Episode 48: My Kind of Town

Whether you prefer New York to Los Angeles or Paris to London or, to the point here, Barcelona to Madrid, may well depend upon which city you experienced first. Geezer first saw Barcelona in 1955 as a green-as-grass G.I. with high-water pants and a whitewall haircut. He didn't get around to Madrid until six years later. Fiercely exotic Barcelona had him wide-eyed and wowed, after which Madrid could stimulate little more than regard. Those early impressions have balanced out a little more evenly since, but given an either-or choice I'd opt for Barcelona every time.

Back in the Fifties, after two decades under the iron fist of of the dictator Franco, Spain more closely resembled an underdeveloped country of the southern hemisphere than of Europe. There were mule-hauled carts in downtown Barcelona and much street lighting was provided by gas. Young couples were expected to be accompanied by chaperones and they could be arrested for daring to kiss in public.

By the early Seventies, largely due to a concern for sustaining Spain's high levels of tourism, the authoritarian Francoist shroud was being lifted slightly to allow in a few freshets of contemporary thought. Almost unimaginably, demonstrations and protests were permitted to proceed, albeit under tight control.

One afternoon, I was sitting at a window table at a restaurant on the second floor of a building overlooking the top of La Rambla and the broad Placa de Catalunya. The former is a wide, tree-lined pedestrian concourse with a constant 24-hour flow of tourists, sailors on shore leave, three-generation families, street performers, pickpockets, caricature artists, and those who seek profit from the others. The plaza has spillover from La Rambla as well as thousands of pigeons drawn by visitors who actually think it is a good idea to feed the rats with wings.

As I was working my way through lunch, I heard a welling rumble of shouting people approaching the plaza from the Paseo de Gracia. The sound became thunderous and angry as a parade of demonstrators burst into view. They carried banners and waved forbidden Catalan flags and some rocked cars in their path as if to overturn them while others set fires in waste baskets and threw rocks at streetlights. They swept across the plaza and down La Rambla beneath me.
I don't remember why I returned to the same table in the same restaurant that same night. But there I was at 9:30. A sound of people marching and bellowing slogans came up across the plaza. Banners were waved. Marchers broke into a run across the plaza. Some of them set small fires, a few rocked cars in their path. They swept down La Rambla.

I asked the waiter what was going on.

"This afternoon, politics," he said with a sigh and a Mediterranean shrug. "Tonight, football."

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To Market
As soon as possible after I arrive in Barcelona I get down La Rambla to the Mercat de Sant Josep, a.k.a. La Boqueria. Housed under a soaring neo-Gothic metal and glass roof dating from the 1870s, the sprawling market features stall after stall of artfully displayed produce, meats, cheese, and seafood. Demanding home cooks and professional chefs roam the aisles, picking through pyramids of shiny melons and glowing peaches and bundles of albino asparagus and French beans, poking at glistening heaps of scallops and slab-sided skate and plump sea bass, squeezing loops of butifarra sausages and garlands of garlic. Crabs and large clawed shrimp are so fresh they still creep across their beds of cracked ice. Tucked into it all are a dozen bars and cafes. It is both a joyous tumult and a photogenic education in the Spanish culinary repertoire.

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This Time
We had breakfast each morning at Cafe Zurich, a once-legendary spot across from the top of La Rambla. The original had been torn down years ago for a new office building, and then re-constructed at the same location after major protests. The newstand at the corner had both the International Herald Tribune and USA Today, so with cafe con leche, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and toast, we were set for long intervals of people-watching and conversation about the day's news.

On this visit, my particular interest was seeing how the rehabilitation of once-ragged neighborhoods was proceeding. The most recent area to receive attention was Raval, the part of the old town west of La Rambla. It was long an intimidating place to travel on foot, especially at night, afflicted with drug dealers, pimps, and other street criminals. Urban renewal has involved considerable demolition and new construction, to the dismay of some. But a former hospital dating from the 11th Century was converted to a library and art school, a 19th Century monastery became an ambitious cultural center and the brand-new Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona (left) worked the mysterious magic that art museums do - witness the Guggenheim in Bilbao - motivating entrepreneurs to gather 'round with galleries, shops, cafes, and clubs. Add thousands of young people attending new university centers and an influx of North African immigrants and Raval is well on the way to full renewal. Now there is buzz about yet another shabby district showing signs of life - Poble Sec, west of Raval.

