Character matters, not just with people, but with food as well. Traveling across Spain, I have seen it again and again - how the special location, climate and culture of a region shape the character of every artisan food we offer, just as they shape the people who inhabit the area. The perfect example is the pimiento del piquillo, the phenomenal wood-fire roasted pepper of Lodosa.

The area around the small town of Lodosa is a land of rural beauty, fertile fields spread out alongside the Ebro river. The fields we visited in October are just a stone's throw from the famous wine region of La Rioja, and the piquillo pepper field was only a few feet away from a grove of vines heavy with ripe tempranillo grapes.

Our old friend Patxi Pastor Salcedo gave us a tour of the field of ripe red peppers. His family owns Navarrico, a producer of exceptional jarred and canned vegetables since the 1950s. He introduced us to the farmer who tends the fields and delivers the fresh peppers to Navarrico.

The farmer explained that the plants need a lot of nutrients to grow quality peppers. He only uses natural manure fertilizers and no pesticides. The peppers can be grown in the field for a maximum of two seasons before it must be converted to other crops, and it takes around 20 years until the field is ready to be planted with peppers again!

On this beautiful October day, I picked the peppers alongside the workers for a short while. Each piquillo is plucked by hand, with no mechanical help. The peppers in my hand were heavy, with a thick wall and durable skin - attributes that make them perfect for roasting. Each ruby red pepper ends in a point reminiscent of a bird's beak, which explains the name - piquillo means little beak or point.

Unlike most produce that travels hundreds of miles after harvest, these beautiful peppers only travel the distance of a long stroll - the Navarrico warehouse is just two miles away! There the peppers are roasted over hardwood flames until the exterior is charred black. Each pepper is then cleaned and peeled by hand by local women, just as it has been done for generations. Finally the peppers are placed into into each jar by hand, retaining the smoky roasted flavor and sweetness that can only come from truly fresh peppers.

No water is used to rinse the peppers - this would wash away the flavor. And no liquid is added to the bottles as filler, just whole peppers. Any juice you see in our jars of piquillos comes from the peppers themselves.

The growing region, harvest time and roasting of these peppers is supervised by the rules of the PDO, or Protected Denomination of Origin, for Piquillo Peppers of Lodosa. Organizations like this one protect the traditions and quality of regional specialties across Europe - from Rioja wine to Parmesan cheese to Ibérico ham. These legally recognized groups play a vital role in protecting the character of these culinary treasures.

After visiting the fields and watching the piquillo pepper production, Patxi took us to the old part of town for a feast. Each dish showcased an exceptional regional vegetable - giant white asparagus with boquerones, exquisitely tender artichoke hearts with sliced jamón, piquillo peppers with morcilla and quail eggs. Patxi raised a glass of excellent Rioja wine with us, and pride showed on his face as we devoured these amazing dishes. His family takes the time to only use the finest local vegetables harvested at the perfect time. These tasty dishes clearly displayed this passion for quality.

There are cheaper ways to make roasted peppers. I have tried "piquillo" peppers from Peru and elsewhere that are pale shadows of a Lodosa piquillo - they were obviously produced cheaply and efficiently, and water-cleaned to avoid manual labor. Quality can so easily be compromised if your main goal is a lower priced product.

We could offer this kind of item at La Tienda to improve our margin and offer a lower price. But this would undermine the thing we love most about Spain's best foods - the quality that comes from the local traditions of regional Spain. A special place and a unique climate set the stage for a great product. The final piece is the culture. Our Spanish partners have an intense pride and appreciation for the quality of their regional foods, and they will not compromise to save a little money. That takes character.

¡Hola! I'm Jonathan Harris, one of the owners of La Tienda. I love sharing insights about Spain's amazing food culture. Learn more >

They weren’t kidding about the waves. As we clambered up the sharp, slippery rocks covered in mussels and barnacles, I looked down and a large wave broke across the tiny island, swirling at the feet of the harvester and his father. It is not hard to imagine an unexpected breaker sweeping a person off of this small rocky island and into the Pacific Ocean.

Our host on that special day in September was Billy George of the Nuu-chah-nulth tribe in Vancouver, Canada. A soft-spoken man who makes his living from the sea, I was immediately taken with his warm smile and willingness to share stories about his life and connection to this special part of the world.

The reason for our visit literally covered the small wave-battered island – plump gooseneck barnacles. Called Percebes in Spain, this type of barnacle is a treasured seafood that is harvested in Galicia, in far northwestern Spain. There, brave Galicians risk their lives dashing between waves to chisel this unique seafood from the treacherous granite rocks. Soon afterward, their harvest graces the tables of fine restaurants across Spain, fetching up to $100 per pound.

But how could we offer this amazing seafood to our customers? The answer came last year when I heard about the goose barnacles of Vancouver. Nearly identical to Galician percebes, these barnacles can be delivered to their final destination within a few days of harvest, a feat we could not accomplish from Galician sources. And once they are received, they are so simple to prepare – simply boil them for a few minutes and they are ready to serve. They have a sweet, rich flavor, evoking clams or lobster. I had to learn more about this new source!

The story behind these percebes is almost more impressive that the seafood itself. Unlike so many over-harvested fisheries, the barnacles are a truly sustainable seafood, certified by the Vancouver Aquarium. Each island in the bay is carefully monitored and only a small portion of the rock is cleared. And the fishermen of the area are uniquely positioned to steward this harvest. The Nuu-chah-nulth tribe is native to the island, and are the only people licensed to collect the barnacles.

Billy and his father told me how their people prepare the percebes. They use a special box filled with seawater. Stones are heated over a fire, then dropped in the water until it boils. The goose barnacles are then cooked in the boiling water, then served and eaten by hand.

I was stunned – this is almost the exact same way that percebes are prepared in Spain! I remember sitting down in A Coruña a few years ago for a seafood feast. We nibbled on tasty little berberechos (cockles) and plump mejillones (mussels). Then came the main attraction – a plate of percebes freshly harvested and flash boiled in salted water. We peeled away the outer skin to reveal the coral colored meat, briny and full of flavor. It is amazing to think that for centuries the people of Spain and the Nuu-chah-nulth tribe have enjoyed this special seafood in the exact same way, but on opposite sides of the world!

But maybe it is not so surprising. The rugged coasts of Galicia and Vancouver have much in common. The climate is cool and wet, supporting lush vegetation. And most importantly, both coasts are battered by the nutrient rich northern oceans. This provides the ideal habitat for goose barnacles that filter plankton and nutrients using their fan-like appendages. In this ideal habitat, the percebes grow quickly, recolonizing harvested areas within a year.

Billy told me another connection between Spain and the Vancouver fishery. Some years ago, before the recession, Spain could not supply all of the demand for percebes. Billy and many of his fellow tribe members harvested thousands of pounds of goose barnacles from the Clayoquot sound, and most of them were shipped to the seafood markets of Galicia and Madrid.

This booming trade was not without its victims – several men lost their lives to the pounding surf. Billy told me a harrowing tale of how he was washed across the jagged rocks one day by a rogue wave, tumbling across beds of sharp mussels and barnacles. He swam to his boat that was moored nearby, but he was lucky to survive. Another time a wave crashed into him unexpectedly. He jammed his heavy metal harvesting staff into a crevice and held on tight while the water rushed over him.

The market for percebes is much diminished now. There is no longer demand from Spain, and the harvest is carefully monitored after the excesses of the boom times. Most days Billy is the only fisherman on the rocks, carrying on the tradition of his tribe. He says he often will remain on the little islands in the sound for hours after he harvests, taking in the beauty of this pristine part of the world.

