Eating it up in Ávila, El Escorial and Toledo
Empanada Boy and I spent two of our five days in Madrid visiting nearby towns and cities. We woke up feeling better after our rough jet-lag plagued first night. Isla Flotante and Salmorejo picked us up from our hotel in Isla’s car for a drive out to the walled city of Ávila, the center of Spanish mysticism. Ávila is the home of Santa Teresa, a medieval nun and poet who wrote surprisingly erotic poems about her mystical communion with Jesus. It is also known for having some of the best beef in Spain.
After walking in the hot sun along the ancient, high walls that surround the outside of the city, we ate lunch at a spot called Restaurante Tres Siglos. Salmorejo selected a robust wine from Ribera del Duero, and we ordered two thin tenderloin steaks. Before those came, we ate a mashed potato dish, infused with smoky pimentón (Spanish paprika) and topped with crunchy pieces of ham. We also had gambas al ajillo (shrimp in a garlic oil sauce) and a platter of sliced chorizo and lomo (pork loin). Of these non-steak dishes I liked the pork platter the best. The potato dish was heavy, and the bacon pieces were too hard. The shrimp were measly, flavorless, cocktail adornments, not like the gambas we would see later in Barcelona.
But that steak was by far the best part of the meal. It was juicy and full of the flavor of the Castillian countryside. I prefer my steak to have gristle and chew—more ribeye than filet mignon—and this one had all of those elements expressed in their full glory. I could have taken or left the fries that came along with it, but this was a nice piece of meat.
We left Ávila after lunch and continued on to El Escorial, the town that houses the palace built by Felipe II, who was the king of Spain from 1556 to 1598. In addition to the austere, but impressive palace, the grounds house a crypt where nearly all of the Spanish kings (and their wives) from Felipe onwards are entombed. Empty tombs ominously await the bodies of the parents of the current king, Juan Carlos. There is also a series of adjacent rooms filled with the coffins of innumerable princes, princesses and other royalty. Needless to say, we emerged from our tour of El Escorial burdened with the solemn weight of Spanish Catholic history.
Luckily, El Escorial is also known for its churros con chocolate. We went to a nearby café and ordered some. They were crusty on the outside but perfectly light and chewy on the inside, and the chocolate was almost as thick as syrup and very rich. Churros must be accompanied with chocolate that’s much thicker than the typical drinking variety because they must retain the chocolate like sauce after being dipped. Isla Flotante told me the secret is to buy chocolate powder with flour mixed in for thickening. Inferior varieties use gelatin, which should be avoided.
A couple days later, EB and I hopped on a bus to Toledo, the home of El Greco and the marizipan capital of the world. Culinarily speaking, Toledo is known for small game like conejo (rabbit) and perdiz (partridge). EB and I wanted to taste some partridge, so we stopped for lunch at a restaurant called Restaurante Ludeña, which we read had it on the fixed-price menu del día. As it turned out, the less expensive menu del dia offered cordoníz (quail), which is basically like a smaller cousin. I decided to start with gazpacho and then order the cordonices. EB started with paella and then got merluza a la plancha (grilled hake).
The gazpacho was refreshing, although I couldn’t help thinking about Mango Mama’s complaint that it just tastes like watery, mild salsa. (That’s one reason I prefer Salmorejo, the bread-thickened gazpacho of Cordoba, or the Southern Spanish gazpacho de almendras made with almonds instead of tomato.) The cordonices were succulent, cooked in a rich sauce made with rum, bacon and onions. In typical Spanish fashion, the dish came with French fries. These were somewhat disappointing compared to the luxurious richness of the dish. They also did little to cut the considerable saltiness of the cordonices.
EB’s paella was excellent, with plump prawns and gently cooked mussels. The rice was al dente and evenly cooked. It was a substantial serving, so when the merluza arrived, it was almost as though another meal was being served—and eaten—in quick succession. The fish was perfectly done, but blandly seasoned and fairly boring. The plate, complete with the ubiquitous French fries, looked a little too white for my taste. Some fresh green herbs could have made that fish pop visually and flavorwise.
For dessert we ordered flan and natillas, another creamy, eggy pudding, typical of Castilla-La Mancha. The desserts were fine, but they set us over the edge in terms of fullness. We basically rolled out of Ludeña and gradually managed to work off the lunch through some aggressive touring of the mind-blowingly ornate cathedral, the El Greco sites and the ancient synagogues. By the time we had finished all of this, we were finally starting to get a bit hungry again. It was time for our merienda, the pre-dinner sweet snack, a meal that only the Spaniards could have invented. Luckily, I knew exactly where to go.
