Madrid: Asturianos, Amazing Seafood and Cheese Flan

The other night, sick of packing, we got hungry and decided we were not going to cook. First, we called a Korean restaurant we’d heard good things about (the restaurant is appropriately called Korea); they did not have any tables open for that night. So we decided to go out for some tapas instead. It was raining steadily, but it is hard to park in Madrid, so instead of driving (we’re borrowing a car from a friend who’s out of the country), we took the metro.

The place we went to, Asturianos, is an unassuming little bar with four tables for drinks and tapas and a dining room in the back, out of sight, for more formal dining. We took one of the tables by the bar. As the name implies, most of the food in this restaurant is from the region of Asturias, in the north of Spain. Asturias is a great place to eat, known for abundant fresh seafood, bean stews (such as fabada and fabes con almejes, the former a hearty dish of white beans, chorizo and other goodies and the latter, slightly lighter, made of fava beans and clams), and excellent dairy products including great cheese, such as Cabrales. We took a vacation to Asturias in 2008 and loved it: in addition to the insanely good food (and do you need any more reason to go?), it is green, lush, full of orchards, hills, cows, charming architecture and dramatic cliffs looking out over the Cantabrian sea.

Asturianos has a wine list of over 300 wines, including several by the glass. I ordered a glass of Tres Patas, a young red from the Mentrida region, in the northern part of the Toledo province. This wine was a mix of garnacha and syrah grapes, and it was excellent. Bryan had a caña. With our drinks, they brought us some slices of chorizo, which was pungent and full of pimenton, along with finger-sized bread sticks.

We ordered two raciones: gambas al ajillo (shrimp with garlic) with piquillo peppers, and berberechos with garlic and parsley. Berberechos are smallish clams with pretty crinkled white and brown shells. The gambas were very tasty, fresh, full of garlic and made with quality olive oil, with pieces of piquillo peppers on the edges of the plate as decoration. We dipped into the sauce with pieces of big country bread they gave us, so there was nothing left at all on the plate. We were too hungry to take the time to photograph the plate. The second dish, the little clams, were even better: each of them meaty and tasting of garlic and the sea. We took a picture of that one.

Perhaps best of all was the dessert, and it took us by surprise because what can be better than seafood with garlic? We shared a flan de queso (cheese flan) which was a little individual flan, perfectly formed, tasting like the best cheesecake you’ve ever had, drizzled with a little caramel. Yes, we should have each gotten our own flan. The check was 43 euros.

Asturianos
c/ Vallehermoso, 94
28003 Madrid, Spain
915 335 947
(metros: Canal or Islas Filipinas)

Madrid: Railroad Museum & Patatas Bravas

Yesterday, we took Ricky to the Railroad Museum here in Madrid. It is located in an old train station, which has been out of use for decades. You buy your tickets and step onto the platform of the enormous old train station, with very high ceilings and iron work, and light streaming in from the huge glass windows at the end. There are four tracks with trains sitting there: an old steam engine, with a side removed so you can see all the pipes, a 1950s Talgo that was very fast for the times, an early 20th century wooden train, with illuminated windows where you can see a sleeping compartment, a bathroom with all fixtures, even a bidet. There’s also an antique cafeteria car, where you can sit down, pretend you’re traveling and have a cup of coffee.

On one side of the station, there are rooms with interesting artifacts: old train clocks, tools for fixing the tracks, old typewriters, an old telephone switching station from the 1930s, an oversized scale to weigh your luggage.

And Ricky’s favorite: several adjoining rooms with model trains. At least 50 years old, these models include elaborate landscape and tracks, where all kind of trains roam. On the walls of the rooms, there are antique toy trains in glass cases, from the 1930s, 40s and 50s. Ricky wanted to buy them and take them home.

During the holidays, the Railroad Museum offers rides in the Christmas Train, which takes kids to all the main stations in Madrid: Principe Pio, Atocha, Chamartin and then back to the museum (the museum has tracks connecting it to stations that are still in use). In the spring, the museum offers tickets on the Tren de la Fresa (Strawberry Train), which takes travelers to Aranjuez, a small town near Madrid where strawberries are cultivated. We tried to get tickets for the Christmas train yesterday, but it was sold out.

After the museum, we walked a couple of blocks to Hermanos Guio / Museo de la Patata to have our aperitivo, a snack and a drink before lunch time. We arrived a little before 1:00 PM and were able to get a table (during the summer, this place has many outdoor tables lining the sidewalk, but in winter, either you take one of the five tables or you stand at the bar). This little bar is famous for patatas bravas. You can get either regular patatas bravas, fried cubes potatoes with a lightly spicy red sauce, or one of their many varieties of patatas with one of the following additions: fried peppers, garlic, picadillo (little cubes of stewed pork), oreja (pork’s ear), morcilla, bacon, chorizo, chistorra, among a handful of others.

At Hermanos Guio, they cook more than 200 kilos of potatoes every day. And they use no ordinary potato: the owners bring a special kind of potato from Segovia, which is a little yellow and very flavorful.