I was struck by the knowledge that the orders from La Tienda are directly supporting this special fishery. The market is so small that every time we buy a pound of percebes we are providing meaningful support to this man and his tribe, and sustaining a tradition that is in danger of disappearing. This is part of our mission, to help sustainable food traditions survive and prosper, usually in our beloved Spain. I found that my visit to Vancouver was a concrete example of this idea in action.

What a crazy set of circumstances that brought me to this remote coastal fishery! It was a privilege to spend time with Billy and his father, and to connect with a food tradition shared by Gallegos in Spain and the Nuu-chah-nulth tribe a world away. This struggle to preserve and sustain food traditions is shared by people across the world, and I look forward to bringing you more stories about protecting the food heritage of Spain and beyond.

- Jonathan Harris

Don HarrisWhen I look back on my Navy career, I have so many warm memories of seagoing life and foreign ports. The best was being with the Spanish people in their homeland. From the first, I was attracted by their inclusiveness and commitment to family.

Early in my career, my wife Ruth and I traveled frequently to Spain to get to know these warm and gracious people. In the 1970s I was stationed in Rota and lived in the beautiful sherry town of El Puerto de Santa Maria. During this time Ruth gave birth to our third son, our own native born Spaniard. We spent much of our free time traveling with our sons throughout Spain, especially the rural areas where the people were in sync with the seasons.

In my book, The Heart of Spain, I include many stories of people we met through the years in Spain. They taught us that the foundation of any worthwhile relationship is the willingness to sit down together and share a meal, or to talk about life over a glass of wine at a tapas bar. Many of the products we have brought to America originated in that kind of personal interaction.

When I retired, our family settled in historic Williamsburg, Virginia - a handsome and orderly English town restored to its 18th-century beauty. However we missed the symmetry and beauty of Andalucia and her Moorish tiles. We decided to introduce a touch of Spain to our home, and looked until we found a source of tiles from Valencia. I was so excited that our search had been rewarded that I wanted others to gain from our research.

We opened a ceramic tile shop, offering these bright and vibrant tiles to our local community. Meanwhile we launched our first website in 1996 (just a year after Amazon began selling books), offering these same tiles to customers across the country. We soon discovered that authentic Spanish ceramic tile was difficult to sell and even harder to ship! Yet at the same time, this new medium, the Internet, prompted an enthusiastic response from Spaniards living throughout the U.S. I am sure many were homesick Spanish expats longing for a piece of home.

Meanwhile, older brother Tim started a company taking tee time reservations, and was one of the first dot.com entrepreneurs in the country. Tim helped our nascent company with technology in his free time, while Jonathan was teaching himself how design and communication could reach a potential audience. A key was to determine what Spanish products customers would want. It clearly was not azulejos (tiles) in any quantity.

The answer was jamón. Tim came home for supper one day and suggested to Jonathan, “Why don’t you post a picture of a Spanish ham on our website and see if there is any interest?” This was when technology, design and product clicked.

There was an immediate response. Soon, more than one hundred people signed up to hear when we would have jamón, which at that time was prohibited from importation to the U.S.

At the time, the Toledo-based company, Navidul, was working to export to the U.S. There were myriad new hurdles. The USDA wanted to place cooking instructions on each dry cured Jamón Serrano. Thankfully an Italian inspector stepped in and said that, like prosciutto, it did not need to be cooked. Later I had to drive to Washington, D.C., with samples of Spanish Serrano and Virginia smoke-cured country hams in the of backseat of my car to convince an official at the home office of the Department of Agriculture that mold on the jamón was a sign of aging, not spoiling (they sent a sample to Nebraska for testing to be sure).

While we worked with our Spanish partners to clear away these obstacles, we sent a monthly update to our enthusiastic Internet responders to keep them posted on our progress. That is how this newsletter began! (You can read twenty years-worth of stories on our website.)

This started a dialogue with Spain enthusiasts across the country. Many asked whether our family could source other Spanish favorites such as paella rice, extra virgin olive oil, chorizo and more. Some wanted sentimental products such as Nenuco bath cologne for their babies, or the familiar scent of a bar of Heno de Pravia soap.

So we made friends with the small community of Spanish importers and food producers across the country and worked with them to provide such items as premium Spanish olive oil and handcrafted Manchego cheese. The Spanish importers were always helpful, and willing to sell us small quantities of goods. True to Spanish values we have made lifelong friends with some of them.

Finally, in 1998, the very first Serrano hams were approved for sale in the United States! At first, we hung hams from the rafters in the basement of my home, next to shelves holding jars of piquillo peppers, Marcona almonds and paella rice. Jonathan and I did all of the packing and shipping ourselves. I remember a UPS van backing into our steep driveway so that we could load four or five shipments into the back.

During the next period of time, our small business grew quickly, requiring us to relocate almost every year. We went from our house to a suite above a dentist’s office, with 20 steps for the delivery person to negotiate with a hand truck full of boxes. Next we had a storefront where we lined the hallway with shelves of goods and stored perishables in second-hand refrigerators. After that we moved to a modest unheated warehouse space, and the next year to a building Tim found for us to buy, quite a ways out of town. The cinder block office building was less than impressive (once the ceiling tiles fell down while we were working!), but the important component was a separate, ample and air-conditioned warehouse.

By this time, Tim had joined La Tienda full time, along with our wives and a few employees. This young team was tested during hurricane Isabel of 2003. Isabel was severe, causing closed highways and no electricity for two weeks! Tim and Jonathan were away in Spain, and Ruth and I were marooned in our house with a downed tree blocking our street.

On their own initiative, our employees saved the day: they found several of their neighbors in the foodservice industry who were willing to help out by providing refrigerated space in their own establishments at various places around town. They located a generator to buy and installed it, and when they were done, they even came to check on Ruth and me to make sure we were safe. We were touched by their loyalty and teamwork, and one couple owns several flourishing restaurants here in town over 10 years later.

We continued to work on growing our list of artisan products, traveling across Spain to visit producers. We added hundreds of new items, and we reached a size where we could import directly. But one product was still elusive – Jamón Ibérico, the crown jewel of Spanish cuisine. This very special ham can only be made using pork from indigenous black Ibérico pigs. Because there was no USDA approved slaughterhouse for this breed, the hams were not available in the U.S. We decided to start offering pre-orders, hoping to prove to our Spanish suppliers that there was a market for this premium ham here.

The response was overwhelming - hundreds of customers placed a deposit of $199 each for the privilege of receiving the first Ibérico hams to reach our shores. Our effort even made front page news in The Wall Street Journal! Finally, in 2007, the family curing house Jamones y Embutidos Fermín made history by being the first exporter of Ibérico hams to America.

We now have hundreds of wonderful suppliers in Spain, most of them small family companies committed to sharing the heritage of Spanish cuisine with the world. From our humble beginnings in my home basement, we now have a warehouse where our great team carefully packs and ships hundreds of boxes every day. To this day, we count on our wonderful customers and suppliers to help us discover new foods and cookware from Spain. We are continually grateful to everyone who has helped La Tienda grow and thrive.

The company is still a labor of love for our family. Our two oldest sons continue to shepherd the family business, and we all live in the same neighborhood. Amongst them, our three sons have given us six beautiful grandchildren, two boys and four girls. Our youngest son and his wife are in the U.S. State Department Foreign Service, having just moved from Madrid to Costa Rica. They keep involved as much as possible, and we look forward to visiting them soon.

Thanks to our great customers, our fine employees and our local community, La Tienda is now able to import directly from Spain, ship from a modern warehouse and welcome people to our retail shop and tapas bar in Williamsburg. We try to honor our commitment to family, which is so basic to the Spanish way of life. We know virtually all our producers by name, and during the past twenty years have greatly enjoyed visiting them where they live and work in Spain. We thank you for supporting our mission to help support and share the wonderful artisan traditions that are at the heart of the Spain we love.

