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Madridby Paul EdwardsWe were knackered. It was as hot as Madrid can get, and that’s very. The first thing we wanted was a beer and the last was another museum. We had seen Velasquez, El Greco and the black Goyas at the Museo del Prado and were walking back towards the Plaza Mayor. And there we saw the sign for the Museo del Jamon. But this was different. This was the museum of ham. In fact, the museum of the ham sandwich; one of several such establishments that offer travellers and Madrilenos a spot to rest their hot feet and see what there is to see. What there is to see is a bewildering display of pigs’ legs. Great phalanxes of them, hanging from the stairs, rafters and walls. Row on row of hams fading into the distance like some trick with mirrors. This is ham heaven. This is where Homer Simpson would pig out. They’ve even got Iberian Ham with Extra Acorn. And not only ham – the menu boasts Chicken To The Furnace. And look – what could Fried Big Holes be? How would you serve them? How would you eat them? How would you see them? There are six museums of ham in Madrid, together with three or four rival establishments that seem to have pinched the name. Then there’s the Palace of Ham and the Paradise of Ham. Quite evidently, Madrid is the home of ham. Ham is a serious matter - indeed, food of any kind is serious business in Madrid. For four million people the whole of life seems to revolve around eating, with a little bit of work and sleep to fill in the idle periods. Breakfast is taken in the churrerria, where churros (long, ribbed fried batter sticks) are dipped into chocolate or other sweet viscose liquids. That’s the start to the day. After a spot of work comes lunch, which is a big production. In a café or tapas bar it’s a long series of fairly hefty nibbles, but in a restaurant it could be an almighty production – perhaps a platter of paella leading into a sucking pig main course followed by fresh figs and cheese, eased down with good local beer and wine. Lunch takes a long time – you can’t rush these things. And in any case there’s no hurry – you’ve finished work until late afternoon, so there’s plenty of time to flake out in your apartment before going back to the office. Then there’s the little matter of dinner. Hurry up and get the work thing finished so you can put on the good gear and go out on the town. Start around 9.00pm with some tapas and maybe a fiery Spanish brandy and talk about where to go next. Perhaps, if it’s payday, you’ll go to the Botin, which according to the Guinness Book of Records is the oldest (1725) restaurant in the world. It’s certainly not the most expensive – baby squid in its own ink is around $18 and the succulent roast lamb around $28. A bottle of passable Valdepeno wine will set you back just $8, or a pitcher of sangria around $10. So that’s dinner out of the way, and it’s still only midnight. Time to kill – why not wander over to the Gran Via and see what’s happening at the Bar Cock? Or perhaps a little farther up the hill and try the Chicote. The seats here are very old, which could mean that the butts of Ava Gardner and Ernest Hemingway were there before you. One restaurant, at the foot of the steps on the southern side of the Plaza Mayor, proudly announces that Hemingway never set foot in the place; otherwise, apparently, the great man ate at almost every restaurant in Madrid. That being the case, he would have eaten some remarkable food. Perhaps he had what I had by mistake – a soup combining cold milk, bread, garlic and green grapes. Try asking for that at your drive-in, take-away, would-you-like fries-with-that establishment While Madrid houses some of the world’s most important art works and has stunning buildings including the vast Royal Palace, the Alcala Gate and the Cibeles fountains, what most visitors do after they’ve checked out the Prado, the Retiro Gardens and other cultural imperatives is go to the pub. It’s the heat, you see. There’s concern about dehydration. The pubs – more strictly, bars – are everywhere. Thousands of them, all reeking of garlic, oil, onions and other good things. On the steep streets spearing off from the Plaza Mayor towards the palace are many little bars where if you order a beer you’ll also get a plate of olives; dark little things from the endless groves of Andalucia. Or maybe a little bowl of potato chips, or some anchovies. Whatever – you’ll certainly get something for nothing. If you’re at all concerned that in a city so big and hot and far from the sea the seafood might not be a good choice, fear not. Throughout the night trucks and trains speed fish fresh from the Atlantic, the Mediterranean and the Bay of Biscay; wonderful, shiny-eyed fish, conger eels, tiny winkles and knotted masses of whitebait and anchovies. Here in Madrid you’re at the centre of Iberia. Every road leads here, and every regional cuisine is represented. You can choose from Andalucian, Asturian, Castilian, Catalan, Galician or the overwhelming roasts and stews of the Basque country. This is no-nonsense food, in the main easy to prepare, with no rigid emphasis on quantities of ingredients. It is prepared how the cook likes it, not necessarily how you like it. Occasionally this can make things interesting; just once in a while the food is awful. This happened on a Sunday lunchtime visit to the Rastro, the flea market that starts near the Plaza Mayor and finishes many streets away. Naturally there are tapas bars everywhere, all touting for custom and trying to provide food that’s, cheap, fast and good. I had a plate of Pamplona sausage and chickpeas that qualified on only two counts – the chickpeas, served up by a friendly, smiling man with a cigarette in his mouth, had enough salt to preserve them like a time capsule. But you can’t complain. In a city that has a Naked Maja and also one with her clothes on, a city that has distant snow-capped mountains shimmering through early summer heat, what’s a bit of salt between friends? Just try to sprinkle some on Fried Big Holes and let me know how you go. |
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