to the coast, we reach El Puerto de Santa María. This is in the heart of Andalucía, and one of the sources of classic flamenco music. It is also a famous beach town, and one of my favorite restaurants is a temporary ‘chiringuito’ built right on the beach. Open just in the summer for beachgoers, this is no hotdog stand and there are no snow cones to be had. Instead, grab a table and get ready for some of the freshest seafood you’ve ever had. Feast on grilled sardines pulled fresh from the ocean that morning, or fried puntillitas, little squid so small that a plate can hold a hundred of them.

One day I splurged on the ultimate of beach cuisine – atún rojo de almadraba, or grilled bluefin tuna. For thousands of years, fishermen have used the Phoenician method of capturing these giants of the sea by surrounding them with a series of nets, a practice called ‘almadraba.’ In ancient times, these fish could feed a whole community and every part of the animal was eaten or salted and cured. Because there are so few left, I usually avoid eating bluefin tuna. But I could not resist cutting into a steak of atún rojo harvested so recently in the fishing port of Zahara de los Atunes, just miles down the coast from where I sat in my swim trunks, staring at the sea. The tuna was simply cooked in olive oil on a plancha grill, sprinkled with sea salt. Paired with a frosty glass of Cruzcampo beer, I’ve never had a tastier cut of fish.

Finally, I will take you to Alicante, a beautiful Mediterranean Sea port not far from Valencia. The city is dominated by the Castillo de Santa Bárbara, a fortress perched atop a small mountain in the center of the city called Monte Benacantil. This is a land of citrus and almonds, rice and turrón candy. And seafood, of course. The most remarkable meal I ever enjoyed in Alicante was at Restaurante Aldebarán, situated by the sea. It was the first time I had tried Arroz Abanda, a rice dish prepared in a paella pan. When the waiter arrived with the pan, I was surprised to see what appeared to be just rice!

But what a rice it was. Rich and flavorful with an amazing texture. This is the secret to Spanish rice dishes like paella or arroz abanda – the rice is the star. In the case of arroz abanda, ‘abanda’ means ‘to the side.’ The rice is cooked with a supremely rich fish broth which saturates the rice, and a thin crust of heavenly goodness forms on the base of the pan. It is served on one side of the dish, then fresh fish is served on the other side. Freshly made alioli garlic sauce tied everything together, and we washed it down with a refreshing Monastrell white wine grown nearby. ¡Qué maravilla!

These are just a few of the amazing meals you can enjoy across Spain. Every region is fiercely proud of their history and heritage, and the local cuisine is one of the most enjoyable ways to experience the diverse cultures of Spain. Next time you visit, I encourage you to explore beyond the normal tourist areas and experience the wonderful variety that is Spain.

This is a reprint of one of Don's favorite articles. We will be back next month with a new article.

The Spanish live in quite a different culture than ours, as many of you have experienced, even if you have only been to Spain for a handful of days. Rather than the home being their castle, the community is the focus of their lives. “Home is where I sleep,” a Spanish friend of mine explained, “I live in my neighborhood.”

In smaller towns on any given evening, you will see people of all ages strolling the streets together– making a paseo. It is an inter-generational time where you might see older people walking with their children, and the younger generation, too. More often than not, the goal is a favorite café or bar they have been going to for years. There they will chat with old friends, cousins, neighbors, including small children who play with each other within sight of the older people.

My life as an adult in America is not at all like it would be in Spain, or even as it was when I was a child. As a little boy, I could play with the kids in my neighborhood for hours, come home for a little supper, and then go outside to play some more until it was dark. I liked the days of June especially. Not only was school over for the year, but the long hours of daylight suited me perfectly. It was sort of like Spain!

Now that I am older I do not go out routinely to enjoy friends and neighbors. We may schedule a cookout or meet at an organized picnic – that is what our neighborhood did for Memorial Day. Maybe we go to a local concert on the lawn once in the summer. But we have lost that childhood freedom to go out into the neighborhood just to be with friends, as many of us did as kids. It is not customary in America.

For suburban Americans, our home is our castle. We get up in the morning, sometimes before the sun rises, eat some breakfast and individually drive to work. When the day is done, each of us drives back home, pushes the automatic garage door opener and safely parks within the confines of the house. There we have dinner with the family, play with the children before putting them to bed, and then relax, perhaps watching a ball game or working in the yard. It is a nice way of life in many respects.

However, the routine many of us follow in America precludes spontaneous contact with our neighbors. Part of the reason is that Americans move so often – the average is about once every seven years. So we or our neighbors may come and go before we get a chance to know each other. Another factor is that our extended family may be spread across hundreds of miles, so practically speaking the only family we see is under our roof.