Tu amigo,
Don

The many lasting friendships I have made in Spain over the past twenty years are one of the most satisfying results of my many journeys traveling the highways and byways of Spain looking for artisan products for La Tienda.

One of the most fascinating men I have met is Antonio Gázquez Ortiz, a true renaissance man. We first encountered him near Cáceres over ten years ago when we were trying to learn as much as possible about the famous Ibérico pigs and their amazing pork and ham. We sought him: a professor at the University of Extremadura, who is a world renowned expert on these rare animals.

Dr Gázquez's roots are in the soil of Extremadura. It is there that he has devoted his life to unraveling and expounding upon the myth of the Iberian pig - which has roamed the Iberian Peninsula from the time of the cavemen. Holding the chair of Histology (the study of animal tissues) at the University of Extremadura in Cáceres, he has approached these legendary animals in terms of pure scientific analysis, and has inspired many of his students to continue the search for greater understanding of this unique animal.

By email we made contact with Dr. Gázquez and received an enthusiastic reply in which he suggested that we meet at a venta, or café, on the outskirts of Cáceres. After a sip of bellota acorn liqueur, in honor of the famous sweet acorns of the area, we set out in two vehicles to explore a nearby ranch where Ibérico pigs were being raised. In one car, my sons soon became lost in animated conversation with Antonio about animal husbandry (he is ever the teacher).

After all of us rejoined we walked out into the countryside to meet a herd of Ibérico pigs wallowing in a waterhole. We had never encountered pigs so relaxed, inquisitive and happy!

Once we returned to town it was time for the traditional Spanish midday meal. I would not call it a lunch; I would call it a feast. The Spanish know how to "break bread together." As we left the watering hole, the pigs glanced at us with only passing interest, their feast would come in the autumn when the surrounding acres of cork oaks would provide them with an abundance of bellotas.

At the dinner table Antonio, the professor, was transformed into Antonio, the gastronome, as he presided over a sumptuous feast. Before us were local cheeses, fresh shellfish, wines and plates of paper-thin sliced Jamón Ibérico which were glistening due to the warmth of the room - its monounsaturated fat turns to liquid at 70º F - truly extraordinary! Always the teacher, this time Antonio was in the role of the gourmet. In a genuine and unassuming way, he was acquainting us with the fine art of enjoying the fruits of the earth.

Antonio Gázquez is a man for all seasons. A genuine enthusiast, he enjoys being equally an author, a gourmet, a scientist and a historian. Most of all, he loves to teach. He has written many scholarly articles and books, some of which are the definitive texts in his field. I found one of his books to be particularly engaging: it was about the medieval cuisine of Christians, Jews and Moors.

I was greatly impressed with the knowledge and grace of this family man with several children whom he has raised to be productive people in their own right. We have maintained our friendship over the past decade or so, and just the other day he sent me the following description he wrote of a garbanzo or chickpea fair in his home region:

“Between 7 and 14 August 2016 is the garbanzo fair in Valencia del Ventoso, a small town near Badajoz. 2016 it has been declared the “International year of Pulses” by the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), so it is a momentous year for the festival.

In this competition, groups compete to create the finest example of traditional garbanzo meals typical of the area. Constituting the Jury members of the Extremadura Brotherhood of Gastronomy, Academy of Gastronomy in Extremadura, the Association of Cooks Extremeños and Merida Hotel School, among others.

The illustrious garbanzo has been the staple of many cultures throughout the centuries. It was already known in the Neolithic period and had its origin in the lands of Anatolia, current day Turkey, and from there spread throughout the Mediterranean basin.

For the Babylonians and Egyptians garbanzo beans were a basic vegetable in their diet, from there it spread westward to Carthage and the lands of North Africa, and to the Iberian lands of Spain.

At the same time, this legume was cultivated by the Phoenicians, in the region of Byblos, and later by the classical Greeks who boiled garbanzos in milk and then sprinkled with cheese. In the marketplace it was roasted for a snack. But possibly the most important culinary formula was cooked and seasoned with garum (a fish sauce) accompanied with boiled egg or made into a kind of stew cooked and seasoned with garum, wine and pepper. In the Middle Ages garbanzo beans were still a very common legume among the people, even called "meat of the poor." Millers turned the chickpeas into flour, porridge and cakes made with herbs.

Between the eleventh and fifteenth centuries an important part of the kitchen of Hispanic Jewish and Arabs was hummus, such as you enjoy today. During these centuries garbanzos were not only a part of the diet of the common people, but also were served in the university and church soup kitchens, as well as convents and inns and taverns. Garbanzos gradually become a major legume in Spanish cuisine, which was exported to America by the Spanish in the sixteenth century. Planted preferably in California and Mexico, the importance of garbanzos spread across international borders.

One of the dishes par excellence is based upon a stew or potaje. The stew has its origins in a Jewish Spanish dish, Adafina, which was prepared Friday night to be consumed on Saturday the Sabbat. It is a slow and deliberate preparation, which involved legumes (garbanzos) vegetables and meats (chicken and game birds, beef and sheep). Such a dish was adapted by the Christian community by adding pork fat, and transforms it into the "ollo podrido."

Over time potato and sausages were added, and in the nineteenth century the emergence of regional cuisines diversified the dish into the many styles we know today. But to return to the sixteenth century, the original dish of the period was called “ollo podrido” and, possibly a little earlier, potaje.

One of the first definitions of “cocido” found in the Treasury of the Spanish Language, defines it as "which is very large and contains in itself several things, such as sheep, cow, chickens, capons, sausages, pork feet, garlic, onions, etc." You can say that the cocido is a compendium of vegetables, legumes and meat, which should never be without bacon, hence the saying "no cocido without bacon or sermon without Augustine." But the real meaning of a cocido is shown in a poem: "ollo podrido with sprouts from Murcia, turnips from Alvelloz, beans from Tarragona, spices from Portugal, meat from Ronda, chorizos from Extremadura, chickens from Enero, and quail from Italy." Thus, a stew is a luxury of Spanish cuisine and in this particular case the day we participated as jurors in Valencia del Ventoso, a pleasure for the mouth and belly.”

I surely did not expect to learn from Antonio about the history and enjoyment of the humble garbanzo bean, or that there was a garbanzo feria! But he loves to teach – sharing his unbounded enthusiasm for knowledge and life. Initially I was looking for some information about pigs, but that was just the entryway to an enriching friendship with a scholar, veterinary scientist, gourmet cook, amateur artist and, most of all, a loving family man of integrity.

Tu amigo,
Don

Our modern culture seems to be fascinated with fantasy and legend. There is great interest in the legend of the Holy Grail or Tolkien’s Middle Earth; C.S. Lewis’s Narnia and the Harry Potter series. I wonder how many people realize that the tasty little Padrón peppers, which are so popular here at La Tienda, are also wrapped in legend!

The origin of the seeds from which we grow these tasty peppers traces back to a rustic town along the Atlantic coast of Galicia, in farthest northwest Spain. The town of Padrón is so far west that the neighboring village on the storm-tossed Atlantic Coast is called Finisterre - loosely translated as “the end of the world.”

The town of Padrón is shrouded in history and legend that stretch back to pre-history. Archaeologists tell us that it was an Iberian settlement of the Caporos people. Because of its natural location at the confluence of two rivers, the settlement was on the crossroads to what is now Braga (Portugal) to the south and Astorga (León) to the east. Ancient Roman documents tell us that it became a significant town named Iria Flavia under the Romans.

Now here is where the need to sort out history and legend comes into play. According to tradition, it was in a rocky area above Iria Flavia that Apostle St. James first preached during his stay in Hispania, which was at the peak of its cultural ascendency in the Roman Empire. It is conceivable that James would head there, as had St. Paul, according to Biblical accounts.

