Within Reach

      Able now to have confusing conversations about pretty dogs and tuna fish in Spanish, I am also proficient in Italian child talk. Yesterday found me slicing melanzane (eggplant), rolling out pizza dough and watching the basic but profound aglio olio (spaghetti tossed in garlic, chili and olive oil) be made with hawk-like attentiveness. A generous couple we met along the Camino have opened up their restaurant and sun-drenched apartment to us in exchange for a bit of work before departing Spain for our final week in Paris. My hands and senses are all too happy to accept this invitation. My gratitude surpasses my speaking ability (as usual, actually) so I'm doing a lot of pointing to my heart and saying, "Qua...grazie" ("Here...thank you").

       While many whom I love view me as an adventurer who marches to any beating drum, my reality has been a far cry from such an idea. My closet at home is organized by color, I get washed with a wave of peace when everything on my desk is arranged at a 90 degree angle to my chair, and I have a digital scale by which I weigh out my coffee to the gram each morning.

      My two months walking along the Camino have challenged all of this. In the best shape of my life prior to leaving the States, I have been bowled over by the physical taxation of walking 25km days with a thirteen pound pack (that's on a day that I'm not carrying digestive biscuits, nuts, fruit and olive oil). When a body goes through such physical demand, standards reduce themselves to basic needs: nourishment and safety from the elements. Everything else -- the picky habits and time consuming customs -- begin to reveal themselves as superfluous. 

      Certainly there are matters of taste that have remained constant: I cannot share a sleeping space with a snoring Southern European man (ask me sometime about the night I was forced to sleep on the floor and got devoured by ants because the man next to me sounded like a crashing plane) and food must, must be beautiful, balanced and delicious. Today is a deconstructed recipe, appropriately from Italy, adapted to what's within reach in this sleepy Spanish city.

Butter Browned Apples with Bittersweet Chocolate and Hazelnuts

Adapted from Jessica Theroux 's Cooking With Italian Grandmothers

      The original recipe is for hollowed-out apples stuffed with the nut filling and baked with sweet Marsala wine. It is impressive and gorgeous but impossible to do without an oven. Done atop the stove is a simpler (five minute) task and requires two elements: similar sized apple pieces and an attentive eye to not overcook the apple. 

Ingredients

1 T butter

1 firm, tart apple - unpeeled, washed and cut into inch cubes

splash of sweet wine (optional)

1 t lemon zest

2 t cane sugar

2 pinches of salt

1/3 c chopped bittersweet chocolate (70% dark chocolate Lindt Postre over here)

1/2 c toasted hazelnuts, roughly chopped (toasted almonds are a more rustic and less expensive substitute)

Process

For the nut topping:

      Place the lemon zest, sugar and salt in a mortar and grind with the pestle until fragrant - 30 seconds. Add the chocolate and nuts, give a few strong pounds until all ingredients are incorporated into each other but still crumbly. Taste for sweetness and sprinkle more sugar if desired. Set aside.

For the apples:

      In a sauté pan, melt the butter over medium high heat. When melted, add the apples, shaking the pan a bit to coat the pieces in butter. 

      Reduce the heat to medium and shake the pan once or twice to keep the apples from sticking. Do not stir. The apple will quickly soften and hopefully brown a bit. This will take a maximum of five minutes -- the apples are best when they can be penetrated with a sharp knife but still possess a bite. Pour in a splash of sweet wine, if using and remove from heat.

      Gently spoon the hot apples into small bowls, top with the sweet nut mixture and enjoy (with sweet cream or yogurt, if it happens to be around).

Yields: dessert for two

Prep time: 15 minutes

Cook time: 5 minutes

Photography by Amy Pennington/Writing and Styling by Adria Lee

The End Of The World

 

       Retrospective hilarity never seems far once the perplexities clear. This was a recent conversation I had with a large, hairy Spanish man about his beautiful black German Shepard:

Adria: Your dog is very pretty.

Spanish man: Tuna fish.

Adria (pausing but smiling): Ah, very good.

Spanish man: My dog is pretty because of the mountains and water.

Adria (still smiling): Okay...mountains and water. Very good. Bye!

      Upon departure and Amy's clarification, the man was actually giving me a Spanish grammatical lesson; masculine words ending with "o" like pero  (dog) use masculine adjectives ending in "o" like bonito which, confusingly, is the word for both handsome and tuna fish. Feminine words ending in "a" like montaña (mountain) and agua (water) are described by feminine adjectives like bonita. Needless to say, I never saw the man again which was good -- he looked like a horrifying snorer and his masculinely pretty dog looked slightly unstable.