Bryan ordered a caña and I had a sidra on tap (a Spanish hard cider, which is quite sweet); Ricky drank a peach juice. Our drinks came with a tapa of potatoes with garlic. We also ordered a racion of patatas con picadillo. The service is wonderful, and you feel like you’re in a small Spanish town instead of in the middle of Madrid.

Museo del Ferrocarril (Railroad Museum)
Pº Delicias 61. 28045 Madrid
Metro: Delicias (line 3)

Bar Hermanos Guio / Museo de la Patata
c/ Ferrocarril, 21
28045 Madrid, Spain
915 271 930

Madrid: The Bulls at Las Ventas

Hemingway loved bullfighting. He loved bullfghters. He loved people who loved bullfighting. His Death In The Afternoon is the classic English language tract on bullfighting. Bullfighting plays a central role in his great novel The Sun Also Rises, both as a backdrop for the events and as a proving ground in which the noble characters display their best qualities by enjoying the fights, while the others show their own lack of merit. In that novel, he wrote "Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bull-fighters."

The more modern view of bullfighting condemns it as cruel and primitive. There is an active movement in Spain to ban bullfighting, and recently a ban was put into place which will cover the autonomous region of Catalonia. The feelings over bullfighting are further complicated by the fact that Francisco Franco, the dictator who ruled Spain with an iron fist for more than 35 years, saw bullfighting as integral to the Spain he wanted to preserve and restore, and he promoted the ritual throughout the country.

With this historical baggage, and the encouragement of no one, I set about to see a bullfight. I spoke about my desire to see one for some time, and found that absolutely no one I knew had ever been to a bullfight, except for two women who were friends of Ana's parents. These two women, one in her late 50s and the other in her early 70s, had friends who often took them to the corridas and enjoyed them. When Ana told them that I wanted to go, they said they would take me with them one day. The promise of spending the afternoon with these two ladies (neither of them speaking English and my Spanish being, at best, defective) and the bulls was unusual, but if this was the only way I was going to see the famed spectacle, so be it.

As it turned out, they were able to get two tickets, so that I went with Ana. Ana was not enthusiastic about going to the bullfight, but she was just curious enough to overcome her distaste for the matter and accompany me.

The bull ring in Madrid is called Las Ventas. It is a lovely stadium, and surprisingly cosy. It seats 25,000, and was opened in 1929. I had been here once before, to see an R.E.M. concert. This was a very different experience.

We had box seats. This literally meant that the section in which we were seated had its own door, which had to be unlocked by one of the ushers. There was a level of seating below us, and below that, the sand of the arena.

The events began with the blowing of horns, and the playing of music, and the festively costumed participants came out into the arena, parading before the crowd. Men on horseback in plumed hats, and the matadors themselves, in their traje de luces, the lavishly decorated costumes in which they undertake their task.

The ritual of the bull ring is such that the ring is cleared, except for the matador, and the bull is released into the ring. We watched as the bull circled the ring, startled by its new environment. It ran past the matador, and he executed a few passes with the cape. It was interesting to watch, and very graceful.

The the matador departed and the picador entered on horseback. The horse wore a thick coat of padding and was blindfolded, and the picador carried a lance. The bull was enticed to charge the horse, and he ran hard toward it, crashing into the side of the animal while the picador drove his lance into the huge mass of muscle the bull boasted behind his neck. The bull stopped after making impact with the horse, and there was a strange stillness, as the picador leaned his lance into the bull's neck, the bull pressed against the horse, and the horse did nothing at all. It was an odd scene, in part because there was no sound as it occurred. The bull ran, there was not even a thud as it hit the horse, and then all was still. Then the picador pushed until the bull was off the horse, others came into the ring to distract the bull, and the horseman rode off.

The picador departed, replaced by the banderilleros. These three men entered the ring carrying small hooked sticks. Each of the men attempts to plant two hooked sticks behind the bull's neck, near where the lance has already wounded and weakened the bull. This lacked all grace. The banderilleros tried to have as little contact with the bull as possible as they planted their sticks. The bull succeeded in shaking many of the banderillas off.

The matador returned and did a few passes with the bull, which by now had blood covering its back. Then he was brought his sword. He stood before the bull, urging it to charge. The bull hesitated. The matator came closer, stamping his foot, trying to encourage the bull. The bull ran toward the matador, and the matador moved in swiftly with the sword, which bent and flew out into the air. The matador retrieved his sword and tried again. Again there was the hesitation of the bull, and insistence of the matador. Again the bull charged, and again, the matador struck. The result was the same, and the sword was once again retrieved. The thing had been bungled, it seemed, but there was nothing else but to go on. The set up happened again, the charge went on again, and this time, the sword went in, and the bull staggered. The matador walked away, his arms open to the crowd, which gave a polite applause. The bull sat down near the wall of the arena, and then fell over. Horses were brought out, and the bull was dragged away.

We stayed for the second of the six bulls, and found it to be more of the same. Ana had seen enough, and was eager to leave. I was happy she had come with me, and did not argue the point.