It worked in La Ribera. That was another medieval quarter, one that became the home of the city's thriving textile industry in the 19th Century. Its narrow streets were lined with small factories, workshops, markets, blacksmiths, tanneries, and, somewhat surprisingly, the courtyard mansions of many of Barcelona's privileged families. One of these became the Museu Picasso (below left) in the Sixties, and slowly annexed adjacent mini-palaces as the collections grew.

The now-predictable transformation of Carrer Montcada and nearby streets and plazas has made La Ribera and adjacent El Born a vital stop for both tourists and Barceloneans.

We've seen the Picasso. So we had continued down Montcada. With all its galleries, boutiques, bars, the textile museum, and the Barbier-Mueller collection of Pre-Colombian art, you could easily spend a full day along just this one block.

We crossed the Passeig del Born, down another alley, and into the compact Placa Olles, there to join the queue outside Cal Pep. Not long ago, the restaurant was largely unknown to the traveling public, but is now exalted in every guidebook and foodie website. It opens at 1:15 Monday through Friday - 8:00 in the evening - and the line starts forming well before those times. Be among the first 14 and you'll likely be seated. Otherwise, expect to wait at least an hour.

The reasons for this enthusiasm aren't for Cal Pap's high style or trendiness. The food is very traditional Spanish/Catalan in concept, but prepared to near-perfection with the freshest ingredients, cooked to order either at the grill behind the counter or delivered from the kitchen. The preferred seating is at the counter in the front room. It has just 14 stools, best for viewing the activities of servers and cooks. Patrons who don't speak Spanish or don't know what to order usually accept the counterman's rote suggestion of a "sampler".

Agree to that and thereafter proceeds a parade of plates. Our lunch that day included: a heap of lightly breaded and delicately fried shrimp and squid parts, tiny clams in garlicky oil, chickpeas with baby squid no bigger than a thumbnail, pimientos de Padron (jalapeno-sized peppers grilled in salt), and roasted merluza (a fierce-looking fish with sole-like flesh). It was too much, and very good, but it's hard to resist the crema catalana, a sweet custard with a caramelized crust.

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They're Alive!
Maybe the phenomenon originated elsewhere, but I first encountered living statues in Barcelona. At first, street performers simply painted themselves silver or white, stood on podiums, struck poses, and pretended to be the Tin Man, Frosty the Snowman, or whoever, and tried not to move for as long as possible. Once the living statues discovered that this was relatively easy money, evolution took over. Not only are there imitators from Key West to San Francisco to Paris, the costumes and props have grown ever more elaborate.
Have you checked out the several green manifestations of Lady Liberty at the ferry dock in lower Manhattan?

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Hidden City
Barcelona's Barri Gotic - Gothic Quarter - had an earlier life as a Roman settlement, established
two centuries before Christ. There are still remnants of that period, most of them hidden. Start with the Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat. It is a Gothic mansion of the 15th Century. It was moved here to get out of the way of road construction in the 1930s, but when they were digging a new foundation, they discovered the remains of the ancient Roman town, Barcino. It sprawls under the museum and beneath the adjacent plaza.
After that, stroll over to the back of the Cathedral and seek out the shadowy lane called Carrer Paradis. At number 10, on the left, enter the usually open portal and walk a few yards inside. On the right, completely enclosed by another Gothic building, are the bases of four Roman columns, thought to be part of a temple to Augustus. They are a ghostly presence.
Rounding the back of the Cathedral, enter the cloister, with palm trees, flowers, and a flock of resident geese. The birds are meant to symbolize the city's Roman era, presumably after Christianity was adopted.
Exiting through the side door and walking toward the front of the Cathedral, note the small alley on the left. It's another gloomy byway, opening into the modest enclosed Placa de Sant Felip Neri, with plane trees and a sexagonal fountain. There's no particular Roman connection here, but evidence of a more recent tragedy. Note the many pockmarks in the wall of the plaza (right). The door to the right was, and is, the entrance to an elementary school. During bombardment of the city in the 1936-1939 Civil War, a shell fell in the square. The school was in recess. Twenty children were killed.

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Eating, Sleeping, Seeing
Cal Pep (described above) is at 8 Placa de loes Olles, between the Picasso Museum and the waterfront. Most dishes are between 4 and 13 euros.

