My mom comes to Spain

Did you know I was there
when Columbus got back from his trip?

OK, now that I have the Big Hunk of Meat off my chest, I can tell you about my mom's visit at the end of February.

This started with a visit to a museum, of which Madrid has more than 40.  Was it the Prado?  The Reina Sofía?  No, it was the Madrid Wax Museum.  As it turns out, my mom has a thing for wax museums, dating back from a youthful visit to Montreal in the late 50s with her dad.  So we took her to the wax museum, right across the street from the Biblioteca Nacional.  We posed with the Royal Family.  I jumped the velvet rope to get into a picture with Columus.  My mom posed with Antonio Banderas.  But the highlight of it all was the "Tren del Terror."  We got into an amusement-park-ride train-thingie, and it took us down this hallway where we saw huge rats and had giant mechanical sharks pop out at us.  Zoë's favorite was the Star Wars hallway.  Imagine doors opening, and your little train entering a hallway painted black and decorated with star glitter and the sort of styrofoam planets you make for your school science fair.  Above your head, one of the Empire's Galactic Cruisers flies.  It's made of tinfoil.  My favorite was just beyond, in the "Rambo vs. Aliens" room.  I thought it was Apocalypse Now at first, what with its crazed grunts and human heads hanging in the tropical foliage, but then I spotted the big red Alien and that tipped it off.  Train of Terror?  No, more like Train of Hilarity!!  We were laughing so hard our sides ached.  My mom thought it was an excellent wax museum.  Better than the one in Montreal!

The botafumeiro about to be swung into action.

The next day, after a visit to the Palace and a lovely lunch on the Plaza Santa Ana, we were off to Santiago de Compostela, Galicia.  This was a place that Zoë, the Kid and I had really wanted to see, so when my mom said she wanted to see it too, we made plans.  We had a day seeing the Cathedral and its museum, a day wandering around Santiago seeing some smaller sights, and a day driving along Galicia's Costa da Morte before heading back to Madrid.   The best part of the city itself was getting to see the famous botafumeiro in action.  This is an enormous censer that hangs from a pulley system on the ceiling of the cathedral.  Seven or eight men pull on these ropes, and the botafumeiro swings, pendulum like, from one transept to the other in an enormous arc, spewing out incense smoke all over the church.  Apparently, in the many centuries that they've been doing this, the thing has never actually hit anyone, which is good because it weighs something like 80 pounds.  Finally, they let the momentum die down and one of the guys catches it, grabbing the ropes and twirling around to bring it to a halt.  My mom described it best when she described the whole thing as a sort of circus act.

From the scenic overlook on the Costa da Morte

The other highlight was our drive up the coast.  Those of you familiar with Galicia's reputation for rain and mist will be stunned to find out that we had a sunny, clear, warm day for this.  We stopped off in the town of Noia, which would be forgettable if it weren't for its fried calamari sandwiches of the gods.  Then we drove up to much-more-picturesque Muros, and continued along the coast to Fisterra, the peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic that the Romans thought of as the end of the world.  We did the drive in a rented Kia Picanto that could barely manage the hills.  When we passed anyone – always on the downhill – Zoë and I felt the need to lean forward to make sure the care made it.  The coastline was utterly spectacular, and we even forced the car to plod and strain up to a scenic overlook were we could take it all in.  As the car crept into the parking area, we strained to see out into the bay, and were greeted by the vision of a man standing at the railing, peeing over the side.  Too bad he finished before we could get pictures of him to plaster all over the internet.

At the scenic overlook, sans that other visitor.

Our final day, after a fabulous breakfast at the parador, we saw Sta. María del Sar, a romanesque church almost on the outskirts of Santiago famous for almost falling apart.  They made the side naves too high, and the walls too thin, to support the barrel vault of the central nave.  The result is a church that looks a little bit like a Dr. Seuss creation, with the walls sagging out at an angle of almost 50º.

Our review of Santiago and Galicia?  Charming city.  Incredibly friendly people.  Lovely scenery.  And some of the best food in Spain.   Mom had a great visit, and we had a great time seeing her.

