New Year

I have been absent for far too long.

Now, I absolutely refuse to say "life happens," because I feel like that is a very poor excuse. I will, on the other hand, share my life as it is and has been for the past year. Life has been good, and I am not just saying that because the sun is staying out later, or because we have had weeks of absolute cloudless deep-blue skies, or because I just so happen to be writing on a weekend. Life has been good, because it truly is, and has been.

As February has come and gone, as well as March and part of April, I have found myself reminiscing. Where was I a year ago (mentally and emotionally speaking)? What were my plans? Where did I think my life was headed?

On February 4th my plane touched down in Barcelona, Spain. I had three huge suitcases with me and nothing more. I was coming here to live, to start a new life with someone who had stuck by my side for seven years' of ups and downs and a combined total of almost twenty round trip flights between Barcelona and California. I was headed straight for the unknown.

There have been so many changes since that moment when I literally came back down to earth and I am thankful for every single one- each one a lesson, a little check on my "Things To Do" Life List. In more or less cronological order: I moved to another country, moved to a new apartment, married the same man twice, started a blog, flew to California and back (the best feeling to return "home" to Barcelona), got two new careers (which I juggle simultaneously), Andrés changed his career, changed jobs twice within his new career, my computer completely died, and I got a new phone.

A quote that best fits this past year of my life is from the book The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. I have read and re-read this book after a friend of mine presented me with it on my first trip to Spain eight years ago.

"...whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it's because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It's your mission on earth... And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it."

In answer to the questions above: Mentally and emotionally I was just happy and in love (and still am). I wasn't really worried about what was going to happen or what was to come and I had no idea what was in store. When I look back, I only see how deeply I believed that everything was going to turn out just fine. I also see how hard the both of us have worked to get to where we are now. We have jobs, a beautiful home, a supporting and loving family nearby, and many new and amazing friends .So, with no regrets and the help of the universe, I am gliding into my "New Year" here in Barcelona.

Song on my mind: Happy Day by Andrew Bird

Las Doce Uvas de la Suerte

Back home I know how my friends and family will be celebrating the New Year. There will be Sparkling Wine, the Countdown to Midnight, the Ball Dropping in New York City, Kissing, and Singing. There will be Hugging, Well Wishing, and Laughter too.

While I love spending New Year's Eve laughing and toasting and celebrating, this New Years will be very different. I will be in full concentration mode to mentally prepare for the twelve strokes of midnight.

Anne Igartiburu and Imanol Arias
host the countdown to midnight  in Madrid

 My first time encountering this Spanish New Year's Eve tradition was three years ago with Andres' family. We were at a large table in his Aunt's home with his parents and cousins asking casually if I was prepared for midnight, and if I had ever eaten twelve grapes in twelve seconds. While I'm not sure how other's would respond, my answer was "No." No, I had never been put in a position, or had the curiosity, to eat twelve grapes in twelve seconds. I thought, just pop them in, chew, swallow and repeat, right?

The plates were passed and the uvas distributed and that is when I noticed that these were quite possibly the biggest grapes I had ever encountered in my life (they were bigger than I thought even existed, actually). Andres' family must have seen my reaction to my first glimpse, because all eleven relatives began to offer advice, which ended with four different people peeling and seeding my grapes. It's a tricky little scheme and up for debate, but since it was my first time, all agreed to turn a blind eye. Needless to say with some quick maneuvering and a little panic, I finished all twelve with pride.

Las Doce Uvas "De la Suerte" (The Twelve Grape "of luck") tradition started on a large scale in 1909, when the region of Alicante experienced an exceptional grape harvest and was looking to sell. Originally the bourgeoisie celebrated the New Year with Grapes and Champagne, but with such a bountiful harvest the practice was encouraged to spread nation wide. The tradition is that each of the Grapes represents a month of the year, and eating a Grape on each toll of the bell will give you luck for each month devoured.

While New Year's Eve looms ahead, I begin to mentally and emotionally prepare for the task. As my last experience was several years ago, I might have to go the peeled route... or at least the seeded route. So, as you hold your glass of Sparkling Wine and prepare for the countdown, wherever you are, cross your fingers for me.

Happy New Year!

