finding happiness in Bordeaux

Exactly one year ago, I was in Bordeaux, France, to visit a few châteaux in Pessac-Léognan, Sauternes, and Barsac. I was thrilled beyond imagination. I was also very, very hungry. You see, for the duration of my summer internship in Zaragoza, I committed myself to working hard at the office, exercising, and sticking to a diet of egg whites, sausages, toast, and lettuce. Something about not being a sponsored student, and having to make that money stretch for another 10 months.

But the internship was over. I was in France. I was hungry. On the recommendation of my Airbnb host, I went to a local joint, Le Petit Commerce for fish. Lots of fish, starting with a tuna tartare ...

... whole roasted dorade ...

... and because I couldn't be drinking a Sauternes alone ... I had found happiness in Bordeaux.

DF

a juicy, meaty touch of home

A dry crust of bread is better than nothing, but nothing is better than a big juicy steak. And therefore?...A dry crust of bread is better than a big juicy steak.

2 + Torture = 5, Land of the Blind (2006)

I'm not homesick. Not in the slightest. But I was missing, desperately, that good North American dry-aged beef. So when my mother came over in mid-April, I asked her to get me a huge, 28-day dry-aged steak from Pusateri's. A taste of home. It's funny, because the perception of Spain is of a country of endless gastronomic delights. Actually living in, and not touristing a place, gives a wildly different impression.

So late night, a quiet evening at home a few months ago - wine ready and chilled, stems polished and thirsty. Beef patted dry, seasoned with sea salt and olive oil - that's it - for 12 hours, and pan roasted with butter and the most amazing fresh thyme. Left to rest while I tossed some asparagus with oyster sauce, clams with black bean paste. A meal to remind me of home, remember? And with every bite, a visceral, sensual, incredibly emotional taste of where I come from, what I'm about, and really, all the things I most care about. Straight, deep in the heart, to the depths of the soul.

And that, chicos, is an experience I've yet to feel here in Spain.

DF

of seafood and rice

 I been holding off on paella. I want the authentic thing. In Valencia. But my mother wanted to try it, so I found a decent place in Barcelona. La Llosa, where the paella is actually delicious. The most intensely perfumed rice, mounted with a rich seafood broth, perfect shellfish, a deceptively difficult thing to do since they all cook differently ...

... their steak is good too, a big brick of meat. Bloody. Beef and arugula with parmesan, the holy trinity.

At another joint (too touristy to mention), we had the arroz negro, rice cooked with squid ink. Richer, but the shellfish again gives it a vibrancy that was very, very nice.

Switching gears. We just finished midterms, and yeah, I've been lazing around. We had a heavy night partying last night, and although I stumbled home quite early, around 2, the drinking (starting on campus 15 minutes after I turned in my exam) had clearly gotten to me. Today was a total write-off - a run to sweat off the hangover, then groceries and back to bed. I took my multivitamin with a Ginbraltar gin tonic. No shame in my game. My teammate from Peru has been excitedly sharing his country's cuisine with me. One of the places we've been to most often is Mochica, run by Peruvians from the north. I like this place. Simple, unpretentious, authentic home-cooking. Starting with the ceviche, spicy and powerful, but staying balanced ...

... and the tacu tacu de lomo saltado, rice and beans, stir-fried with pork ...

... to a fried stuffed potato dish ...

... and even a duck leg. So what's Peruvian food? It's all a fusion, no? A bit of Chinese, a bit of Japanese, a bit from the mountains ... but done in a way that's very unique, very unique. Delicious. And them pisco sours sure go down real easy ...

DF

surf and turf in the capital

Man, Madrid has some good food. Zamburiñas a la plancha at the Mercado de San Antón ...

... followed by the best tapa we had the whole week, langostinos alistados a la plancha, with a few glasses of albariño that ended up cheaper than drinking water. Love this country.

It took a bit of searching, but we did end up finding Sin Reservas in the end, just off the north east side of Parque del Retiro. Starting with a plate of jamón ibérico, of course ...

... and then onto the meats. A sirloin seared pink ...

... and a delicious braised beef cheek, served with an exquisitely simple pasta.

The details are what make this place. The beef was accompanied by 3 kinds of salt - the standard sea salt, along with a pink and black Himalayan rock salt.

And with the preceding dishes making such an impression, we had to have the tiramisu made in-house. Rich, balanced, going down like silk.

One sits on top, the other supports. And with tonight's meat-heavy dishes, the only wine that would do was a simple, dry, fresh Lambrusco. A fabulous few days eating in Madrid.