Most Americans are taken aback by the late dinner hour in Spain. Part of the reason for the late hour is the accident of time zones. If you look on the map, you will see that Spain is directly south of England and ought to be operating on Greenwich Mean Time. However, because the Iberian Peninsula is physically attached to Europe, it is more convenient for commerce to conform to European time, which is one hour later. In the summer Spain effectually operates on “double daylight savings time” where it is still daylight at 10:30 in the evening. Who wants to go to bed then? And so, Spaniards don’t!

Traditionally, most Spaniards have an ample noon meal at 2:00 or 3:00 PM and may take an hour to eat, followed by a siesta. The stores are closed for several hours. After work (maybe 7:00 PM) is time to be with friends and family at the local tapas bar. It may be close to 10:00 PM by the time they return home for a light supper.

Many young people then go out to socialize at discos into the wee hours. I remember one time we were “sleeping” in a small hotel in Valencia and the din of the merrymaking did not end until 3:00 AM! After the clatter produced by the bartender who emptied hundreds of empty bottles into bins by the street, there was finally some silence. To this day, I have not figured out when the Spaniards get any sleep!

I remember when I was a young naval officer and we were living in downtown Puerto de Santa María among the sherry bodegas. We would often retire for the night hearing outside our window the laughter of young people and the rhythmic clapping of flamenco echoing down the cobblestone street. It took some adjusting to raise our little children when I had to begin work at 07:30 – a perfectly reasonable time for the Navy to start the workday when we were in Norfolk. I don’t think adjustment to Spanish mores was high on the command’s list of priorities!

In my early days touring Spain, I did not see any need to adjust at all. Touring was so efficient: everything conveniently halts in the middle of the day, and all the truck drivers dine at roadside cafes (and dining is the correct term – no quick hamburger for them). Nobody is on the road, all the museums are closed -- what a great way to cover the country! This was my chance to speed to the next town on my itinerary, with a ham and cheese bocadillo in hand. I soon realized that I ended up observing Spain, without participating in the enjoyable life style of the Spanish people.

In recent years we have learned to travel differently. On our visits now we enjoy the gracious rhythm of the culture. Rather than rocketing from town to town to see as much as we can, we slow down and stop to eat when the local people dine (including the truckers). It is a leisurely respite: good fresh salads and seafood cordially served by people who take pride in their service. If we are in town, we find a popular café and allot an hour or two to enjoy life. (Often people at the other tables will acknowledge us as we join them in the restaurant-- and say goodbye to all as they leave.) Having a large meal at 3:00 PM leads to eating supper late at 10:00 PM, not 6:00, which for the Spaniard is the middle of the afternoon!

To appreciate people you need to be with them, adapting to their way of life. Ruth and I cannot think of a more pleasant time than sitting with friends, having a glass of Manzanilla and some shellfish in the main plaza of Sanlúcar de Barrameda. Around us, life unfolds: we see young couples with their babies being fed caramelos by some delighted grandmother; pensioners basking in the sun; little boys and girls scampering gleefully around the central fountain.

America is not Spain, and our approach to life can be quite satisfying. We are mobile and individualistic, easily adaptable since our family roots are not as firmly planted in one location, as they would be in Spain. Just imagine a Spaniard coming to Colonial Williamsburg (where we live) and expecting dinner at 10:00 PM! I am afraid he would go away hungry. The place would be buttoned up for the night!

But we find the two cultures are complementary. The great advantage of modern travel and communication is that we can learn from one another and have the best of both worlds.

Saludos,
Don

The refugio (hostal) at Villafranca del Bierzo was bustling as the pilgrims climbed out of their bunks and packed their bags for the long day of walking ahead. Most of the Germans had left before 8am, in characteristic style, eager to hit the road and arrive at the next town before everyone else. A group of Frenchmen had come in late and a little drunk, making a racket as they dug through plastic bags before going to bed. Once asleep, they broke into a cacophony of snores. I sleeplessly tossed and turned, quietly contemplating a midnight murder spree. I’d probably get a medal from the other pilgrims!

The bright morning light and the excitement of a new day on the Camino de Santiago cleared any homicidal thoughts from my head. My wife Stacey was packing her things and getting ready for a new adventure. I looked around the beautiful new stone pilgrim’s hostal with large clean bathrooms and sturdy bunks. The last time I stopped in this village, called Villafranca del Bierzo, over seven years earlier, the refugio/hostal was mostly made of tarps and plastic sheeting separated into haphazard spaces. The shower consisted of a solar heated plastic bag. Somehow, I missed those more rustic accommodations.

The Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route, also called The Way of Saint James, has grown immensely in popularity over the last few decades. It originated in the years after the discovery of the apostle St. James’s remains in the year 812. Legend has it that after James’s death, his remains were sent in a stone ship to the Iberian Peninsula. The ship sank in a storm and the body was lost in the sea. Miraculously the body washed ashore, covered in scallop shells. Eight centuries later the remains were discovered, and they are housed in a crypt in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela to this day.