      As if reaching Santiago de Compostela by foot wasn't enough, we have continued another 87km to Finisterre (known as the end of the world), on the western coast of Galacia. It's a gorgeous and quiet trail but the towns rest far from each other; yesterday we walked twenty two miles and staggered at 8pm into the tiny village of Olveiroa. By this point, I was beginning to make myself feel crazed; I had exhausted my song repertoire and had  been singing Chelsea Hotel for 45 minutes because the waltzing lilt made my rioting joints calm down. The epic day wrapped up serendipitously with a free private room in a restored stone stable and a two-shelf market that carried all that was needed for a very restorative meal.

Kitchari

inspired by Alice Toklas (thanks, KC)

      Curry blends generally contain cinnamon, which along with the turmeric, possess anti-inflammatory properties. While an ever-advocate for brown rice, the mild-tasting white rice carries the complexities of the curry and butter very well. If using a different rice, adjust liquid ratios and cook time with your own discretion.

Ingredients

4 T unsalted butter (yes, tablespoons)

1 1/2 t sea salt

1 T mild curry powder

6 cloves garlic, diced

2 c white rice, rinsed

3 1/2 c water

1 1/2c green peas (fresh, if possible)

2 tins (1 cup) oil packed tuna, trout or herring -- sprinkled with salt if necessary)

black pepper

Process

      Over a medium flame, melt the butter in a heavy bottomed pot, deep enough to cook the rice. Once melted, add the salt and curry powder, stirring constantly for one minute. Add the garlic and stir for a minute more. Finally, add the rinsed rice and stir to coat the grain in the butter for an additional two minutes.

      Add the water, raise the heat to bring to a boil and taste the broth for salt content -- carefully adding more if the flavor falls flat. Once simmering, reduce the flame to low and cover tightly. Let cook, undisturbed, for twenty minutes.

      After twenty minutes, peek into the pot. The rice should be done (little air holes will appear atop the rice) -- test to see if tender, if at all unsure.

      Remove from heat and gently fold in the green peas. Traditionally, the fish is mixed in with the rice but I prefer it on the side. Grind fresh pepper on top and serve hot (a side salad of lettuce and slivered onions with vinaigrette makes for a nice temperature and texture contrast).

Yields: 4 servings

Prep time: 10 minutes

Cook time 35 minutes (20 minutes unattended)

Photography by Amy Pennington/Styling and Writing by Adria

Absolutely Warranted

      What began as a hint in the late morning turned into waves by Spain's siesta and was then full blown shakes and shivers by early evening. I haven't been so sick since I was a little girl, which probably explains why I kept hugging myself and whispering "Mommy, Mommy..." over and over again (to maintain some cool integrity: I was also swearing).

      Illness can so often reveal the goodness in others: Amy was a sweet heroine with her care and the  ladies of Vega de Valcarce in Galacia were kind with their lemon water, mint tea and white rice. This stomach flu served as encouragement to reserve the woe-is-absolutely-everything-about-me mentality until warranted. It has also been a most excellent (seasonally sound) recipe reminder from long ago as I am, spoonful of Activia by spoonful, getting back to where I began.

      (I should note, happily and with awe, that we have walked 764km and are three days away from Santiago. I've only cried four times and haven't had to crawl once.)

Rhubarb and Champagne Yogurt

      This is such a delightful manner by which to utilize the bounty of your rhubarb patches or early market stands and can be used as a sauce for a fancy ice cream sundae or thickened for a pie filling. If lactose-troubled or disinterested in yogurt, enjoy the sauce on its own (just brush your teeth after). 

Ingredients

4 c (about 6 stalks) fresh rhubarb, trimmed and chopped into 2 inch pieces

1 c dry champagne

3/4 c cane sugar (or more, depending on your preference) *

Strained (Greek) yogurt 

Process

      Over a medium flame in a saucepan, heat the champagne and sugar to a simmer. Let simmer for three minutes to rid the champagne of its alcohol and reduce the heat to medium-low. Add the rhubarb. Simmer until quite softened but not stewed, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool completely.

      Gently fold 1/2 c rhubarb mixture into 1 c very cold strained yogurt (place in the freezer thirty minutes before serving, if you have the foresight and desire). Sprinkle more sugar on top if too tart.

Refrigerate the rhubarb sauce in a lidded jar until consumed (which won't take long).

* Maple or brown rice syrup do not make appropriate substitutions as they will interfere with the sauce's already thin consistency and straightforward taste.

Yields: 3 c rhubarb sauce

Prep time: 10 minutes

Cook time: 10 minutes

Photography by Amy Pennington