One of my favorite tapas bars is Irati, 17 Career Cardenal Casanyes, between La Rambla and the Placa del Pi. It specializes in the Basque version of the famous bar snack, called pintxos - meaning a wide variety of tidbits heaped atop pieces of bread and pinned in place by toothpicks. Platters of fresh pintxos are brought out at regular intervals, and the countermen pour glasses of sidra - sparkling cider - from ladles held high above their heads into glasses clutched below their waists.When you are finished, they count up the toothpicks (no fair throwing them away - this is the honor system). Around 20 euros cover enough food and cider for two, a serious bargain for pricey Barcelona.

A more conventional full-service restaurant is Senyor Parellada, in El Born at 37 Career Argenteria. On the ground floor of a hotel, it is contained in two large rooms with tall framed mirrors and many tables. At lunch, it attracts businesspeople and lunching ladies, with a younger crowd filling it up after 9pm. We started with potato and leek soup and ziti with spinach and a cream sauce, followed with a long-braised veal shoulder and duck confit with figs. All was quite satisfying and only 61 euros with espresso, bottled water, tax, service, and a full bottle of wine from Penedes.

Finding decent hotels for under 150 euros a night for two isn't as difficult as it used to be. We had a thoroughly acceptable room for only 109 euros a night at Duques de Bergara, 11 Career Bergara, T: 93-301-5151, www.hoteles-catalonia.es. It has a few English-language channels on the TV, a dining room, lounge, and a swimming pool in the terrace in back. The front desk staff is multi-lingual and usually helpful, but I'd eat and drink elsewhere. The top of La Rambla is less than two blocks away. We paid 109 euros per night for a double. Our last night in Barcelona we switched to the Alexandra, 11 Career Mallorca, T: 93-467-7166, www.hotel-alexandra.com.
Thoroughly contemporary in style, it is located in the tony Eixample district, north of the Placa de Catalunya. Wi-Fi is free, the bartender shakes a perfect martini, and the expansive breakfast buffet is free if you book via the website, a substantial saving. We paid 110 euros for a double.

The Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat (described above) is in the Gothic Quarter, on the Placa del Rei. The grand corner staircase on that impressive square is said to be where Queen Isabel greeted Columbus after his return from his second voyage to the New World.
Churches are often venues for music recitals. We saw a classical guitar duo perform the Carmen Suite by Bizet and the Suite Espanola by Albeniz in the Basilica Santa Maria del Pi. The church is a fine example of Catalan Gothic, completed in 1453. It enhances the lively and atmospheric Placa del Pi.
There's a new wrinkle in self-guided Barcelona sightseeing, the GoCar. The vehicle in question
is an open-top little bug with a roll bar guided by GPS. Several different routes are offered. I haven't tried it, but no doubt more adventuresome people will. Given the alarming Barcelona traffic, I'd rather have root canal.

Notes: At the time of visit, one euro cost $1.55. My apologies to Catalan and Spanish speakers - I haven't figured out how to insert the proper punctuation marks with this software.

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Clams Lola
Serves 4
The Catalan kitchen employs many ingredients and techniques distinct from other regional Spanish cuisines - meat or fish combined with fruit, regular use of piquant spices, sauces utilizing nuts. There's a hilltop village in Catalunya called Horta de Sant Joan, a place so small and remote it doesn't appear on most maps. This recipe was given to me by Lola, the wife of the owner of the Bar Manolo in Horta. I passed it on to Penelope Casas, who included it in her book, Delicioso!

3 thick slices of bread from a narrow French or Italian loaf
20 blanched almonds
8 garlic cloves, peeled
4 tablespoons parsley, minced
Salt
2 tablespoons plus one-half teaspoon olive oil
2 cloves garlic, lightly smashed and peeled
1 cup homemade fish broth or bottled clam juice
Fresh ground pepper
One-half teaspoon sweet or smoked Spanish paprika
3 dozen cockles or two dozen littlenecks (the smaller the better), scrubbed and washed

Place the bread and almonds on a cookie sheet in a 350-degree oven. Toast the almonds until golden, about five minutes, and remove to cool. Leave the bread in the oven until golden, about another five minutes. Remove to cool.

In a mortar or small processor, mash the eight cloves of peeled garlic together with the parsley, almonds, bread, pinch of salt, and the one-half teaspoon oil. Set aside.

In a large skillet, heat the remaining two tablespoons of oil with the two smashed garlic cloves, pressing the garlic with a spoon to squeeze out the flavor. When the garlic has browned, discard it. Add to the skillet the fish broth (or clam juice), ground pepper, and paprika. Stir in the mortar (or processor) mixture, add the clams, and bring to a boil.