DF

a box of chocolates

Oh bury me beneath the willow,

under the weeping willow tree

So He may know where I am sleepin' and

perhaps He'll weep for me

- Weeping Willow, The Stanley Brothers

A tough week. That's an understatement, no? Life is tough. And sometimes, despite the effort, the sleepless nights, the suffering ... things simply don't come out the other end like you expected. Like you wanted. So we sit down, take a moment, re-visit, re-assess, re-evaluate ... all those things good MBA's are taught. Last term was tough, no doubt. Did my efforts pay off, those long nights studying, those sunny weekends spent at my desk? Maybe. Maybe not. As in all things, it's a matter of perspective. But of course, that's not how the world works. There are rules. And regulations. And guidelines that must be enforced, in the name of standards. 

We move onto happy things. I went out for calçotada last weekend, a seasonal tradition in Catalunya. Calçots are a type of spring onion that are in season now. A local custom, they're grilled, and eaten with a dipping sauce, sort of like a tomato-y hollandaise. And they're fantastic. Tender, yet retaining that beautifully robust texture, sweet and soft in the mouth. Delicious. A fantastic Sunday lunch with my favourite people in the program.

No complaints man, no moaning. The things that've transpired ... it's over and done with. Let's figure out next steps, what we need to do to move on. 

DF

a kilo of what?

A little dried, a little funky, a little chewy. All kinds of good. All kinds of happiness. All kinds of love. This isn't a kilo of well-marbled, dry-aged ribeye. No son, this is cecina de vaca, proving that when it comes to cured meats, the Spanish are one of a kind. Cured beef, tight and dry, with all the savoury, intensely beefy aromas and flavours that drive us carnivores wild. Mad I tell you, mad. I bought this chunk from El Corte Ingles as it was because on principle, I refuse to pay extra to have it sliced for me. A sharp knife, a steady hand, and carefully tucked in fingers are all you really need. Trim off the moldy skin, and away you go. A few slices of manchego cheese, some olives, some pepinos, a bit of bread, and of course, a few drops of wine ... that's the perfect lunch, no? Followed by a 2 hour siesta, Dios mío, what a wonderful country.

DF

monuments, of all kinds

A grand capital of Europe, respledent in the trappings and symbols of Empire and authority, both divine and otherwise.

But there are other kinds of monuments too ...

... where one is as comfortable taking a coffee (or in our case, a 5pm breakfast) ...

... or emptying a plate of zamburiñas a la Gallega.

DF

Hay dos manchas ...

I've had some good drinks these past 2 weeks ...

... meeting some really cool guys ...

... and learning about some pretty cool new dishes (boquerones, pictured here) ...

... even finding a hot pot place here.

But what's satisfying ... what's been truly satisfying ...

... has been that home cooked surf and turf - the red meat, the sea snails, that beautiful carapace of crab back fat. All love, all love, all love. It's been a most extraordinary Christmas holidays thus far in Barcelona - the next 2 weeks are about to get a lot more interesting.

DF

Green Man & French Horn

Our last night in London, I wanted some French food. And some French wine. And holy Mary, I got both. Green Man & French Horn, a charming, cozy little place off Leicester Square featuring Loire cuisine and wines, including a deep selection of natural wine producers. A brisk, rainy night, we started with the freshest radishes, sea salt and butter ...

...  followed by a salad of foie gras ...

... and continuing with a beautifully cooked, pink, roast partridge and chanterelles ...

... before ending with our server's suggestion of Saint-Nectaire cheese.

Top: Les Cailloux du Paradis L'Icaunais | VdF

Bottom: Puzelat Bonhomme Le Telquel | VdF

But what put me into hysterics was the wine. I was desperate for some French wine, something interesting, something inspiring ... something with deep, deep feeling. And it's amazing that I actually found it in not one, but two bottles in one restaurant. By far the most exciting, intense wine experience I've had in the past 12 months.

What is humility? Is it to deflect praise, to spread the credit, to be unassuming? Yes. But in wine, in these wines, it's a bit more. It's that indescribable, awe-inspiring way a winemaker totally subjugates himself (or herself) into the wine. They not only express what the wine is ... they become the wine. The two wines here are not correct. In fact, many people would probably find them unacceptable. But they are unapologetically true to themselves - true confidence. Look at the first bottle, the Les Caillous du Paradis L'Icaunais. It's from Touraine, made by Etienne and Claude Courtois. It's made from the gascon varietal, a completely native (and incredibly rare) grape. On flint soil, the wines are aged in old wooden tanks and bottled in the spring. Good brightness of colour, an immediate minerality and freshness, but what's most amazing is this feeling of purity. An absolute purity, in aroma and texture. Earthy but with great finesse - an excellent example that proves that elegance and rusticity are sometimes in union.