**update**

My dish of seeded grapes
(I opted for skin-on for a bit of a challenge)

Grapes seeded and peeled
with a fork and knife like a pro

A Gingerbread Family

For the Holidays I was feeling a bit sentimental. It would be my first Christmas in Barcelona and my first Christmas married and part of a new family with their own time honored traditions. I was wracking my brain to do something traditional, but new to me. I had already done Apple and Pumpkin Pies for Thanksgiving and was looking for variation. I read through my absolute favorite baking book - The Williams-Sonoma Baking Book (it has everything) to get an idea.

I am a more make-it-up-as-you-go-along savory cook than a measure-it-all-out sweets master, so I have always been very cautious about keeping the right distance away from various baked goods. However, now that I am part of a different culture, I have become interested in the art and have been trying my hand at a number of different recipes. (It helps that Andres is the only one who knows when a recipe doesn't turn out and still digs his fork into my creation with a smile)

When it finally dawned on me to make Gingerbread People, I set off in search of People cookie cutters (I surprisingly found them in a large hardware store I entered to escape the cold while waiting for the bus). Next I went in search of sprinkles, which ended up being much more difficult to find (5 euros for a little tube of Rainbow Jimmies that seemed to have faded in color). I finally found a large jar with four separate types of sprinkles in Caprabo (one of the grocery chains). That would do!

Although the dough "melts" within about eight minutes of being rolled out, Andres and I came down with a system and the cookies turned out perfectly!

The first batch of Gingerbread People prepped for decoration

The cutters I had found were an entire family of Mom, Dad, Little Sister and Little Brother. We snacked on the children while decorating the adults to eat on Christmas Day.

Twenty-five large and fifteen small decorated in total

With four colors of icing, sprinkles, mini m&ms, and Christmas music, the day turned out better than I could have imagined. In hindsight, the Cookies and the Royal Icing were so easy to make, although you have to refrigerate the dough for at least two hours which we didn't plan for. This is a recipe worthy of tradition!

Williams-Sonoma Gingerbread People Recipe

Williams-Sonoma Royal Icing

Caga Tios and Caganers

-The Caga Tío-

Walking around the city it is hard to ignore the logs of varying sizes with little faces and red hats hanging about in shop windows. Do you want a mini log the size of your little finger? Or, perhaps you would prefer one the size of your thigh? Well, you are in luck because they just so happen to come in every shape and size you can dream of!

Some of the various sizes of the Tios

However, it is not the size of the logs, or the fact that they have a little red felt hat reminiscent of Santa's (the traditional Catalan barretina). Nor is it of consequence that they have four little branches as legs or overly excited smiles on  their faces. It is the fact that these little creatures, these Tíos, come from the woods of the Catalan countryside looking for a warm home, love and tender care for several weeks in December. It gets cold here in Catalunya and everyone, even Caga Tíos, need to keep warm.
They come unexpectedly. You may hear a knock on the door, or a tap on the window. You may wake in the morning to find him hanging out in the kitchen or relaxing in el salón. However and whenever he arrives, you must know that you need to care for him. Even in your warm home, he could develop a slight chill, so it is best if you cover him with a little blanket. You also (of course), have to leave him food each night, which he will devour when you are not looking. Naturally, Caga Tíos are as distinct as humans, so you will have to try various foods until you find his favorites. Some have a tendency for sweets like turrón, while others crave something on the healthier side like rice or clementines (it is still up for debate how they manage to peel them if they have no fingers).
Although it may take some coaxing and a bit of work on your part, he must eat. He must eat, because the more he eats, the better and larger gifts he will poop out on Christmas Day. His name, after all, translates to "Pooping Uncle" or "Pooping Guy."
El Tío needs some persuasion to do the deed on the 25th of December, so the children of the household tap on his back while singing a song. An adult in the room will eventually decide to take a peek under the Tío's blanket and discover that, lo and behold, he has pooped out gifts and treats for everyone in the family!

Tios with Catedral de Santa Eulalia in the background

-The Caganer-

Also hard to ignore is the Caganer. Pronounced "caga NAY," this little statue is also partaking in the same deed as the Tío. Frozen in time and squatting forever over a little pile of poop. This figure is also present during the Christmas season and is most typically hidden somewhere within the nativity scene.

