Culinary Director Adam Halberg fills us in:
No matter how diligent the planning – the maps, the phone calls, the distribution of belly-soothing pharmaceuticals – there’s always one day that starts with a question mark.
Our trip out of Rioja started promising enough. The landscape of dry earth and vines melted into fields of artichokes … and then the horizon picked up a wall-to-wall coating of intense green patchwork. Wide rectangular swaths had been tilled back to brown as the farms prepared for Spring plantings.
For 150 extra kilometers, we rambled off into that green valley, before the bus driver pulled off the highway. Grumbly arguments began about how far off our designed path we had gone (we had clearly passed Burgos – and shouldn’t have). A few in our crew lost yesterday’s lunch beside the bus – or slept off the urge in the back row. I wondered if we shouldn’t turn back into Burgos for a lunch of roast suckling lamb – a special feast I had there a few years back with Sasa and some of our chefs. And then – finally – Ribera del Duero.
Ribera del Duero
We met with a marathon stretch of winemakers, showing us the variety of the region. The vast property of Valduero, pushed back into the desert hills of the region, as far away from the river as allowed, where tastings from their sister properties in Rioja and Toro gave us a grand tour of how the tempranilllo grape can be styled. There, we also visited their “barrel club,” a warehouse of wines held for individuals and corporations held in “the second longest tunnel in Spain” beneath the bodega. There, in a grand stone house, we found our lunch of lamb beside a hearty fire. 15-days old, the lamb carried with them out of the oven a mark certifying their origin in the region and listing their day of slaughter, their “day of sacrifice.” That, plus a warming Sopa de Ajo, thickened just slightly with bread and eggs, brought the color back to the pale amongst us.
Lamb carries certification of origin and “date of sacrifice” (l.), Barrel tasting at Vega Clara (r.)
We met with Clara Concejo, a ‘new’ 33-year old vinter who fled her family’s car-sales business to “join the circus” of dream-chasers. Naming her wine after her father (who had discouraged her from the hard work of agriculture and winemaking), she showed us the most “garagiste” property we had seen yet on the trip. She led us through an eye-opening tour of her methods, offering barrel tastings of wines in process, broken down by grape, by parcel, by age and type of oak – before offering up sips of the final product. She lay out gorgeous nibbles as well, the type which tend to leave me cursing not our techniques back home, but our access to ingredients.
Cecina (l.), Roast suckling lamb and salad (r.)
Why was the tortilla so good? Because her mom made it using her own hens’ eggs and potatoes. The cheese was specific to the village. The chorizo iberico crafted by a close friend. The almonds were from her own trees – and candied in small batches by her cousin. They were perfect – and there was no chance of offering them back home; her cousin could barely keep up with production as it was – and the FDA had assured Clara that the nuts would need to be backed with additives, colorants and preservatives before meeting their approval for import.
On we went to Valladolid, where the ex-Capital of Spain made it’s plea for attention against the grand cities of Madrid and Barcelona. Walking streets were stretched wide as boulevards, ornate building facades jutted out beside Roman columns and each corner building reached higher to the sky than the last, displaying turrets, thick windows, ancient bricks and brightly colored paint.
Sweetbreads in Valladolid (l.), Getting ready for lunch at Valduero (r.)
Below, the tapas bars and restaurants lined themselves up for offer. We noshed on braised cuttlefish with scrambled eggs – then sweetbreads stewed with mushrooms, garlic and herbs. Dinner came at the famous restaurant/bar Vino Tinto, where the meats – more suckling lamb and thick slices of ‘buey’ or ox were grilled on the bone over live coals.
Dinner at Vino Tinto
Tomorrow we head for even greener lands – and then a taste of the sea. I’ve never been to Galicia, but I’m sure, like the rest of Spain, it’s treasures will give inspiration – and cause to return.