Cover and simmer until the clams start to open. Remove them to a bowl as they open. When all have opened, return them to the skillet, turn off the heat, cover, and let sit for five minutes before serving.

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Episode 47: Stepping Up

Valencia wants more than just a place in the Spanish sun. The ancient provincial capital is shouldering its way into the front row, right up there with Madrid, Sevilla, and Barcelona.

At least it's trying, very hard, starting with its futuristic Ciudad de Artes y Ciencias (City of Arts and Sciences). At the left is L'Hemisferic, one of five structures standing in a row along the dry river bed that winds through the heart of the city. Designed by native son and acclaimed international architect, Santiago Calatrava, included are a planetarium, science museum, arts center (below at left), botanical garden, and aquarium.
For the moment, the architecture is of greater interest than the collections and exhibits inside, which are still being gathered and organized. An exception is the aquarium, dubbed
L' Oceanografic. (If the spelling of these names seems odd, that's because the Valencia region has a dialect related to catala, the language of northeastern Catalonia, which in turn was influenced by its proximity to France.) When we were there in May, the crowds were manageable but the sticker shock was substantial. The price of admission was over $60 for the two of us, so much we forgot to ask for the senior discount.

We grumbled over the expense, but it is a carefully thought-out complex, divided into several structures explicating Mediterranean sea-life, wetlands flora and fauna, an aviary, a penguin enclosure, a beluga and dolphin arena. Worth all that money? Not quite. But on reflection, not entirely outrageous, either.

One of the highlights of Valencia's Ciudad Vieja - Old Town - is a visit to the Mercado Central - the main food market. I found it intriguing that the soaring steel and glass building (at left), completed in 1928, bears a striking resemblance to many of Calatrava's designs here in Spain and around the world.








A tour through the market might be illuminating for those enthusiastic American locavores who yearn for a closer connection to the creatures who provide them nourishment. Spaniards are less squeamish about the sources comprising their food, confirmed after witnessing a butcher whacking a boar's head with a cleaver and lifting out the requested amount of brains. Funny thing - pig's brains taste exactly as you thought they might. Whether that's a good thing is another issue.

At the heart of Old Town is the Catedral. An Arab mosque once stood on the site, leveled by Spanish Christians as they slowly re-conquered their country from the Moors. Built primarily in the 14th and 15th Centuries, the cathedral was extended and embellished over several more, so it constitutes something of a rolling lesson in sequential architectural styles, with elements of the Romanesque, Gothic, Baroque, and neo-Classical modes all in evidence. It contains the alleged remains of the Holy Grail, the chalice from which Christ drank at the Last Supper, if you are of a mind to believe the claim.


















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When we were in the process of checking-in at our hotel, the Ad Hoc Monumental, we witnessed a little drama. A young couple, guests, were clearly in distress. They had lost a credit card the night before, apparently the only one they carried. But after a while the desk manager took a phone call and informed them that the card was found at the restaurant where they dined - and the owner was bringing it to them. He arrived shortly, to their relief and gratitude. We wanted to eat at a place like that, and made a reservation on the spot.

We were early, so we ducked into the Cafe de las Horas, near the Plaza de la Virgen. Dark, it is, and funkily operatic, with chandeliers, candlesticks, a huge bowl of fake flowers, and a sturdy gay vibe. (Spain now recognizes same-sex marriage, so there's no need for gays to be furtive.) It was a good place to try the popular local drink Agua de Valencia, a punch of orange juice and cava (a Spanish sparkling wine) served in a pitcher, like sangria.

At 9pm, we walked across the street and were greeted at the door of Seu-Xerea by the owner, Stephen Anderson, a British expat of Burmese origin. The rooms weren't anything like what we expected - antiques and traditional decor with upscale touches, perhaps. Instead, the rooms are clean, crisp, minimalist. The food, it quickly became clear, was modern and multi-national, with reference to both Mediterranean and Asian influences, but with nothing carved in stone. It comes in attractive, not precious, presentations, and in quantities sufficient to assuage hunger, not simply titillate.

There is a six-course tasting menu for 42 euros, but that was too much food for us. An amuse bouche of cauliflower froth arrived in a demi-tasse dusted with caviar and a swirl of pesto. We ordered zingy little spring rolls and vegetable sushi wrapped in lightly fried nori. Those were followed with mussels and bits of monkfish in green curry sauce for me and two fat chunks of suckling pig for Jo. This last made us despair of having pork this good ever again. Dessert was cardamon ice cream with a spoonful of honey jelly.

