 | I didn’t go to Spain just to eat. I went with friends. But we did eat. A lot |
We started with a delicious goat cheese platter, with nuts and jam and raisins and toasty bread, and an artichoke salad with tomatoes and olive oil. There are no photos because I forgot my phone in my hotel room. You’ll have to believe me. One of our party has been in Spain a little longer than he’d like, and now he only eats chicken nuggets and french fries.
The next morning, we had churros and chocolate for breakfast. There is just nothing wrong with either of those things, and putting them together was a Spanish stroke of genius. (Also maybe an actual stroke, but hey it was just one weekend so don’t judge me.)
The next morning, we had churros and chocolate for breakfast. There is just nothing wrong with either of those things, and putting them together was a Spanish stroke of genius. (Also maybe an actual stroke, but hey it was just one weekend so don’t judge me.)
 Here’s me looking like an evil genius in a Disney movie. |  Churros and Chocolate |
Then we ambled over to a restaurant that my amigos had been to before. I had a warm red cabbage salad with an (unpictured) cheesy center. The cabbage was really good, but the cheese brought it home. I swooned.
Sorry about the shadow, but I hadn’t seen sunlight in a month and forgot about shadows. Paris has entered The Dark Season.
Sorry about the shadow, but I hadn’t seen sunlight in a month and forgot about shadows. Paris has entered The Dark Season.
| Then I had fois gras with apple compote. The sweetness of the compote with the saltiness of the meat--chef’s kiss. | One friend had beef rolls with a goat cheese center and pasta. The pasta looks plain but it was delicately spiced. |
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Other friend had these tasty chicken nuggets and french fries. We all tried each other’s food, and I’ve got to say those nuggets were divine, and the sauce had just the right tanginess. If he only eats that, he’ll still be a happy traveler.
We wandered around Seville’s old town that afternoon, taking in the Alcazar. Dinner is late in Spain, so we went back to our hotel for a lie-down before going out. The evening’s plan? Flamenco! I’d been given a recommendation to go to a place called La Carboneria, and it was fabulous. You sit at little tables drinking and snacking for a while before the show starts. We’d been advised not to eat the tapas, though, and that was a good call--they looked like they were made off-site. We split a pitcher of sangria, and when the show still didn’t start we had beers. They were big.
We wandered around Seville’s old town that afternoon, taking in the Alcazar. Dinner is late in Spain, so we went back to our hotel for a lie-down before going out. The evening’s plan? Flamenco! I’d been given a recommendation to go to a place called La Carboneria, and it was fabulous. You sit at little tables drinking and snacking for a while before the show starts. We’d been advised not to eat the tapas, though, and that was a good call--they looked like they were made off-site. We split a pitcher of sangria, and when the show still didn’t start we had beers. They were big.
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I’d never seen flamenco before, and it was an unexpected pleasure. I always thought of it as a super-dramatic cliché, maybe for a seduction scene in a Zorro movie, or an emo stomp fest with flying lacy skirts and a fan. I was wrong. It was simple and beautiful and moving. The dancer was a young woman wearing an elegant black dress, no ruffles, and she seemed to go into a trance while she danced. The beautiful part, though, was that if you looked at her top half, she was hardly moving at all, except for her beautifully expressive hands and wrists. Her legs, however, never stopped. Her ponytail fell apart, her breath came in gasps, and her forehead furrowed in concentration. She twisted and turned, and I saw something I see in many people I know, especially women. If somebody looks at us from one viewpoint, we hardly look like we’re moving, and they ask why our ponytail has fallen out, why we’re sweaty, why we’re looking down and not smiling. The answer is--if you saw all of me, you’d know. I’m keeping it together where you can see, while the rest of me labors.
No photos were allowed, and I’m glad. I’d rather have the memory.
After La Carboneria, we went out for paella. It was delicious, full of shrimp, clams, muscles, fish. Sorry if you don’t like seafood. There’s always chicken and fries.
No photos were allowed, and I’m glad. I’d rather have the memory.
After La Carboneria, we went out for paella. It was delicious, full of shrimp, clams, muscles, fish. Sorry if you don’t like seafood. There’s always chicken and fries.
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The next morning, we skipped breakfast and went to the Arab baths. No food, but the mint tea was perfect.
For lunch, relaxed and wrinkled, we went to the fish-in-a-cone place. That’s all they have. Fried fish, many kinds, and they put it in a paper cone. You open the cone on the table and eat it with your hands. Chicken Guy put aside his temporary chicken-only requirement and dug in. Beer is a necessity with this much fried food.
For lunch, relaxed and wrinkled, we went to the fish-in-a-cone place. That’s all they have. Fried fish, many kinds, and they put it in a paper cone. You open the cone on the table and eat it with your hands. Chicken Guy put aside his temporary chicken-only requirement and dug in. Beer is a necessity with this much fried food.
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That afternoon, we explored the cathedral, one of the biggest in Europe, and climbed the tower, then had a nap before dinner. We decided to eat Moroccan.
I can’t remember what these dishes were called, but they were delicious. That orange sauce was to die for.
I can’t remember what these dishes were called, but they were delicious. That orange sauce was to die for.
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What did Chicken Guy have?
We also had a hummus appetizer, but it was so good we wolfed it down sans photo.
My last breakfast in Spain was a pastry and café au lait. Spanish pastries are a bit dry, and I’m pretty picky about my pastries, having lived in France for a while now. But not so picky that I didn’t eat the whole thing. OK, so maybe I’m not that picky.
Now, regarding Chicken Guy. Travel fatigue is a very real thing, and can ruin your whole trip if it gets out of hand. So, if you find yourself getting tired of exotic places and thrilling meals and mind-blowing experiences, for Pete’s sake get yourself some chicken nuggets. Or whatever taste you’re craving.
Listen to your body. Be like Chicken Guy. Sometimes getting the most out of your trip means doing less.
Subscribe to my blog here.
My last breakfast in Spain was a pastry and café au lait. Spanish pastries are a bit dry, and I’m pretty picky about my pastries, having lived in France for a while now. But not so picky that I didn’t eat the whole thing. OK, so maybe I’m not that picky.
Now, regarding Chicken Guy. Travel fatigue is a very real thing, and can ruin your whole trip if it gets out of hand. So, if you find yourself getting tired of exotic places and thrilling meals and mind-blowing experiences, for Pete’s sake get yourself some chicken nuggets. Or whatever taste you’re craving.
Listen to your body. Be like Chicken Guy. Sometimes getting the most out of your trip means doing less.
Subscribe to my blog here.