So we finished dinner - fantastic - and I needed to have another wine. The list has all these incredible old vintages from Chinon, but I really wanted to taste another natural wine. So we sat on the bar, and the bartender poured me a Puzelat Bonhomme Le Telquel. Mind blown. Made by Thierry Puzelat, the wine pours completely cloudy, a pale, faint colour reminiscent of my father's homemade grape juice project. You smell it, and the wine smells pickled. But on the palate, that beautifully floral fruit, those red berries, those fine, compact tannins that coat your mouth in the most gripping, interesting way. Pinned down and ravaged by a Rubenesque French woman - a life changing experience. Mon Dieu.

In a lot of ways, London was disappointing. But for this night, all was right. All was right. Inspired me all over again that I want to be in this business, I need to be in this business. Humility, honesty, authenticity, the holy trinity of what it means to be a true wine. Something for me to keep in mind as I inch towards my first MBA finals.

DF

tomorrow I'll do better

Tomorrow I'll do better, tomorrow I'll do better. The more I repeat it, the more hollow it sounds. Is it a motivational way to look at things, in that let's keep raising the bar kind of way, or just an excuse, an exercise in self-delusion? I know exactly what I am, and I'm definitely in the latter category. Failing miserably at developing a good work ethic, something moving here and starting an MBA was supposed to fix.

Just had a horrible weekend - completed and submitted my first midterm of grad school. It was a paper for our Analysis of Business Problems course, a case about a Canadian mining contractor. Intense, the things I've picked up on in 4 weeks of class, but I still feel so behind. And while I'm getting better at it, the productivity just isn't picking up. Good study habits just isn't happening. Deep breathe, incremental steps, we can do this ...

Those aren't the real ones. Let me show you the real ones. So said my teammate from Girona about the pimientos de Padrón I was hyperventilating about. So when he went back home, he brought me back a bag of the real stuff. Same intense green colour, slightly longer and pointier than the ones I pick up at La Boqueria. But the real surprise was in the mouth. There's a famous saying that Os pementos de Padrón, uns pican e outros non, Galician for Padrón peppers, some are hot and some are not. Well, these were definitely spicy. An explosion of chili spice, a white hot burn that ends just as quickly as it begins. Leaves your palate smoking, and with that heavy salt, wanting more. I've gotten quite good at frying these, especially compared to my first time. You roast them in the pan over a medium heat in good olive oil, making sure they don't blacken. At the first sign that the skin is wrinkling, you take them off the heat - the residual heat will continue withering the skin, whilst leaving the flesh intact and fragrant.

It's all a balance here. Of flavour, of texture, of academics, career, and life. Tomorrow I'll do better. 

DF

keep on the sunny side

It's been exactly 2 months since I moved to Barcelona. Two months of new experiences, new people, new city, new life. And it's been a trip. Been feeling the pressure, school is really starting to put the squeeze on now. And today, after a really, really tough week (combined 20 hours or so of sleep over the last 4 days), I feel destroyed. A good time for a reminder that we have to be good and take care of ourselves.

Another weekend of shellfish last Saturday, probably the last weekend in a long while that I can do this. La Boqueria is wonderful for the heart ... not so much for the wallet. Starting with plump, fleshy mussels, singing of the sea ...

... and although the sardines weren't top quality, a good bite of fish ...

... before I was in absolute paradise with my berberechos ...

... and my first taste of these tiny shrimp, reminding me of the tiny lake shrimps I love eating in Shanghai, stuffed full of roe ...

... before ending with navajas and little 'snails of the sea', flash fried with green onion, ginger, and black bean sauce. A taste of home when I desperately needed it. Will have tonight to recover, get back some sleep. But tomorrow and the rest of this weekend, back to work ... a midterm paper due on Monday, with the rest of the midterms to follow in just over a week. No complaints, no moaning. Let's get to work.

Oh, the storm and its fury broke today /

Crushing hopes that we cherish so dear /

Clouds and storms will in time pass away /

The sun again will shine bright and clear.

- Ada Blenkhorn, Keep on the Sunny Side (1899)

DF