As I mentioned before, Toledo is known for its marzipan. The best marzipan in Toledo may well be the Mazapanes Santa Rita made and sold by the nuns in the Real Monasterio de Santa Úrsula. I never much cared for marizpan until I stopped in and bought some from the nuns when I was last in Toledo with Daddy Salmon, Mango Mama and Flava Flav. This has a soft chew to it and a genuine, sweetly almondine flavor, unlike others I had tasted that reeked of almond extract. Because this order of nuns lives a very cloistered existence the process of buying the marzipan is noteworthy. We walked into a dimly lit tiled lobby and climbs a few stairs to a door. Inside is a small window, occupied by a metal lazy susan turntable with a little wooden door on the other side. Then we rang a bell and a nun opened the little wooden door to request our order: the largest box full, of course. We put the money in our side of the turnstile, and the nun spun it toward her. She then sent it spinning back to us with our box of marzipan inside.
We ate a few marzipan, which come in different traditional shapes, as we sat and watched the sun set over the hillside. The candy was just as good as I remembered it. I could have eaten many more pieces, but EB and I wanted them to last. We ate our last one about 10 days ago. As with the madeleine for Proust, eating them will always bring me back to that sunset with the steep slope from the old city of Toledo to the new, coated in toasty almond gold.
Restaurante Tres Siglos
Calle de los Comuneros de Castilla, 11
05001 Ávila, Spain
920 228 772
Restaurante Ludeña
Plaza de la Magdalena, 10
45001 Toledo, Spain
925 223 384
Mazapanes Santa Rita
Convento de Santa Úrsula
Calle de Santa Úrsula, 5
45002 Toledo, Spain
92 222 235
As I’ve said before on this blog, there are very few restaurants that I think are worth visiting for brunch. The wait is usually long, the options are usually overpriced and most don’t taste as good as what you can make at home. But, not only would I go to brunch at 
The last time we were there, EB’s cousin Vegemite was visiting from Australia with her husband and two young sons. We all piled into the big booth near one window. The kids ordered delicious banana nut pancakes and eggs and toast, while Spanikopita and Vegemite veered toward lunch with the salmon salad. Iceberg ordered what he always does: the Smokehouse omelet made with hickory smoked bacon, peppers, onions and cheddar cheese, served with hash browns and onions. EB went for the chorizo omelet with potatoes, and Vegemite’s husband Biscuit ordered another omelet. I got “Judge Malone’s Corned Beef Hash”—something I could never make at home— served it a skillet with fried eggs and toast.
As most of you know by now, I am still in mourning over the 
When the weather turns colder and the rain starts to fall, it’s easy to turn nostalgic about the summer. That’s how I felt when I was scrolling through my photos and came upon the ones I took when Empanada Boy and I were in Cape Cod with Auntie Pasti and Corn-y Uncle. We went over Labor Day weekend— not exactly the height of summer, but while it was still warm enough for ocean swimming. I had not stayed at Corn-y’s mom’s place in Eastham since I was a kid. It was hard at first to recall all of the traditional Cape activities, but they quickly came back to me through Auntie Pasti’s descriptions. We ended up doing many of them. We rode bikes to the beach and along the paths; we watched the sunset over the bay and ate perfect tomatoes in the screened in porch. But one Corn-y family tradition I hadn’t yet experienced was the pilgrimage to 
Auntie Pasti and I ordered the classic lobster roll— a ton of lump tail and claw meat with a tiny bit of mayonnaise in a soft white hot-dog-type bun. (I’ve read that purists consider it sacrilege to add anything more to the meat than a touch of mayo. Scallions? No way!) The meat was tender and rich, with more retained moisture than lobsters I’ve had in the shell. Corn-y Uncle got a delightfully crispy-briny fried oyster sandwich in the same kind of bun. The bun seems unappealing at first, but as you eat one of these sandwiches, you realize that it is basically only there to create a proper pedestal for the proteins. Eat it in a lobster- or oyster-filled bite, or don’t bother eating it at all.
Never one to pass on the dish, EB got the fish and chips. I though this dish was disappointing: the fries were generic and somewhat limp and the fish could have been crispier. To me, the best fish and chips has the crackly exterior and a soft, flaky interior. The exterior of this was light, leaving me without that satisfying moment of breakthrough from the crust to the fish. 