There may be other restaurants as good as Seu-Xerea-in Valencia, but I doubt there are any better, despite what Michelin seems to think.

However, it is practically illegal to visit Valencia, the rice bowl of Spain, without having paella, so the next day we sought out a place to satisfy that particular itch. Given that bargain prices were not among Seu-Xerea's virtues, that was a criterion now, and we got that at Cafe Plaza, a no-frills joint as anonymous as its name. Large portions were scooped out of the pan we chose - there are many versions of paella - and a pitcher of sangria was plunked down between us. There was a reason every table was occupied - the paella was satisfactory, if not memorable, and our check totaled slightly more than a single main dish at Seu-Xerea.

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Eating, Sleeping, Seeing
Seu-Xerea Restaurante, Conde de Almodovar 4, is described above. Figure about 120-150 euros for two, all inclusive. The six-course tasting menu is 42 euros per person, plus wine, taxes and tips. Cafe de las Horas, Conde de Almodovar 1, is described above. At Cafe Plaza, Almudin 12, paella and sangria for two was 28 euros, including tax.

Ad Hoc Monumental Hotel, Boix 4, T: 96-391-9140, www.adhochoteles.com, is a three-star facility, as determined by Spanish tourism authorities. Located in the old town near the Plaza de la Virgen, the cathedral, and my recommended restaurants, it is comfortable without being lavish. Its 28 rooms vary significantly in dimension and configuration, so you might want to check out the one assigned before signing in. Built in the late 19th Century, there are many exposed beams and antique decorative touches. The restaurant serves all meals. Doubles run from 130 to 200 euros, but vary substantially from season to season. By the way, the name is pronounced "Ahd-Oohk".

If you've never visited Valencia, Valencia Bus Turistic offers get-acquainted double-decker bus tours along a fixed route. There are five stops where riders can get off and re-board subsequent buses from 10:30am to 10:25pm. Narration is provided in five languages via audio devices with earphones.

We decided to take the train from Valencia to Barcelona. Flights take only about an hour, while the train trip is about three-and-a-half. But add in getting to the airport two hours in advance, squeezing through security, runway delays, and finding a taxi, it's a wash. Do get Preferente Class, which allows access to a special lounge and two and one seating on the train itself. Fares vary, depending upon departure time and number of stops, but each of our tickets cost 48.40 euros.

Note: At the time of our visit, $1.55 bought one euro. Also, I haven't figured out how to provide proper accents for Spanish words mentioned in this blog.

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Easy Paella
Serves 4-6
Traditionally, paella is prepared in an almost ceremonial manner, staged in hours over a charcoal brazier, then presented at table in the round, flat-bottomed pan in which it was cooked. Diners then spoon their food directly from the pan. Components are far from obligatory. While Americans tend to associate paella with seafood, the earliest versions were probably land-based, incorporating rabbit and game. There are at least fifty different versions, a few of them not even employing rice.

The following recipe, despite the slightly daunting list of ingredients, is relatively easy to put together and should take less than an hour-and-a-half from start to table. A bonus is its low calorie count.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup onion, chopped
1 cup red bell pepper, diced
1 cup celery, chopped
5 garlic cloves, minced
One-half cup Spanish (not Mexican) chorizo sausage, outer casing removed, then diced
5 cups homemade fish broth or bottled clam juice
2 cups diced tomatoes
One-and-a-half cups Spanish bomba or Italian arborio rice (not Uncle Ben's)
1 cup lump crab meat, picked over for shell pieces
2 tablespoons Italian parsley, minced
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
Pinch cayenne pepper
One-half pound medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
One dozen littleneck clams, the smaller the better, scrubbed

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees.
Warm the oil in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion, bell pepper, celery, garlic, and chorizo and fry, stirring, until onion is soft. Add fish broth or clam juice and tomatoes and bring to a boil. Stir in all the remaining ingredients, except the clams.
Cover and bake in the oven for 45 minutes. After 30 minutes, place the clams in a pot with a inch or two of water. Bring to a boil and cover. After five minutes, the clams should start to open. Remove them to a bowl as they do, so as not to overcook them
When the time is up for the paella, remove it from the oven. Add the clams. Fluff the rice. Serve.

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Episode 46: Home Again

We returned from Europe to find our valley in the early throes of a full-throated Spring. The Korean dogwood was surpassing its past displays. It used to flower this flamboyantly only every other year. Now it denies us nothing every single June.