Shelves and shelves of Caganers
in any shape, size and form you desire

The most traditional image is of a man squatting with his pants down to his knees wearing traditional Catalan dress along with the red barretina (the same red hat as Caga Tío). But do not fret, you can easily find a Caganer in the shape of your favorite someone- Princess Kate, various U.S. presidents, Homer Simpson, the Catalan president, Spiderman and, of course, any soccer player from Barca. The list goes on and on.

Several hundred years old, this tradition is not only found in Catalunya, but in Murcia (a region south of Catalunya, but not directly), Portugal and Naples (I hope I don't have to explain where the last two are located). There are several different interpretations of this relic, but the most common are:
-Humanity within the mysterious- The position of the Caganer hidden in the nativity scene is meant to contrast the spiritual birth of Jesus and make it a more human experience.
-The cycle of life- It is also thought to be a symbol of human vulnerability and our union with nature. What his body is rejecting is, in turn, useful to the earth.
-Luck- His droppings could be understood as a sign of abundance for the coming year. Good luck, happiness, productivity and wealth to look forward to!

A giant Caganer, that you couldn't miss
even if you tried

While the Tío is a great exercise of the rewards of careful, steadfast work and the Caganer could bring perspective and help fuel dreams and aspirations for the coming year, I can't seem to overcome the slight embarrassment of seeing someone do what should be done behind closed doors. On second thought, as a gift for my first Christmas in Catalunya maybe I will get a Caganer (that will be well hidden and left in his own privacy. And don't expect to find him!) and the smallest version of the Tio (which maybe I could coax out a Hershey's Kiss if I start now).

Two Hours in Blanes

Needing an escape from city life, we decided to head north on AP-7. We didn't get far before our stomachs began to rumble louder than the radio. Most of our escapes are planned relatively in advance (usually the night before) and we always agree to get an early start on our trips. With a large amount of procrastination (totally on my part) to venture out into the cold, we arrived in Blanes just after two o'clock.

Blanes (pronounced "blAhn-es") is a small beach town just an hour north of Barcelona that marks the southern limit of the Costa Brava. This pre-Roman town is home to two spectacular Gardens, a Gothic Church, a Hermitage and a Castle. We only passed by the church.

Gothic Church - Santa María de la Esperanza

Once veering off the highway, we followed signs to Blanes, until... there were none. Driving by gut instinct, we miraculously arrived in the center of the city, or at least where the action seemed to be. We strolled along the beach, as if we were not thinking about our next meal, and ended up in a narrow street, which dead ended into another.

The rambla along the beach

Ending up outside a dark little restaurant, Andrés read the menu aloud as I warded off a waiter from the cafeteria next door who shoved menus of different languages into my hands. After the waiter snatched the menus from my fingers and huffed away, I turned to walk to Andrés who was peering inside the restaurant like a kid would a candy shop. I sauntered over and nudged him aside, and creeeek, the door opened. I prepared to step back outside, just like a good little girl, and then it hit me. A warm gust of slow roasted meats, simmering broths, fresh baking bread, and the strong smell of café hooked me.

We clambered through the door into an immaculate, but abandoned, bar area with an equally abandoned dining room filled with perfectly set tables. Not a soul. Accepting what my eyes were witnessing I turned my attention to my ears. The sound of a fully functioning restaurant kitchen at peak time filled the room. Andres, fueled by hunger and curiosity, lept up the stairs and then high tailed right back down with reports of having ended up in the kitchen. He crossed the bar area to a second set of stairs and flew up. I followed. At the top of the stairs there was, naturally, a dark little hallway with a closed door at the end. We pushed open the door to peak through the crack (Shaggy and Scooby style), to find a waiter looking directly at us and shooing us back.

Andrés and I patiently waited until the door swung open wide.
"Qué?" the waiter asked shortly.
"Podemos comer?" Andres asked hesitantly.
"Ssííí" he responded in a tone equivalent to "DUH!"

Following every twist and turn like little ducks, we walked through several small dining rooms ducking through compact doorways that have contorted with time. The ceilings were low with dark wooden beams. The smell of wood fired ovens creeped into our noses and hair and clothes and made us ravenous. We immediately receive dishes of pickled sardines, preserved smoked muscles, and a plate of toasted bread with a tomato and two cloves of garlic. Then, the menus came.