He returned to the Holy Land, where he was martyred in Jerusalem - and this is where the legend part of the story begins. It is said that his disciples Theodore and Athanasius placed the body of James in a stone boat and set it sail westward. They navigated the mythical stone craft across the expanse of the Mediterranean Sea, sailed by Gibraltar through the Pillars of Hercules, and headed north along the Atlantic coast until they found safe haven in a peaceful 'ria' or fjord. There they moored their stone vessel to a pedrón (Spanish for big stone).

The two disciples remained in Iria Flavia (now Padrón) to preach after burying the body of the apostle. The legendary pedrón mooring stone can be seen today at the parish church of Santiago de Padrón.

Legend has it that some shepherds in a field saw a star shining on the site of the grave of St. James during a key period in the struggle against the invading Moors in the 8th century. As news of the shepherds' miraculous discovery spread to the defending armies they took heart, and at the critical battle of Covadonga, they saw St. James riding out of heaven on a splendid white charger in order to lead the Spaniards to victory.

From that time forward, St. James, or Santiago (Iago was the old spelling), was viewed as the patron saint of Spain, and the name of the site where the funerial stone boat was pulled ashore was transmuted from 'Pedrón' (mooring stone) to 'Padrón' (Patron).

Padrón soon became a popular passing place in the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route, but the focus of attention gradually moved to nearby Santiago de Compostela. But here is where the peppers come in (in case you thought I had forgotten).

Over the years a Franciscan monastery grew up in the barrio of Herbón, a neighborhood of Padrón. It was there at the Herbón monastery where the Franciscans apparently first tried growing the pepper seeds they had brought back from the New World in the 18th century. This place still remains the heart of the Pimientos de Padrón growing area today.

One of the members of the La Tienda community wrote me, “I am actually from Padrón - my family originates from there. We have a 100-year-old farmhouse next to the monastery in Herbón, the small village contained in Padrón. All my aunties and uncles produce these pimientos. There is also an annual fiesta to celebrate the pimiento. People come from all around to visit.”

What do these legends and fantasies have to do with the very tasty and occasionally hot tiny green peppers? Had the Spaniards not believed the legend of Santiago, they might easily have lost the crucial Battle of Covadonga to the surging invaders. Hispania would have had a radically different culture, in which Franciscans could not flourish, nor could they plant peppers in their monasteries. Nor would there be the pilgrims of Santiago de Compostela to enjoy them in their tapas bars, and therefore the fame of the peppers would never have spread across Spain and the world.

Are these stories true? Could a stone ship sail across the Mediterranean? Was the body the shepherds found really that of St. James or just another first century Roman? How could the soldiers have seen James riding out of heaven on a white horse? These are questions that we as children of the scientific age ask. Certainly they would not have occurred to medieval pilgrims. For them, life was a mystery.

So when next you sauté your Padrón peppers and sprinkle them with sea salt before popping them into your mouth as a delightful tapa, think of the amazing history and legend surrounding this humble pepper.

Every year in Galicia, the Celtic province located in the far northwest corner of Spain, thousands of men and women gather to celebrate the Feast of Santiago. Pilgrims and hikers join with local students and townspeople in the town of Santiago de Compostela where, legend has it, the remains of the apostle James were buried. The 25th of July is set aside as a holy day honoring Santiago (Sant Iago=Saint James) as the patron saint of Spain.

Legend has it that in the 1st century, Saint James’ martyred body was placed in the hold of a stone boat and set to sea from Palestine. The craft traversed westward across the Mediterranean Sea, sailed through Gibraltar and the Pillars of Hercules before heading north along the Iberian coast until it came to rest at the village of Padrón on the Atlantic shore of Galicia. Saint James’ remains were laid to rest in a field near what is now the pilgrimage town of Santiago de Compostela.

In the early 9th century, legend has it that a vision of Santiago appeared in the sky before a group of Christian soldiers who were struggling to repel the Islamic armies that had conquered most of Spain. Santiago was mounted on a white steed and urged the outnumbered force on into battle. This extraordinary vision gave them the courage necessary to defeat the enemy at the Battle of Clavijo. This inspiring story became a unifying narrative, and marked the beginning of the reconquest of the Iberian Peninsula. The final victory came almost 800 years later at Granada in 1492, the same year Christopher Columbus set sail. Throughout this time, Spanish warriors galloping to battle followed the rallying cry, “Santiago!”

A church was built in the late 9th century to house the relics of the saint. In 997 Al-Mansur, the great Moorish general, burnt the church to the ground and transported the bells of the church to the mosque in Cordoba. Amazingly the relics were undisturbed, and some say that Al-Mansur ordered them protected because he was aware of the power of the relics. In the 12th century a sublime Romanesque cathedral was built which has been embellished and enlarged over the centuries.

Over this time, Santiago de Compostela became a major pilgrimage site, and the church even granted full forgiveness of sins to those who walked all the way to Santiago, or died on the way. The pilgrimage route, also known as “El Camino de Santiago” or “The Way of Saint James,” attracted pilgrims from across Europe. Chaucer tells us, in his Canterbury Tales, of English pilgrims joining others on the Camino de Santiago. Those pilgrims walked through France and across the Pyrenees, joining other faithful in following the trail 400 miles across northern Spain.

What at first was just a trickle of pilgrims eventually grew into a stream of men and women from all over Europe and the Middle East. Saint Francis of Assisi and Charlemagne are said to have travelled there. Some communities found the Camino a convenient method of purging their towns of minor criminals, sentencing them to walk to Santiago in penance. No doubt they hoped that these troublemakers would come back transformed by the journey – or that they would never return at all! During the Middle Ages, when Jerusalem was in Muslim hands and Rome was sacked by hostile forces, Santiago became the most important pilgrimage site in Europe.

Throughout the centuries it has been traditional for local people to welcome pilgrim hikers passing through their villages, and housing and feeding the crowds became a prosperous activity. To this day, there are towns within walking distance all along the way, no doubt supported by the pilgrims. The pilgrims were identified by their wooden staffs, often with a gourd filled with water serving as a canteen. Most importantly, the emblem which distinguished them most was the scallop shell of Santiago.

The centuries passed and for many the idea of pilgrimages, visions and relics became a historical oddity. These legends became seen as fairy tales – viewed with skepticism and amusement. Especially during our profoundly materialist age, with the reign of science as the source of verifiable truth, the story of Santiago is fanciful, much like Washington and the cherry tree. As a result, by the 20th century only a small number of pilgrims chose to follow the well-trod paths of the earlier pilgrims. Eventually the paths became overgrown and in many places indistinguishable from the foot paths around them. But then remarkable things began to take hold.

Beginning in the 1970’s there was a groundswell of interest in the Camino de Santiago – the pilgrimage route. Scholars and hikers discovered the profound meaning that a contemplative journey can have – a truth that millions of ancient pilgrims experienced in the past. The motivation of the modern travelers came from a broader perspective. I have heard from many of our La Tienda community that they were choosing to walk the Camino as a reflective break from the lives they were living. Some told me they just wanted to hike in nature, and the 400 miles from France to Santiago was an exciting challenge.

One of these pilgrims lives in my hometown. She was an active woman in her sixties who saw the Camino as both a spiritual and physical challenge. I was humbled by her preparation and dedication. Sure enough, when she felt she was properly prepared she headed off to northern Spain and walked the Camino de Santiago by herself. But she soon discovered she was never alone, as she would bond with fellow travelers along the way.

She told me that she was able to completely detach. For her the trip to Spain was not a vacation, it was a spiritual journey in which she was completely out of her element. It was an extraordinary experience where she was on her own, traveling in a foreign land lacking the familiar props of books or maps or even a common language. She even had the experience of being lost, but soon would find fellow pilgrims along the way to help her – many of whom were from far off countries, and hardly spoke her language. But the common language was “caring.”