The anniversary celebration continued, a week after Empanada Boy organized a mystery weekend trip. All he told me before we drove out of the city was that I needed hiking clothes and something a little nicer to wear to dinner. As we drove, and I read the directions, I gradually learned that we were heading out to 
The ever-thoughtful EB had also made us a dinner reservation for that night at the local 
The next day, after a huge and filling breakfast, we went for a nine-mile hike in Sam’s Point Preserve, part of the Shawangunk Ridge. We ate our leftover lasagna for lunch, as we sat overlooking a stunning waterfall. On our way back that evening, we stopped in the hippie town of New Paltz for dinner. EB had done his research on the town’s top restaurants, and we had selected 
EB’s main course was a Guinness Pie, which was only so-so. My main course, on the other hand, was a confit duck leg and thigh, which was super-tender on the inside and perfectly crispy on the outside. The meat came atop a bed of squash and alongside a savory, garlicky white bean stew. It was the best meal I had eaten in quite some time. The desserts at The Village Tea Room also looked delicious. EB got rice pudding, but I decided to pass. After all, we had a whole chunk of anniversary cake waiting for us back at the inn.
I’m sighing as I make the trek back to New York after a lengthy vacation in Wisconsin and Oregon. Empanada Boy came home a few days before me because he had to work. I wanted to stay in Portland for my grandma, Trader Joanna’s, birthday. This is probably the last time I will be able to take advantage of a student’s long winter vacation, so I relished every minute of it. EB and I flew into Chicago and spent the night with Sous Chef, Slim McDinner and family in Evanston. The next morning, we hitched a ride up to Madison. As soon as we pulled up, we were shuttled into another car by Tofutti Cutie and Popover to make the four-hour trek up to EB’s family place in northern Wisconsin’s Eagle River. We had a lot of fun, despite the snowy, sub-zero weather. But we headed back to Madison earlier than expected to escape an oncoming blizzard. On the way home, we stopped for lunch at 
The Cookery is a classic roadside café with lacy curtains, hearty food made from scratch and plenty of regulars. It’s actually located just down the road from Eagle River in the town of Sugar Camp. Snowmobilers park outside and head in for a sandwich or a homestyle plate of food. The Cookery was closed when we tried to go there on our last visit, so EB was excited to get me to try it this time. We stomped in wearing our winter boots and sat down at a round table. Popover ordered a grilled cheese sandwich from the regular menu, but EB and Tofutti Cutie were tempted by the special of the day: liver and onions with a side of rye bread. I wanted something warm and filling. Nothing seemed to better fit the bill than a bowl of house-made chili. 
For dessert we shared a dried cherry crumble with a scoop of ice cream. The topping was made with oatmeal and could have benefited from something to hold the clumps together more effectively and from more spices, including salt. The dried cherries were nice, though, and the dish was definitely homemade. 
Hello again, dear readers. I know I have been M.I.A. in recent days. Let’s just say that the first month of graduate school has taken its toll on my blogging time. Luckily, even graduate students have to eat, and eating cheaply is an even higher priority than ever. I have a number of New York City recommendations to relay to you soon. But first, I’ll tell you about the trip Empanada Boy and I took to Westchester a few weeks ago. We were visiting his aunt and uncle, Spanakopita and Iceberg. They had kindly allowed us to have our wedding gifts shipped to their house, so we spent the afternoon opening them. After our strenuous present-opening session, a juicy burger sounded like the perfect thing. Spanakopita and Iceberg agreed to take us to the 
The Blazer Pub is housed in a quaint old white colonial with reddish shutters. The interior has dark wood paneling and is decorated with random antiques, mostly connected to equestrian activities, sports and Irish themes. The restaurant is named after the Galway Blazers, a fox-hunting club in Western Ireland. Tables are covered with red cloths, and the menu is filled with pub specialties like sandwiches and chowder. Burgers are the main show. Iceberg, Spanakopita and I ordered the regular burger, which only comes with pickles for toppings. We specially requested grilled onions, but even lettuce and tomato would have meant another extra charge. EB ordered the Blazer Burger, a more elaborate concoction, which came with cheese, bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles and grilled onions. The burgers were thick and almost spherical, making for a very high sandwich. We all ordered them medium-rare, but were disappointed when they arrived medium to well-done. The meat was still flavorful, but it was missing the essential juiciness we had been expecting. Iceberg assured us that this was not the norm and that the cooking sometimes suffers on a busy Saturday night. Our server gently scolded us later for not sending them back, but we confessed to being too hungry to wait.