The perfect beginning to a perfect meal

We ate up every moment. I got choked up as my fideuà was excellently plated and my eyes stung with tears as Andrés' oven roasted fish was expertly de-boned. My fideuà consisted of the typical little egg noodles, octopus and squid, and was accompanied by a little "pot" (jar) of alioli (house made garlic mayonnaise  for lack of a better description). Andrés' wood-fired-oven-roasted-fish was laid atop a beautiful array of very slow roasted potatoes, tomatoes and onion, remeniscent of the Catalan flag. Although it literally hurt, we did not stop eating.

We sat in a vegetative state until our cortados (shot of café with a splash of hot frothy milk) were placed in front of us. Hours later we tumbled out onto the street. The temperature had dropped drastically, the sky was blocked out by dark swirling clouds, and a drop splatted onto my cheek. We rushed to the car for safety where we sat recounting what we ate, and the so many dishes we did not.

Blanes, we're coming back if it's the last thing we do!

Restaurant S'Auguer

C/ S'Auguer, 2

17300 Blanes

tel. 972.351.405

Castanyes, Boniatos i Panellets

**Chestnuts, Sweet Potatoes, and Panellets**

Nearing the end of the month of October the dry air is filled with smoke. People parade in their winter coats and scarves and the clicking of boots is heard echoing throughout the narrow streets. The lackadaisical stroll of summer and fall is pushed into a quickstep as people rush to escape the new wave of cold air.

Little wooden shelters pop up on city corners and plazas and a sweet smoke accompanies them. Just outside the little hut are two round metal "barrels" filled with burning wood. On top of the "barrels" are slow roasted chestnuts and sweet potatoes.

Panellets:

Two-bite "cookies" originally consisting of Sweet Potato, Almond Flour, Egg Yolks, and Sugar (although now there are many variations) Panellets were made as on offering to deceased ancestors. On The Day of the Dead, families would come together to remember and honor their ancestors and visit them in the cemetery, as it was believed that this was a day that the dead came to visit the living. They would leave offerings in the cemetery of either Sweet or White Wine, Panellets, Chestnuts, Almonds, Hazelnuts, Sweet Potatoes, and other seasonal foods.  

Castanyes i Boniatos (Chestnuts and Sweet Potatoes):

*In the Middle Ages the bells of all the churches and convents would sound throughout Catalunya on the night before and day of All Saints (November 1st) to remind citizens that it was time to pray for the dead. The men ringing the bells would recuperate from their hard work by eating Chestnuts, abundant at this time of year, and drinking Sweet Wine to help against the cold in their moments of rest.

With time, close family members began to join the men in the towers to accompany them through the cold night. This gathering eventually turned the hard work into a celebration as they enjoyed each others' company along with Chestnuts and Sweet Wine. By the end of the 18th century, this tradition of eating Chestnuts had spread from the small villages to the larger towns and cities. Eventually this would turn into a national festivity. 

Today, All Saints is celebrated by eating and drinking roasted Chestnuts, Sweet Potatoes, Panellets and Moscatel with close family, although it is no longer entirely celebrated as a religious ritual for the dead.   

                                                   

                                                 

Sweet, Sweet Panellets

The last week of October is flooded with colorful bite size cookies. Shop windows flaunt their particular creations in large windows decorated with Pumpkins, Chestnuts and Sweet Potatoes. Each little panellet is molded, colored, and flavored according to demand, tradition, and creativity. Pink, green, brown, and white. Coconut, Coffee, Raspberry, and Almond.

A small bakery near Mercat de Flors caught our attention. No flaunting or advertising, but we were drawn inside the dark and narrow shop. Staring down upon the endless rows of panellets we hesitantly made our selection. Chopped Almond crescents, Rasberry Jam nests, Pine Nut balls, cracked Chocolate crunch, Coconut volcanoes, Candied Orange Peel logs, and Praline rounds without regret.

Deceiving, they appear to be dry and over-baked, but once bitten into, they reveal a sweet and gooey center that melts at the heat of your tongue. Already looking forward to next year.