She told me the greatest insight she achieved traveling along the way was the compassion and caring she received from strangers. In those early days she was touched by the townspeople who would anticipate her need for protection at night. One night a villager asked if she would mind if he locked the door of the small bunkhouse so that my friend would be safe!

She has returned to the Camino several times over the following years, each time experiencing a new sense of renewal. Of course many changes have occurred as more and more people have decided to walk the Camino. What was merely a trickle of hikers is now more than one hundred thousand a year. My friend said that she missed the intimacy and solitude of her first journeys but she is thankful that others are now able to share the experience. The movie entitled The Way has been an inspiration to many, a labor of love by the actor Martin Sheen that has reached millions.

One of those was another friend I met through La Tienda. He and his wife joined Ruth and me in Williamsburg and together we shared their enthusiasm about the Spanish people and their view of life. Not long after, he went on the Camino for the first time. Then he returned bringing a dozen or so friends from his church, dedicating his walk the Camino to his nephew who had sustained a crippling injury.

El Camino de Santiago is more than a hike through beautiful Spain. Whether you are religious or not, walking for weeks on end in the footsteps of the millions of pilgrims who travelled before you can be a deeply profound personal journey. It is not only a chance to challenge yourself and separate from the daily demands of modern living, but also a time to find a deeper understanding of yourself and your fellow humans who travel with you down the path of life.

Dear Friends,

The summer solstice marks the time when the hours of darkness are shortest, and the hours of sunlight are at their peak. It is the beginning of summertime - a time of celebration now that winter storms are a thing of the past and springtime growth has begun to bear fruit. I grew up in New England and know what a feeling of elation I felt when Memorial Day and June finally arrived and the seemingly endless gray skies are but a memory. As I write to you from Virginia, I find the newly emergent fresh leaves of the woods, punctuated with elusive dogwood, to be exhilarating and life affirming.

I have a very good friend named Pablo who lives in Vigo, just north of Portugal. He told me about an ancient summer solstice festival celebrated across Spain where bonfires literally burn up the past, ushering in a new season of promise. They occur during the Fiesta de San Juan, a religious holiday, but the original celebrations probably began thousands of years before San Juan was even born!

My friend Pablo is a young man of many interests: he treasures his sleek BMW motorcycle, he excels in web design as a profession. Despite these modern interests, he has a particular enthusiasm for all aspects of his native Galicia, from history to architecture to local customs. His interest in photography brings his fascinations to life, and he often shares them with me via email or Flickr. Mixed in with the photos are notes about his active and joyful life with his beloved Rosana.

I’ve heard of many ancient celebrations that feature blazing bonfires throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. In Spain these bonfires are usually found along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. The primitive origin of the blazing bonfires of San Juan, whether in Alicante or Galicia, began to encourage the sun, so that it would burst forth in the solstice, forcing the gray days of winter to flee.

The bonfires became a way of celebrating the arrival of summer: San Juan's night is full of bonfires, fireworks, music, eating, drinking and dancing. I knew my friend Pablo could tell me all about them, and I was not disappointed.

Here is his perspective:

The primitive origin of the celebration is to give force to the sun with fire, to help summer to come and force winter to go. But over time it took on a religious sense (San Juan) and a purification sense, where the bonfires were used to burn old furniture, clothes of the sick or those who had died, anything that needed to be purged. It's like celebrating the arrival of the summer, leaving behind the raw winter.
There are many rituals on this night (although many young people are devaluing it, converting the night into a simple alcohol-party with a fire on the beach).

The true rituals vary from bathing in the sea in the night, to jumping the bonfires.

In Valencia, for example, you need to jump seven times over the bonfire to attract the good luck. In Galicia - you know, we're hard people - the magic number grows to nine. In the Balearic Islands the people don’t jump, but throw something old into the fire. In Sevilla and Malaga, the tradition says you must clean your face at midnight. There are many traditions, but almost all have a common denominator: to renew, to clean, to take energy, to get luck, etc.

Mostly this is a family and friends celebration. If it is a little village, there is probably an "official" big bonfire in the main square for all the people. If it is a bigger place there will be some big "official" bonfires, but a lot of people have their own celebrations in their backyards. In Coruña or Panxon, they are only allowed on the beach, to prevent wildfires. The image of Riazor beach in Coruña on San Juan’s night is awesome. The aftermath, of course, is not as beautiful (14 tons of garbage was pulled of the beach last year).

Some cities are issuing cards to avoid Coruña-style lack of control, so now only "official" or family bonfires are allowed. This helps to prevent accidents, so there are only two or three, but bigger ones. I think this is a good initiative because it allows the city to make some spectacles around the bonfires, to keep present the old traditions, such as Queimadas, Trasgos (devils), etc.

The food in Galicia is typically sardines, which are grilled over fire and served with corn, bread, wine and a Queimada.

(A Queimada is an alcoholic punch found in Galicia, made with a distilled wine liquor called aguardiente or orujo. It is seasoned with herbs, coffee beans, lemon peel and other spices. Traditionally an incantation is recited, adding special powers to the drink before it is set on fire. Warm cupfuls are scooped from the flaming bowl. This drink is meant to purify the body and chase away demons.)

Probably we will celebrate San Juan in Rosana's family house, maybe go down to the beach to take a look, but not too late.

Un abrazo – Pablo

While I don’t think I will jump over a fire this June, I find vicarious joy in this exuberant welcoming of the summer. I can imagine thousands of people celebrating the Fiesta of San Juan all across Spain - dancing, singing, jumping and plunging into the ocean. What a site it must be!

Saludos,
Don Harris

Extra virgin olive oil is miraculous. Not only is it delicious, but every day new evidence shows that it is the Superman of oils - fighting heart disease, cholesterol, cancer and even diabetes! But most extra virgin olive oils on the market are like Superman holding kryptonite, because they have been mistreated, diluted or adulterated.

After spending twenty years importing olive oil from Spain, we've learned how to choose the very best extra virgin olive oils. We’ve walked olive orchards at harvest time and watched as the ripe olives, bright green and walnut brown, are shaken from the gnarled branches of the olive trees. We’ve witnessed how our partners in Spain hurry their olives to the mill so that the oil is extracted just hours after leaving the tree. Making great extra virgin olive oil is an art, from carefully tending the trees, all the way to bottling under ideal conditions.

Now, what exactly is extra virgin olive oil? Olives are a pitted fruit, like a cherry or a peach, so olive oil is fundamentally a fruit juice. Fresh, pure fruit juice is the tastiest and most healthy, of course. In the case of olive oil, ‘extra virgin’ refers to fresh olives pressed soon after harvest with no heat or chemical processing. If you see olive oil called 'pure,' 'virgin,' 'light' or 'extra light,' you are getting oil extracted by heat or chemicals, heavily filtered and perhaps mixed with a splash of extra virgin oil for flavor.

Imagine visiting a cider house in the mountains of Vermont. You watch as a bushel of freshly picked apples from a nearby orchard is added to a press. The cider master squeezes the fruit and you are handed a tall glass of cider. Now imagine that he grinds up the leftover peels, pulp, seeds and stems from the first pressing, then adds them to a cauldron where the mass is heated, then spun in a centrifuge to extract every last drop. You are then given a glass of this cider. Which would you choose?

The best extra virgin olive oil is harvested at the peak of ripeness, or even earlier, and pressed within hours. This is key, because over-ripe olives suffer more oxidation, changing the flavor and reducing its healthful properties. This presents a conundrum to the olive farmer, because over-ripe olives yield much more oil, so earlier harvest costs them in volume. Therefore it is more expensive to get higher quality - imagine that! We find that it is almost impossible to buy a bottle of quality olive oil for less than $10, and truly excellent oils cost quite a bit more. If you are a wine drinker you will understand - a $28 bottle of Cabernet is often worlds better than an $8 bottle.