Sides to go along with burgers must also be ordered separately. We got a small order of the Blazer’s massive hand-cut fries. Needless to say, the small was more than enough to serve the four of us. These were a little thick for my taste, but they had a good crispy exterior and a soft, warm interior. EB wanted to try another of the restaurant’s specialties— the Blazer Onion. This is a whole onion’s worth of fried onion rings. He couldn’t find enough support at the table and was warned against attempting to eat a whole one himself. Hopefully, he and I can go back to the Blazer to try them sometime soon. We’ll try to go on a weeknight to avoid the crowds and the burger casualties. I have a feeling the Blazer’s burgers can get a lot better than the ones we tried.
Empanada Boy and I spent Thanksgiving in Cannon Beach with my grandma and immediate family and his parents, sister and brother-in-law. It was just the ten of us through most of the visit, but the Thanksgiving dinner at our family beach house was attended by nearly 30 of our closest friends and family. Needless to say, one turkey would not be enough. Mango Mama made a 20-lb bird using her traditional preparation (courtesy of Martha Stewart), which involves wrapping the bird in a butter-and-white wine-soaked cheesecloth. Another friend made a slightly smaller organic bird. These would have been enough to feed us all, but Daddy Salmon provided another interesting twist this year. About a week before Thanksgiving, he took his traditional longbow hunting in Lebanon, Oregon. He came back with the first bow-caught food of his archery career: a wild turkey.
The bird looks big in the above photo, but once Daddy Salmon had plucked its feathers it shrunk down to a sinuous 10 lbs. Daddy Salmon got up early on Thanksgiving day to brine the turkey in garlic, salt and a variety of herbs. After about eight hours of brining, I pulled it out and placed it in the roasting pan. The wild turkey didn’t get nice and browned like its supermarket cousins during the 2-3/4 hours of roasting. Each time I checked in on it, I was surprised to see the taught, greyish-brownish skin looking just as alien as ever. When I finally pulled it out, I noticed a purple-colored area on the top of the breast. This likely came from the blood vessels broken by the pierce of Daddy Salmon’s arrow.
This photo of the wild turkey waiting to be carved illustrates where the arrow hit. The meat was distributed to guests separately from the farm-raised turkeys to those interested in trying their free-ranging relative. The white meat turned out to be very tender, but it was far milder than the familiar store-bought birds. Daddy Salmon found whole acorns in its gullet, so we can only assume that this is part of what gave the meat its flavor. The dark meat was tough and very muscular, more like red meat than poultry. It was also difficult to get much dark meat off the bone. Daddy Salmon reminded us that there was less meat and more muscle on the wings and the thighs because wild turkeys actually fly. 
As I promised last week, I’m here to fill you in on some of the other meals I enjoyed on the cheap (relatively speaking) while I was in New York. For the sake of order, I’ll begin at the beginning.
The next day, after feasting at Otto, Daddy Salmon’s cousin Maple Syrup offered to lead the way to 
Next came Daddy Salmon’s party. It was a blast and excellent food was had by all. My grandma, Rice Pudding, was one of the guests of honor. She stayed in Long Island (or the ‘Guyland as my cousin Ketchup likes to call it) at my aunt and uncle’s house, so we took the train back out the next day to see them. They live in Plainview, which is undoubtedly a nice place to live but leaves something to be desired in terms of entertainment. It’s nice to see my cousins, but the thing I most anticipate about the area where they live is eating bagels from 
Legend among Bagel Boss fanatics like my cousins Black Cherry Soda and Bagel with Lox (who used to eat very little else) is that the bagels here are so good because of the mineral content in the Long Island water Somehow I have a hard time buying that, but these are among the best— if not the best— of any bagels I’ve ever tasted. They have just the right density and the perfect tooth-feel. Other wonderful things about Bagel Boss include: top-notch bialys, great spreads and fish salads, a 100 percent kosher kitchen and excellent black and white cookies. Best of all— it’s open 24 hours a day! Relatives or no relatives, this is reason enough to come to Plainview (or neighboring Hicksville, to be exact).
I love my Long Island relatives, and I love Bagel Boss, but two days in the ‘Guyland exhausts most of the great culinary and cultural opportunities. The next day it was back to New York for a trip to the MoMA before flying to Chicago. Before viewing the awesome Richard Serra sculpture show, Mango Mama, Flava Flav and I joined Uncle Second Breakfast and my cousin Momotaro for lunch at 
Empanada Boy and I returned from a trip to Portland yesterday at a new stage in our relationship. While we were out on a walk in Cannon Beach last week, he asked me to marry him. I was completely surprised and a bit scared by the notion, but the thought of sharing my future trials, achievements, travels and meals with anyone else just doesn’t seem right. In short, I accepted his proposal with the condition that we would wait a couple of years before actually going through the ceremony. 