Another regular visitor is the embodiment of its prehistoric ancestors. Only days after we moved into this house in 1986, she showed up in our driveway, an appearance brought to our attention by neighbor kids. A scary prospect in the water, given jaws purportedly capable of chomping off human toes, the Eastern snapping turtle is considerably less intimidating on land, given itsvery deliberate mobility.

In this case, she even provokes a measure of sympathy, despite her un-cuddlesome appearance. Consider that she leaves the river a hundred-and-fifty feet below us, crawls up a cliff-like hill that is often nearly perpendicular, over fallen trees and retaining walls, and into our yard for the sole purpose of laying eggs.

To improve her chances of producing progeny, she buries the eggs in several places. One year, she deposited them under the spot of lawn that was to be paved over the next day. Some landowners along her unvarying route take pity on her, carrying her out of danger across interceding roads. We expect to continue noting her annual passage; snapping turtles can live up to eighty years.

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"To forget pain is to be painless, to forget care is to be rid of it, to go abroad is to accomplish both."
- Mark Twain
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Mi Segunda Casa
When Geezer was very young and his world incorporated only his home in a New York suburb and the towns outside the Army camps where his officer father was in training for the war in Europe, he only slowly grew aware of the places beyond, across the water. I don't remember when I first heard the simple but evocative advertising slogan "Castles In Spain". In that time before five TV channels became five hundred, those three words summoned images of chest-thumping knights in armor, chest-heaving ladies-in-waiting, dramatic jousts with trumpets announcing deadly competitions, and massive assaults on the fortresses of evil princes.

When I finally arrived in Spain in 1955, courtesy of the U.S. Army, I wasn't disappointed. There were flamenco, bullfights, and attractive young women happy to spot the naive young American G.I. entering the nightclub. On a later visit, driving west of Madrid, I detoured off the main road when I spotted an apparently abandoned castle up on a hill. There was no gate, no attendant, and in my wanderings through its echoing chambers, I came across a room with a full suit of armor. It was tossed in a corner, an unwanted relic of a distant time, of no interest to villagers who were more concerned about the hardscrabble day-to-day circumstances to which the dictator Franco subjected them.

Forget all that. That Spain is barely recognizable now, thirty years after the most attenuated death of a national leader experienced in Western history. ("Franco is still dead," declared Chevy Chase long after the event.) Massive improvements have been made in infrastructure, with thousands of miles of new highways, ultra-fast trains stitching major cities together, expanded airports, rehabilitation of entire urban neighborhoods, and new museums and cultural centers designed by major architects.

Much of this very visible progress is due to Spain's admission to the European Union and its financial support, and one result is that it costs about as much to visit here as it does Paris or Rome (if not quite as breathtakingly expensive as London.) Bargain Spain is past and gone. That's one reason I hadn't returned for over three years.

For me, that's a long time. I first saw Spain in 1955, courtesy of the U.S. Army. Subsequent visits were scattered through the 1960s and 1970s. When I decided to quit the 9 to 5 life in 1976 to become a freelance writer, Spain soon became my prime personal and professional destination. Eventually, I authored four guidebooks, contributed to three others, and wrote over one hundred magazine and newspaper articles about what was, for all purposes, my second home. Spain constituted about one-half of what I referred to as my income, an amount the Pentagon thought of as five ballpeen hammers and a toilet.

When the opportunity to return was presented, I lept at the chance. Our first stop was Madrid, and it was May Day. That occasion assures an influx of outlanders and foreigners more than enough to replace all the Madrilenos leaving town for the long weekend. The annual celebration of unions and working people ushers in a month of parades, open-air concerts and films, bullfights, neighborhood fiestas, fireworks and whatever other events the powers can dream up.

Many of them take place or wind up in the Plaza Mayor. The enclosed square is bordered on all four sides by cafes, a sea of tables stretching out toward the equestrian statue of Felipe III. This day, there was something new, a concert by huge electrified assemblages of musical instruments on flatbed trailers hauled majestically around the plaza by tractors. There was barely room for them among the the throngs. Multiple speakers six feet tall slammed out heavy metal rock until I thought our ears might bleed.

It was the same at the Museo del Prado. Originally meant to be a science museum, its mission was altered to house what is easily one of the most important repositories of classical paintings in the world. After three decades of halting starts, slowdowns, revolving- door directors, political interference, and resurgent efforts aimed at upgrading its infrastructure and expanding its gallery space, it has finally emerged as the equal of any such facility in Europe.
At this moment, the curators had mounted a major exhibition of the works of Francisco Jose de Goya y Lucientes, focusing on his works before and through the period of Spain's War of Independence from Napoleon. The crowds were endless.