Because extra virgin olive oil is pure juice with no preservatives, freshness is key. All of the healthful antioxidants and vitamins begin to break down over time, so it is important to note the best-by date on any bottle of olive oil. Best-by dates can be up to two years after harvest, so choose the oil with the longest time until this date. Even better is to look for a harvest date. Olives in the northern hemisphere are harvested in late fall, so it is optimal to have a harvest date within the last 12 months.

Acidity is also important. High acid levels speak to olives that were damaged or bruised, and generally signals low quality and bad flavor. Extra virgin olive oil must by law have very low acidity, under 0.8%. Most of our olive oils are well under 0.2%.

As you may have read, there are some pirates in the olive oil business who disguise mediocre oil as premium extra virgin. These counterfeiters are in a volume game, taking inferior product and selling containers of it for a small profit on each bottle. The best way to avoid these oils is to buy from a small olive oil producer committed to quality. You can also look for certifications that deter the crooks. One is the DOP label or Protected Denomination of Origin. In Europe this means that local government organizations inspect and certify producers to ensure the quality of olive oils from their home regions. Another is certified Organic oils, which also come under a lot of scrutiny.

When shopping for extra virgin olive oil, the best strategy is to find a trusted seller, such as a boutique market, where you can taste the oils and learn from the proprietor about each oil. We feature a flight of extra virgin olive oils for tasting in our store in Williamsburg, VA for instance. We are also fortunate enough to have visited suppliers in Spain and seen their harvests first hand. We've become friends with the growers, and know that their olives are picked in small batches and pressed very soon after harvest. So, if you don't have a trusted local source, we guarantee that our olive oils are sourced from small companies with quality as their top priority.

How should olive oil taste? Because there are hundreds of types of olives, intensity of flavor can vary. As a rule of thumb, the oil should smell fresh and herbal, similar to fresh cut grass. Color is less important, but the oil should range from golden to green, but never brown. The flavors of olive oil can vary widely, but it should be well balanced, with fruity and herbal notes in concert with fresh bitterness. There should always be a bit of pepperiness, especially at the back of your throat - this comes from the antioxidants that can only be found in fresh extra virgin olive oil.

What can you do to properly care for your olive oil at home? The most important rule is to use it! Enjoy the oil within weeks of opening the bottle. A few years ago I was horrified to spot a great bottle of early harvest extra virgin olive oil gathering dust above the stove at a relative's house - and I had given them the oil years before! Olive oil is not for special occasions - enjoy it while it is fresh and delicious.

The best way to store your extra virgin oil is in a dark, cool place. You can even refrigerate olive oil, though it will appear cloudy once it is cool and will need to be warmed to room temperature to pour. Heat and light kill flavor and health benefits, so a sunny countertop or stovetop storage place are the last place to leave your bottle.

For millennia the people of Spain have enjoyed extra virgin olive oil as the foundation of their diet. Almost every traditional recipe calls for it - it is even drizzled on toast for breakfast. With the mounting evidence of its amazing health benefits, many in Spain even drink a shot of olive oil every day, like a super-vitamin boost!

We don't go to that extreme at home. But it is surprisingly easy to replace other oils in your diet for use on salads, pastas, for sautéing or in recipes for soup or stew. It is important to note that most cooking oils, even the "healthy" ones like canola, are refined and chemically processed with hexane, a petroleum product. Replacing these oils with the pure juice of olives just makes sense. There is also a myth that olive oil shouldn't be used for frying, which is untrue - though filling a deep fryer with extra virgin olive oil might be a bit pricey!

Extra virgin olive oil is truly a super-food. As with wine, olive oil comes in a bounty of different styles and flavors, bringing a tasty sense of discovery to your kitchen and table. It is also amazingly good for you. One large study in Spain was stopped early because the health benefits of extra virgin olive oil were so clear that it was deemed unethical to not give olive oil to all of the participants! With a little extra effort, you can select a high quality extra virgin olive oil that will bring more flavor and health to your life.

In a few weeks, as Easter approaches, towns and cities across Spain will be immersed in the striking ceremonies and processions of Semana Santa, or Holy Week, commemorating the last few days leading up to Easter.

Semana Santa expresses the heart and soul of Spain. Semana Santa is not a show, nor is it designed to be a tourist attraction. Throughout the preceding year, both the physical and spiritual preparations involve hundreds of people in each town. It just as much an expression of community as it is of devotion. And you don't need to be religious to appreciate the beauty and artistry of these celebrations - there is something profound about a town or city coming together in this way that transcends your personal beliefs.

In many towns elaborate pasos, or heavy wooden platforms, are brought out by the local parishes to recall the last few days of the life of Jesus prior to his crucifixion. Many of the sculptures stretch back many generations and the pasos lie in repose in the local parishes all year long. On the appropriate day during Holy Week, robed parishioners strain to lift and carry the venerated life-like images through the town on a set route that can take many hours. Each parish has a brotherhood of penitential men and boys who are committed to shoulder this immensely heavy burden in procession during Holy Week.

Every town and city throughout Spain has her own rendition. One of my favorites occurs in the ancient walled city of Zamora in Northern Spain, near the Portuguese border. It is a city filled with priceless 12th century Romanesque churches. The tone of their Semana Santa celebration is very somber. To this day, my wife Ruth and I can recall looking down from the battlements about midnight and seeing a long candlelit procession headed toward the city gate. It was a remarkable sight.

In Zamora most of the citizens, from toddlers to retired people - called jubilados in Spain - are involved in the preparations. It is a binding communal event. If you would like to share in this amazing experience I strongly recommend that you make a reservation for the Zamora Parador, a restored 15th-century Renaissance palace, with medieval touches, including suits of armor, tapestries and interior stone walls. The 12th-century Zamora Cathedral is 9 minutes' walk away. However, do it right now for next year, 2017. I am sure most of the rooms are already booked at about $125 per night – not bad for a palace!

On the other hand, if you were to go to Andalucía in southern Spain you would have quite a different experience. Sevilla has a huge and festive Semana. The pasos are equally as beautiful and refined as the North. The cofradias, the men of the brotherhood who carry the massive pasos on their shoulders, are equally devout as in Castile. But Sevilla is an elegant place, kissed by the sun. As you can imagine, it is hard to capture the severe piety of a place like Zamora when you are surrounded by avenues of citrus trees laden with oranges, spectacular purple bougainvillea, and deep red geraniums all surrounded by palm trees. Sevilla is by nature festive.

Yet another amazing Semana Santa is located in the cliff town of Cuenca with its dramatic hanging balconies. It is only a two-hour drive from the Barajas Airport in Madrid, yet it definitely is another world. Their weeklong celebration is in many ways similar to other towns', but if you stay by the plaza up the steep hill in front of the Cathedral, you will find the ancient cobblestone streets very narrow and the processions are close enough to touch. Spectators are only two or three deep at a maximum.

Another dramatic feature of Cuenca processions is the presence of scores of drummers in traditional garb, whose muffled snare drumming heightens the intensity of the processions. Good Friday morning is an experience you will never forget, as the life sized statue of Jesus arrives in the plaza and the hundreds of drummers begin to mock him, representing the crowd at his crucifixion.

If this were not enough to recommend this beautiful city, during the day is the international medieval religious music festival. Choirs and musical ensembles come from all over Europe, from Belgium and Germany as well as Spain's El Escorial, to sing at various chapels during the day. As a result, on the same day you attend a moving musical performance, then stop for tapas at a local café then get ready for the processions in the evening!

The Parador hotel in Cuenca is a restored 16th-century monastery, just a stone’s throw from the Cathedral. On the other hand, we found rooms in an ancient dormitory which was just steps from the old Norman Cathedral.