The Big Hunk of Meat

Yesterday, I went out to lunch with a couple of colleagues from the States.  They, like me, are Spanish professors at state universities.  Among the things we talked about were heroin use on the pilgrimage route to Santiago and the alarmingly low percentage of members of the Kansas State legislature who hold college degrees (ca. 40%).  But I am not writing to tell you about what we discussed.  I am writing to tell you about what I ate, the Big Hunk of Meat.

We all enjoyed the restaurant's menú.  For those of you unfamiliar with this term, the menú is the prix-fixe meal offered by just about every restaurant in Spain, particularly at midday during the work week.  (The English menu translates as carta) Its existence stems from the collision of long-standing custom with the realities of modern life.  For ages, Spaniards have made the midday meal, taken around 2:30pm, the big meal of the day.  Few people, however, have the time or inclination to travel all the way home at lunchtime, the way they did in the Quito of many years ago, a city that had four rush hours a day.  This creates a demand for big, but affordable meals consisting of two cooked dishes served as separate courses, a beverage, plus coffee and/or dessert.  A businessperson menú usually comes in around €10-15, a bit more if you decide to have both coffee and dessert.

The menú is rarely a memorable meal. In fact, Zoë has sworn them off, after a few too many experiences with affordable menús that ended up being quite disappointing, if not downright disgusting.  It still plays a role in my life, though, particularly when I get together with colleagues for  a meal during the workday, when the emphasis is on meeting and talking without getting too spendy.  The trick is to find a menú that is tasty and satisfying, even if the flavors are nothing to write home about.

Which brings me to the Big Hunk of Meat.  The second course options on your typical menú usually include some fish and/or seafood, and a meat dish or two.  These are often difficult to identify, because food words in Spain are so very different from their Latin American equivalents, so we usually have to look around at what other people are eating and try to match what we see to that's on the page.  My choices in these instances, as in other dining experiences, are guided by the following list of priorities.  I tend to like, in no particular order:

1. Meat over chicken or seafood.
2. Food that requires assembly at the table.
3. Food that requires cooking at the table.
4. Food that involves some sort of special apparatus to be eaten.
5. Food that involves dramatic presentation, like being set on fire.
6. Food served in portions that look more like a dare than dinner.  

You can imagine my fondness for things like fondue, Korean BBQ, Peking duck, and all things flambé. Unfortunately, items meeting criteria 2-5 are rare on a humble menú del día, but items meeting 1 and 6 are common.  The Big Hunk of Meat answers to both.

Codillo de cerdo, an example of the Big Hunk of Meat

The Big Hunk of Meat can take many forms.  It can be lamb or pork.  It can be roasted or braised.  It is usually a joint chopped off the leg of some hapless animal, prepared in such a way as to leave the meat quite tender, albeit sometimes without much flavor.  The central flavor experience is what the Japanese call umami, which is the taste we associate with fat.  Umami is in fact so important to so many Spanish dishes that I am surprised that the language does not have an equivalent word.  The Big Hunk of Meat, as the name implies, is always large.  It would represent a not-so-small feast for an entire family in many parts of our hungry world.  In Spain, it is a single serving.  Hence its attraction to a hungry Spanish professor making (bad) choices off a menú.  

Yesterday, as so often happens to me, I fell for the Big Hunk of Meat.  I like to think that my choice was inspired by thrift, a virtue, rather than gluttony, a vice.  A cardinal sin, even.  The Big Hunk of Meat, about half the size of your head, represents a good value for your money.  I can think of nowhere besides Spain where I can get such a large piece of meat, with an appetizer, a dessert, and a beverage, for so little money.  Who wouldn't go for it?  The answer: anyone who realizes that the Big Hunk of Meat sits heavy in your stomach, making you wonder why you ate the whole damn thing.  

I a moment, I am going out to lunch with Zoë, and I will not get the Big Hunk of Meat.  I promise.  It's a sure thing.  Don't you believe me?