In the years after the Moors conquered much of the Iberian Peninsula, St. James became the rallying figure of the resistance, with Spanish warriors shouting ‘Santiago!’ as they charged into battle. Once most of northern Spain was firmly back in Christian hands, the faithful flocked from across Europe to visit the holy site. The Camino de Santiago became one of three major pilgrimage destinations, along with Rome and Jerusalem, and those who completed the journey were granted Indulgences, or forgiveness for all sins.

Throughout the Middle Ages the Camino was highly travelled, with towns springing up along the way where pilgrims could rest and eat. By the 16th century, it declined because of the Black Plague, Protestant Reformation and wars. By the 1900s, the stream of pilgrims had become a trickle. Then, in 1987, the Camino de Santiago was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Spain opened up after the Franco years and the world awoke to this remarkable path across Spain.

Just a few weeks after our wedding in 2000, my new bride and I had decided to spend our honeymoon walking from León to Santiago de Compostela, about a third of the popular Camino Frances route. We carried no cell phones and by necessity had a minimum of supplies in our packs. As we arrived in a new village, we washed our socks and other clothes in the sink at the refugio and let them dry in the afternoon as we explored the cobblestone streets and looked for a place to eat. I must admit that we splurged on a hotel a few times along the way, but we tried to keep it simple.

On the third day of our journey we climbed through the mountains to the beautiful city of Astorga. We were tired, dusty and sore. A local farmer approached us on the dirt path, his gnarled hands holding a pitch fork. We were holding hands and he asked “Están casados?” (are you married?). I replied, groaning from exhaustion, “Si, muuy casados!”, mixing up the word ‘married’ for the word ‘tired’ (cansado). We all shared a chuckle at my mistake.

Astorga is an attractive small walled city with a neo-medieval episcopal palace designed by Antoni Gaudí. Traditionally this was a place where pilgrims would gather before a particularly mountainous part of the Camino. They would set off in groups to protect against brigands who victimized travelers in the rugged terrain. The path was indeed steep for the next couple of days, over starkly beautiful hills covered with heather and rosemary. Past the village of Foncebadon, we approached the Cruz de Hierro, a cross mounted on a tall pole, marking the highest point on the Camino Frances. Some say this was originally a roman shrine and has guided pilgrims since the 11th century. We both dug out small stones from our packs that we had picked up at the beginning of our journey and added them to the impressive pile of rocks that pilgrims had deposited there for centuries.

This tradition was one of many that tied us to the millions of pilgrims who walked before us. People set out on The Way for many reasons: spiritual growth, deep religious devotion, cultural adventure or simply the pure physical challenge. Over the two weeks we hiked the trail, as we dealt with fatigue, twisted ankles, rainstorms and blazing sun, I felt the presence of all of those who had walked before and shared this deeply meaningful experience. We saw it in the sculptures of Santiago Peregrino in local churches, showing Saint James with a staff and scallop shell, the embodiment of the traditional pilgrim. Bright yellow painted shells paired with arrows mark the dirt paths through the mountains as well as the busy streets of Burgos or León, showing the way forward that so many others have followed.

When we finally approached the granite city of Santiago de Compostela, the darkened clouds of a rainstorm loomed and the tall eucalyptus trees swayed in the wind, releasing their signature aroma. We hiked for several hours more and finally approached the magnificent cathedral, the final destination for all pilgrims. Inside the massive doors we were greeted by the sublime Pórtico da Gloria, the arched entrance to the cathedral. We left our staffs and packs and walked behind the massive ornate altar where we waited our turn to hug the gilded statue of Santiago Peregrino and visit the tomb below to see the resting place of his remains. While we are not Catholic, it was a profound experience. Whether it was the magic of completing such a challenging journey, or the spiritual presence of all of those who had arrived here before, we both experienced an electricity and elation special to that moment.

After arriving we checked in to the glorious Parador hotel across from the cathedral. Known as the Hostal dos Reis Católicos, it was built by Queen Isabella in 1499 to serve pilgrims arriving in the city. A gem of Gothic and Baroque architecture, it is now a stunning hotel overlooking the cathedral square. For two weeks, Stacey and I had walked 200 miles, stayed in rustic refujios, washed our clothes in sinks and streams and eaten simple picnics in the countryside – it was time for us to end our honeymoon in style!

Our friends thought us a little crazy to spend our first time together as a married couple on such a challenging and uncomfortable trip. I usually joke that if our relationship could survive the Camino de Santiago, it can survive anything! Truthfully it was a wonderful way for us to know each other even more deeply and share an experience of a lifetime. In this hyperconnected, overstimulating world, slowing down, disconnecting and walking together through the stunning landscape of northern Spain was just what we needed. No wonder the Way of Saint James has emerged from obscurity and is again one of the most popular journeys in the world.