These are just a few of the mesmerizing and beautiful Holy Week celebrations that occur all across Spain. I can think of no better way to experience the living traditions of ancient Spain than by experiencing Semana Santa. It is a week of beauty, tradition, celebration, devotion, family and community that goes to the heart of what it is to be Spanish.

Perched atop a hill overlooking the Henares River is the beautiful town of Sigüenza. Its winding medieval streets meander up to a stunning castle overlooking the valley. Celto-iberians, Romans, Moors and Christian nobles conquered and rebuilt the city over the last two millennia. What better place to visit the craftsmen who make bota wineskins, a tradition that spans the entire history of this ancient city?

Last fall my brother and I were greeted warmly by Jesús Blasco, his brother Carlos and his son Ignacio at their small workshop. We were a little late – we got turned around as we drove through streets more suited for a medieval horseman than a car! Jesús explained that his business was over 100 years old, and had been passed down for five generations. In fact, his family had made wineskins since the mid-1800s.

In the workshop, Jesús had prepared his workbench with the tools of his trade – piles of goatskins from the local countryside, pitch from juniper and pine trees, sturdy scissors and a curious wooden staff. He told us that from ancient times, before glass bottles or barrels became ubiquitous, the bota was the primary way to transport wine across Spain. He even showed us an antique bota made from an entire goatskin that could hold many gallons of wine. In previous centuries, these would be strapped to the back of a burro and delivered to taverns and homes around the region.

Only the finest flawless goatskins are used for making botas. Each one is tanned with natural tannins, including the shredded bark of pine and oak trees, and cleaned to a pristine, food-safe state. Jesús expertly traced the two halves of a teardrop shaped wineskin on the soft leather, then cut out the pieces by hand. The sides were sewn together and he picked up the mysterious wooden staff, worn smooth by decades of use. After blowing up the bota, Jesús grasped the staff and swiftly turned the bota inside out using the blunt top. With a whisper of a smile and a glint in his eye he demonstrated his mastery of a skill that is the heritage of his family.

Now the bota was ready for the last few steps. The hair of the goat was now on the interior of the wineskin and he took us to a back room where a vat of hot liquid pine pitch was sitting ready. He opened a tap and filled the bota with the pitch, which adheres to the hair and makes the wineskin waterproof. After a few seconds he poured the pitch out.

On the other side of the workshop Jesús retrieved a spout from a basket and with a flourish tied it to the end of the wineskin. His hands were a blur, and I am sure what took him a few seconds would have taken me much, much longer – and I am not sure I would trust the results!

Jesús displayed his skills with a quiet confidence and clearly wanted to show us the skills passed on from his ancestors. But I think he was equally proud that his son is carrying on the tradition. In fact, Ignacio has added a few modern flourishes to keep the business thriving into the 21st century. At his suggestion the family purchased a laser machine to brand each bota with customized logos. This allows them to mark these ancient wineskins with the names of restaurants, resorts and businesses. We saw one marked with the world famous red logo of Coca-Cola for a recent Madrid event!

Other adaptations include the use of durable latex liners for some of the botas, which can hold any type of beverage and take much less care to maintain. Ignacio also showed us a beautiful bota made from finest steer leather and capped with a rustic wooden spout. Jesús muttered that it wasn’t very traditional to use anything other than goatskin, but I think he secretly appreciated the new ideas his son has introduced.

That afternoon we wandered the streets with Jesús and his sons, stopping by a local bar for a glass of wine and a couple of tapas - garlic toast covered with delicious anchovies plus crunchy fried pork skins sprinkled with smoky pimentón. We chatted about our families and Spanish politics, then bid “¡Buen Provecho!” to the other patrons as we left.

We walked up to the impressive cathedral and on to the imposing stone castle at the top of the hill. They pointed out pockmarks in the cathedral towers that dated back to the Spanish civil war. Franco’s troops had occupied the castle and fired down on the Republicans who used the cathedral as a fortress. (The stunning castle has been rebuilt and converted to a beautiful Parador hotel – I highly recommend visiting and spending a night there. It is only an hour from Madrid.)

It struck me how much this small city had been formed and changed by centuries of conflict and domination by different cultures. The Romans leveled the original Celtic fortress that overlooked the valley nearly two thousand years ago. Visigoths supplanted them only to be pushed out by the Moorish invasion, then the Christian Reconquista. The fact that the bell tower of the cathedral had been shelled with mortars within living memory speaks to the precarious existence of the inhabitants of Sigüenza throughout the centuries.

And yet the local inhabitants, battered by waves of conflict, quietly carried on throughout the centuries, planting, harvesting, and crafting the tools and necessities of daily life. To share time with the Blasco family was truly an honor, a chance to witness an ancient craft that has not changed significantly since Roman times.

I will always remember the look of joy and pride in the face of Jesús as he demonstrated the simple, time-honored skills of his trade for us. His son Ignacio stood by his side, and I could tell that he also shared in the enthusiasm and pride of his father in a job well done and an ancient tradition that will carry on to another generation.

I want to share with you a favorite essay of mine from a few years back, describing one of the most delightful celebrations in Spain, El Día de los Reyes Magos, or Three Kings Day. It is all about the joy of children as they join the whole community to celebrate the coming of the Magi. Next year you may want to bring this tradition to your home!

Happy New Year! Every January 5th, thousands of excited children and their parents gather along streets of Spain to greet the arrival of the Three Kings. In the evening, the three kings process through the towns on horseback, camels or even on flat bed trucks pulled by tractors! The Wise Men - one of whom is traditionally a Moor - scatter candy into the excited crowd of children. In a few towns, they may include small gifts as well.

After the parade, before the children are tucked in bed, they leave three items at the door: a dish of water and hay for the camels; turrón and perhaps a glass of wine or sherry for the Kings; and a pair of shoes in which they hope the Wise Men will leave gifts.

The next morning the children will discover their gifts, and for breakfast, many will enjoy a piece of Roscón de Reyes - a sweet bread covered with candied fruit. Within it is hidden a prize, usually a small coin or a ring. Whoever finds it is King for the Day. After dinner late in the afternoon, the family will visit the homes of members of their extended family - grandparents, aunts and uncles or a favorite cousin to see what the Kings had left them. It is an all-day evolution.

Ruth and I find that this time right after Christmas is a nice time to visit Spain. Leaving the throbbing marketplace of America and walking the cobblestone streets of Spain's delightful traditional towns is balm for the soul. Christmas festivities in Spain span almost two weeks: Christmas Day is but the beginning of twelve days of family celebrations that climax with the arrival in Bethlehem of the Three Kings on January 6th.

We find that dropping in on local celebrations of Three Kings Day is particularly appealing. Three celebrations were particularly memorable: Guadalupe, Santiago de Compostela and Trujillo.

The village surrounding the Monastery of Guadalupe is nestled deep in the mountains of the same name. The town was a particular favorite of Ferdinand and Isabella - in fact it was there that they received Columbus when he returned from his first voyage bringing many exotic new foods such as peppers, tomatoes and chocolate.

The year that we visited Guadalupe the weather was a little raw: the wind and mist were blowing in from the mountains. Nevertheless, the weather did not dampen the spirit of the townspeople. From the steps under the 14thC Mudejar facade of the monastery, the mayor read the names of all of the children who had been born into their community during the previous year. As each child's name was announced, the parents brought their baby forward up the steps where the infant was blessed by the priest and given a little gift from the town.

Then from the distance, we could hear the rhythm of drums that the local young men were beating heralding the arrival of the Three Kings. Down a side street they came on flat-beds pulled by John Deere tractors and slowly wended their way into the Plaza Mayor. For us adult literalists a tractor has little resemblance to a camel or a horse, but that did not faze the delighted children as they scrambled for the candy, which was liberally sown.