The Prado has several entrances - the main one in front, facing the boulevard, and one each at the north and south ends of the building. They are closed and opened as necessary for crowd control. All three had lines of visitors up to two hours away from getting inside. Much as I wanted to see the new galleries, no way I was going to shuffle forward a half-step at a time for that long, not to see a museum I've been through thirty or forty times.

Inspiration! We walked around the back and through the new entrance, unchallenged, no line, no wait. I can't guarantee that will work every time, but keep it in mind. The new wing, which contains a restaurant and several galleries, segues smoothly into the main building, providing easy access to the luminous canvases of Velazquez, El Greco, Murillo, and, of course, Goya. Look, too, for the nightmare imaginings of Hieronymus Bosch and the lush extravaganzas of Titian, Tintoretto, and Rubens.
Not all of Madrid's advances involve infusions of public money. No more than a decade ago, the barrio known as Chueca was a scary place. Its dark, dank streets and plazas were ruled by drug dealers and thugs, desperate addicts, prostitutes and pimps, and lowlifes of every sort. The Plaza del Rey (at left) was a no-man's land. No longer.

The transformation of Chueca is dazzling. At first, bold gay entrepreneurs started moving in, creating hip new shops, businesses, design centers, galleries, clubs, and eating places. Those same narrow streets now course with people, mostly young or youngish, multi-sexual, multi-cultural.

One of the men who first nibbled at the edges of Chueca was Diego. After a long career at the legendary cocktail bar Chicote, once the choice of Hemingway, Ava Gardner, Orson Wells, Gary Cooper, and Tyrone Power, Diego set off on his own.
With his two sons, he opened Del Diego, a sleeker version of his previous employer's digs.

A master mixologist, his every move behind the bar is smooth, precise, unhurried. His drinks menu lists Cosmopolitans, Sex on the Beach, Long Island Iced Tea, and a roster of martinis. What makes regulars out of drop-ins, though, is his knack for making every patron feel privileged. He recognized me as soon as I came in the door. This was remarkable, considering I hadn't been in there in four years. But back then, we had spoken at length, if my appalling Spanish and his lack of any English could be described as "conversation."

Don Diego makes every effort to be understood and tolerates with equanimity my verb-free massacre of his language. He remembered that my drink is a vodka martini, after whipping together a cosmo for Jo, and invited us back after dinner for complimentary digestifs. We departed after Diego kissed Jo's hand and warmly shook mine, grasping my elbow.

We wanted to try one of Chueca's tradition-defying new restaurants. Bazaar was our choice, on a street blooming with forward-edge eating places. In a culture where most residents don't even think about dinner before 10:30pm, we were advised to line up at the door by 8:20. Ten minutes later, everyone gathered there surged in, filling the rooms in an instant. Older Spaniards are reluctant to sample tastes from other lands, rejecting spicy foods and unfamiliar ingredients. But the kitchen at Bazaar draws inspiration from many cuisines, hopping around the globe to borrow ideas. The results, while hardly stunning, are quite satisfying, and given the current status of the dollar, a very good deal - most dishes are 6 to 9 euros. We started with a cold tomato bread soup and followed with curried chicken on rice noodles and entrecote with a cake of vegetables.

Our evening ended back at Del Diego. The brandies were excellent, the handshakes and hand-kissing even better. Madrid has never been more magnetic.

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Eating, Sleeping, Seeing
Americans have learned what tapas are - finally - the basis of what are now known as "small plates" in restaurants all over the United States. Madrid lays disputed claim to the invention of these gastronomic treats, and there's hardly a block that doesn't have a bar offering a counter crowded with platters of them.

At least a dozen cluster around the Plaza Santa Ana, a short walk from the Puerta del Sol. We stopped in at an old favorite, La Trucha ("The Trout") at Nunez de Arce 6, where everyone passing through the door gets an enthusiastic "Buenas Tardes!" from the barmen. We ordered their signature verbena de ahumados - a "festival" of smoked fish. While we waited for its assembly, we had pimientos de Padron - grilled jalapeno-sized but mild peppers - and marinated olives. With a couple of glasses of wine, figure about 25-35 euros.

