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.