Another year we were in one of our favorite places, the pilgrimage town of Santiago de Compostela, along with two of our sons, Jonathan and Christopher. I remember the four of us heading for the Three Kings parade. It was dusk and we were walking in the mist across the Plaza de Obraidoiro. From the direction of the cathedral on our left, which was shrouded with fog, I could hear the haunting notes of a jazz saxophone played by a young pilgrim whose figure I could barely make out in the archway.

The ancient stone arcades of the pilgrimage town were alive with hundreds of excited children crowding the curbs to get a better look at the Magi, who, this time were riding horses. The tractors were there too, groaning with more wrapped candies than I had ever seen in one place! So much life! So much joy! To think that children have been crowding these curbs for centuries!

Our favorite Tres Reyes celebration of all took place in the jewel of a village named Trujillo, in Extremadura, western Spain. It has been such a quiet town for so long, that the Trujillo brothers left for the New World hundreds of years ago in search of excitement and adventure.

The brothers eventually conquered Peru, and there is a notable bronze statue of Francisco Pizarro commemorating this event in the in the beautiful Plaza Mayor. The cobble-stoned area is vast - big enough to hold a gathering of the entire village, which is exactly what happens each year when the town gathers to await the arrival of the Tres Reyes.

When we arrived in Trujillo on the evening of the procession, we visited a living creche located in one corner of the Plaza: A twelve-year-old boy sporting a cotton batten beard represented St Joseph. At his side was Mary, a lovely ten-year-old girl, who was bending over the manger tending a plaster Christ Child. Some of the other boys surrounded the manger, clad in shepherd bathrobes. Intermingled were their suitably angelic little sisters who completed the tableau. It was so disarming - and refreshing.

A clatter of hoofs echoing off the cobblestones indicated the pending arrival of the Three Kings -- three young fathers riding horses from their farms. Literally, the whole village had gathered in the plaza to greet them: young parents with babes in arms, grandmothers peering proudly into baby carriages delivering a couple of caramelos (hard candies) to their delighted grandchildren; and lots of excited kids circling about the plaza. Eventually they migrated to the side street where the Three Kings had settled to greet the children personally and to give them presents.

What made these three occasions so memorable? Was it because there was no commercial agenda, and its execution was amateur? That is part of it. Was it because the neighbors get together to put on something for the children of their town? That too. Most of all what is memorable is the unbridled joy of little children.

I hope you experienced such joy during the holidays. Certainly we did with our two 3-year old grandchildren exhibiting such unabashed pleasure as they unwrapped even the most insignificant (to us) present. Or our 5 year old grandson, so excited about his foos-ball table. What a respite from the world-weary world in which we live.

Tu amigo,
Don

Happy New Year!

Every January 5th, thousands of excited children and their parents gather along streets of Spain to greet the arrival of the Three Kings. In the evening, the three kings process through the towns on horseback, camels or even on flat bed trucks pulled by tractors! The Wise Men - one of whom is traditionally a Moor - scatter candy into the excited crowd of children. In a few towns, they may include small gifts, as well.

After the parade, before the children are tucked in bed, they leave three items at the door: a dish of water and hay for the camels, turrón and perhaps a glass of wine or sherry for the Kings, and a pair of shoes in which they hope the Wise Men will leave gifts.

The next morning the children will discover their gifts, and for breakfast, many will enjoy a piece of Roscón de Reyes - a sweet bread covered with candied fruit. Within it is hidden a prize, usually a small coin or a ring. Whoever finds it is King for the Day. After dinner late in the afternoon, the family will visit the homes of members of their extended family - grandparents, aunts and uncles or a favorite cousin to see what the Kings had left them. It is an all-day evolution.

Ruth and I find that this time right after Christmas is a nice time to visit Spain. Leaving the throbbing marketplace of America and walking the cobblestone streets of Spain's delightful traditional towns is balm for the soul. Christmas festivities in Spain span almost two weeks: Christmas Day is but the beginning of twelve days of family celebrations that climax with the arrival in Bethlehem of the Three Kings on January 6th.

We find that dropping in on local celebrations of Three Kings Day is particularly appealing. Three celebrations were particularly memorable: Guadalupe, Santiago de Compostela and Trujillo.

The village surrounding the Monastery of Guadalupe is nestled deep in the mountains of the same name. The town was a particular favorite of Ferdinand and Isabella - in fact it was there that they received Columbus when he returned from his first voyage bringing many exotic new foods such as peppers, tomatoes and chocolate.

The year that we visited Guadalupe the weather was a little raw: the wind and mist were blowing in from the mountains. Nevertheless, the weather did not dampen the spirit of the townspeople. From the steps under the 14thC Mudéjar façade of the monastery, the mayor read the names of all of the children who had been born into their community during the previous year. As each child's name was announced, the parents brought their baby forward up the steps where the infant was blessed by the priest and given a little gift from the town.

Then from the distance, we could hear the rhythm of drums that the local young men were beating, heralding the arrival of the Three Kings. Down a side street they came on flat-beds pulled by John Deere tractors and slowly wended their way into the Plaza Mayor. For us adult literalists a tractor has little resemblance to a camel or a horse, but that did not faze the delighted children as they scrambled for the candy, which was liberally sown.

Another year we were in one of our favorite places, the pilgrimage town of Santiago de Compostela, along with two of our sons, Jonathan and Christopher. I remember the four of us heading for the Three Kings parade. It was dusk and we were walking in the mist across the Plaza de Obraidoiro. From the direction of the cathedral on our left, which was shrouded with fog, I could hear the haunting notes of a jazz saxophone played by a young pilgrim whose figure I could barely make out in the archway.

The ancient stone arcades of the pilgrimage town were alive with hundreds of excited children crowding the curbs to get a better look at the Magi, who, this time were riding horses. The tractors were there too, groaning with more wrapped candies than I had ever seen in one place! So much life! So much joy! To think that children have been crowding these curbs for centuries!

Our favorite Tres Reyes celebration of all took place in the jewel of a village named Trujillo, in Extremadura, western Spain. It has been such a quiet town for so long, that the Trujillo brothers left for the New World hundreds of years ago in search of excitement and adventure.

The brothers eventually conquered Peru, and there is a notable bronze statue of Francisco Pizarro commemorating this event in the in the beautiful Plaza Mayor. The cobble-stoned area is vast - big enough to hold a gathering of the entire village, which is exactly what happens each year when the town gathers to await the arrival of the Tres Reyes.

When we arrived in Trujillo on the evening of the procession, we visited a living creche located in one corner of the Plaza: A twelve-year-old boy sporting a cotton batten beard represented St Joseph. At his side was Mary, a lovely ten-year-old girl, who was bending over the manger tending a plaster Christ Child. Some of the other boys surrounded the manger, clad in shepherd bathrobes. Intermingled were their suitably angelic little sisters who completed the tableau. It was so disarming - and refreshing.

A clatter of hoofs echoing off the cobblestones indicated the pending arrival of the Three Kings -- three young fathers riding horses from their farms. Literally, the whole village had gathered in the plaza to greet them: young parents with babes in arms, grandmothers peering proudly into baby carriages delivering a couple of caramelos (hard candies) to their delighted grandchildren and lots of excited kids circling about the plaza. Eventually they migrated to the side street where the Three Kings had settled to greet the children personally and to give them presents.

What made these three occasions so memorable? Was it because there was no commercial agenda, and its execution was amateur? That is part of it. Was it because the neighbors get together to put on something for the children of their town? That too. Most of all what is memorable is the unbridled joy of little children.

I hope you experienced such joy during the holidays. Certainly we did with our two 3-year-old grandchildren exhibiting such unabashed pleasure as they unwrapped even the most insignificant (to us) present. Or our 5-year-old grandson, so excited about his foosball table. What a respite from the world-weary world in which we live.

Tu amigo,
Don