We had gone and seen the thing. I had not been thrilled, certainly by the corrida. I had not been horrified, either. It was a ritualized slaughter, nothing more or less. The crowd, mostly old, did not watch it so much as appraise it, intent to see that the thing was correctly done. There were cries of disgust when the sword missed its mark, and sighs of relief when it went in. It was not a passionate display. Perhaps other matadors bring more to it than the two we saw that day. It is a peculiar ritual. It is certainly not a sport, in the sense that there is no measurement of the achievement and the outcome is predetermined. It's a brutal ritual, and I saw no more art to it than one would see by observing at an abattoir. In past days, the bull would have been used for meat after the fight, but the European Union regulations do not permit that anymore. The crowd did not seem connected to the events on the sand, the ritual catharsis of the killing was not evident. An old ceremony, it seemed, where the congregation no longer has the faith but goes out of the habit. I suspect it will not last much longer, since the crowd was predominantly old, and it does not seem popular at all among the young. I'm glad I got to see it, but I won't be sorry when it is gone.  Were the bullfighters "living their lives all the way up"?  It did not seem so to me.  More like they are the few remaining priests at a temple which has lost its believers, going through the motions as they have been done in the past.

Madrid: Storytellers in the National Library & Merienda at Embassy

We spent most of the day yesterday trying to get ourselves closer to being ready to call it quits with our apartment. This part of the task is getting pretty dull. We went through things, piled up stuff that is going to the garbage, piled up other stuff to be given away, and packed up the few things that are being kept. We're starting on the kitchen now, but that has the dual challenge of putting things away while at the same time needing to eat for the next week or 10 days that we are still here. We're leaving Ricky's room mostly untouched (at least in ways that he notices) until the very end, trying to give him some sort of sense of normalcy. Ana has placed ads to sell the furniture, and has gotten quick responses. Ricky was terrific all day, playing nicely, watching Charlotte's Web and eating popcorn. He took his scooter around the neighborhood with me, and threw batteries into the battery disposal thing in the base of the bus stop. Then we went to the corner store together and threw old clothes into the donation clothing box, and bought a couple things in the store.

In the late afternoon we went out to the Biblioteca Nacional de España. The National Library, in addition to being a scholarly resource, has lectures and a surprisingly extensive and impressive museum area. The museum covers the history of media in its many forms, and is a beautiful space. There was a temporary exhibition going on about cooking and cookbooks in Spain. As we entered, we were told by one of the guards that there were storytellers who were about to get started. It was unexpected and fortunate! We hurried down the stairs and arrived at the auditorium just in time to file in. The auditorium was nearly full, but we found seats together. Then we noticed that Ricky was going to be unable to see much of the show from where we were sitting. The storytellers found him a fine seat across the auditorium from us. He settled in to his seat and chatted pleasantly with the people around him. He is remarkably social. When the show started, though, he quieted right down and gave his attention to the two storytellers. A woman and a man took turns performing four stories. They were very engaging, singing and playing unusual instruments as they told folk tales from around the world and projecting shadows on a screen. Ricky was entranced. After the show he approached each of the performers and spoke to them at length about the show, asking questions and thanking them. It was a great success. And it was a complete surprise, and it was completely free!

After the storytellers, we went to the exhibit about cooking and cookbooks in Spain. It was very well done, with ancient cookbooks and recipes displayed going back to 16th century, plus old food preparation materials, some of which went all the way back to the Roman era.


Then we went to Embassy. Embassy is a bakery and a tea salon and a bar. It has several locations but the original is the only one with an area to sit down. It is located right on Castellana, and has been there since 1931. It wears its age gracefully, without gross modernization or precious preservation. We walked there from the library, and went inside. The waiter told us that because we had a child with us, we should only sit in the non-smoking section. Ricky told the waiter that his grandparents smoke. The waiter told us to grab whatever table we could when one became available. So we stood for a few minutes and waited, and speculated as to which people were going to leave first. We watched a table with an old man and two old women, all looking very prosperous. The old man paid his bill, and we thought they might be leaving, but then food was brought to the table. Another table opened up, but at the other end of the restaurant, and it was gone before we could take a step toward it. Fortunately, a table right next to us got up to leave, and we sat right down.

The menu was surprisingly broad, offering breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and meriendas. It was about 7:30 p.m., which is outside of the breakfast, lunch, and dinner times. Fortunately, it was merienda time, which meant we could get small dishes. We had hot sandwiches. I had a little baguette with anchovies, red peppers, tuna, and olives. Ana had a baguette with jamon iberico, cured ham, and tomato. Ricky had an open-faced sandwich of toast, ham, cheese, fried egg, and bacon. Ana had tea and I had a caña and Ricky had a glass of steamed milk. We watched the crowd come and go while we ate. It was very good, the staff was friendly and accomodating. By the time we left, and took the metro back home, Ricky was falling asleep. The town was festively decorated with holiday lights. It had been a good day.


Biblioteca Nacional de España, Pº de Recoletos 20-22. 28071 Madrid. http://www.bne.es/

Embassy, Pº de Castellana, 12. 28046 Madrid. http://www.embassy.es/