In Chueca, Bocaito, Libertad 4-6, has survived the district's tempestuous history to remain what many knowledgeable Madrilenos consider the city's premier tapas emporium. It's colorful and atmospheric, but forget cheap. Four pinchos - skewered strips of grilled pork - a few anchovies, and three squat tumblers of wine cost 21 euros. But if you can splurge, consider the
fritura malaguena - lightly fried fish and shellfish in the style of Malaga. At last look, it cost over 30 euros for two.

Not far from Bocaito is Bazaar, Libertad 21, described above. Del Diego Cocktail Bar, Reina 12, is also described above.

Hotel Maria Elena Palace, Aduana 19; T: 913-604-930; www.mariaelenapalacehotel.com. is a sleek, fairly new 4-star hotel in the center of old Madrid, about halfway between Gran Via and Calle de Alcala. In walking distance of most of the city's major attractions, it's on a quiet side street in one of the busiest parts of the city (except when the club next door cranks up on the weekends). Rates for doubles are a reasonable 90-130 euros.

Museo del Prado, Paseo del Prado (no number); T: 902-107-077. Open Tuesday-Sunday 9am-8pm. Admission 6 euros; free for seniors (declare "mayores de edad" and be ready to show your driver's license or passport).

Real Jardin Botanico, Plaza de Murillo 2; T: 914-203-017. Open daily 10am - 6-8pm (depending on season). Admission 6 euros, free for seniors.

Note: At the time, one euro cost $1.55. Also, apologies to linguists - I haven't figured out how to add proper punctuations to this blog.

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Cocido Madrileno
Serves 6-8
This is a definitive recipe for the signature Castilian stew from Penelope Casas, the single most authoritative writer on Spanish cuisine, from her book, The Foods of Spain. Few cookbook authors produce recipes as uniformly reliable.
It is presented here in full, with only a very few minor modifications meant to shortcut a step or two. Yes, it takes time, but it is meant only for important family dinners. (Note how few herbs and spices are involved. Its flavors evolve from the long simmering together of its aromatic ingredients.) Important: Cooking begins the day before serving the meal. Read the recipe all the way through before starting.

To Begin:
2 chicken thighs
2 pounds beef chuck
One-quarter pound slab bacon, in one piece
Three-quarter pound chorizo (Spanish, not Mexican - they are different products)
One-quarter pound serrano or prosciutto ham, in one or two pieces
2 ham or beef bones
18 cups cold water
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 large onion, peeled and halved
1 leek or 2 large scallions, trimmed and cleaned carefully
2 garlic cloves, peeled
2 large carrots, trimmed and peeled
4 medium new potatoes, peeled
4 ounces short, very fine noodles

For the Meatballs:
1 cup shredded beef chuck (from the pot)
One-half cup chopped bacon (from the pot)
2 eggs
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon parsley, minced
2 tablespoons broth (from the pot)
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
Bread crumbs
1 tablespoon olive oil

For the Cabbage:
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
One-half head cabbage, chopped
Salt
Freshly ground pepper

The day before serving, place the chicken, beef, bacon, chorizo, ham, and the bones in a large soup pot with the 18 cups of water. Add salt and pepper and bring to a boil. Skim off any foam.
Lower heat and cook at a low simmer for one-and-a-half hours. Cool to room temperature, then refrigerate. Remove the fat that solidifies on the top of the pot.

The next day, add the onion, leek, carrots, and potatoes to the pot with the meat. Cover and simmer for 1 hour.

Make the meatballs: Remove the specified amount of beef and bacon from the pot and place them with the eggs in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse until smooth. Transfer to a mixing bowl and add the garlic, parsley, broth, salt, pepper, and enough bread crumbs so that the mixture can be handled. Form into sausage shapes, about 2 inches long and i inch wide. Heat the oil in a skillet and fry the meatballs until firm and golden.
Add them to the soup pot and continue cooking the cocido, covered, about one hour more. Add the chickpeas to the pot, preferably enclosed in a cheesecloth bag for easy removal. Cook for another 30 minutes.

Make the cabbage: Heat the oil in a skillet. Saute the onion and garlic until the onion is wilted.
Add the cabbage, salt, and pepper and continue cooking over medium heat until the cabbage is tender.

Serve the cocido in three courses: Strain the broth, leaving some liquid to cover the meats. Add the fine noodles to the broth. Simmer briefly until noodles are limp. This is the soup, to be served first. Arrange the vegetables on a platter, and serve next. Finally, place the cabbage on a second platter. Cut the meats into serving portions, leaving the meatballs whole, and arrange them over the cabbage.

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