Thinking I was signing up for an alumni mailing list, I once inadvertently entered a raffle and won. I claimed my $25 Bed Bath and Beyond gift card and joked with my friends that I will win every raffle whether I enter or not. Therefore, when my friend Diana invited me to a food-centric event last November and dropped her business card in a glass vase, it was no surprise she won a trip for two to Madrid and (generously!) invited me along. So...round trip airfare, two nights in a five-star hotel, two dinners at incredible restaurants, and a guided tour of the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum? It's no sensible homegoods purchase, but it looks like I win again.
The prize, organized by
Madrid Fusion and
Madrid's Visitors & Convention Bureau, was sponsored by American Express, Mahou, Telefonica, Iberia and Metro. It was meant to promote tourism to Madrid with a focus on the city's cuisine during its "Gastrofestival" running from January 23rd to February 5th. All of which is to say we were going to be flown to Spain just to eat. Diana and I saw nothing wrong with that plan except the duration, so we extended the two-night jaunt an additional two nights, and off we went!
Now, this is a restaurant blog, and as the writer of such I will do my best to stay focused on where and what we ate, but GIRL. This trip was IT [Insert drag queen snap here]. I'm bound to stray off topic due to my enthusiasm.
Please don't mind.
The minute we arrived at
Hotel Unico, we relaxed in the library and had the opportunity to eat iberico ham and crushed tomato on crunchy bread. I believe the name of it was "My New Favorite Sandwich," but everyone seemed to be calling it "jamon." Our culinary adventure was off to a promising start.
Let the record show, Diana and I both studied French in college. Since French, as most of you know, is not Spanish, we were hindered at times by a lack of vocabulary. Therefore, wanting a snack that first afternoon, I pointed to a small sandwich in a cafe near
Retiro Park as a means of ordering. It turned out to be goat cheese, roasted peppers and caramelized onions. Booya! Diana gestured she wanted half of the pork sandwich displayed behind the counter. It turned out to be tuna fish. Awww. Then, after Diana's fruitless attempt at ordering coffee with soy milk (apparently "soy" is incomprehensible when the Spanish word is pronounced "soya"), we sipped tea, guarded our purses (as instructed by our waitress) and planned the next time we would eat.
We could be found later that evening (after a serious travel-and-jet-lag-induced siesta) in a cerveceria called
Hnos Campa in the Malasana neighborhood. We cheered along with the packed house during the Madrid/Barcelona "football" match and, as though preparing for our own bout of strenuous physical exertion, unintentionally carbo-loaded on traditional croquetas, Spanish tortilla and beer. Oh, that's not exactly how athletes get ready for a big event? Huh... Diana and I were ultimately charmed by both the waitstaff (who didn't understand her request for vermouth despite signs everywhere promoting it) and the dude at the next table (who spouted several random American phrases for our benefit, including but not limited to "OMG") and were fascinated by the practice of throwing dirty napkins on the floor. It was so unexpected, so anti-establishment, so rebel without a cause. I tossed one before leaving and felt a thrill that reminded me I'm alive.
Day Two kicked off with a buffet breakfast in our hotel, where, among snacks like yogurt and manchego, I was sure to house a couple more of My New Favorite Sandwich. Diana tried to identify meat in another dish, and though we're convinced it came from a pig, what it might be called and if it exists in the States is still a mystery. We were dining in Ramon Freixa, a restaurant with two Michelin stars, but the fabulosity of what that restaurant could do would be revealed later that night at dinner. Stay tuned...
We spent the day cramming in as many touristy sights as possible, and after seeing the
Puerta del Sol,
Plaza Mayor,
Muralla Arabe, and the cathedral where a woman confusingly said something Russian-sounding to us in a stern tone, Diana opted to tour through the
Palacio Real, and I (finding a picture of the palace's exterior sufficient) decided to get coffee in a cafe. I wandered over to the nearby
Plaza de Oriente where I found the cleverly named
Cafe de Oriente. After noticing coffee cost 2.90 euros and a glass of wine cost 3.00 euros, I enjoyed every drop of a substantial pour of albarino, took pictures of the cafe, of the chair across the table from me and of myself. Needless to say, I am a lightweight, and it was time to meet back up with my pal for food.
Earlier in the day, we had stopped in the
Mercado de San Miguel and immediately knew we would be back for lunch. Much like
Eataly in New York, this is a market where you can buy food and wine to take home or to enjoy right there on the spot. Unlike Eataly, I never once felt like pulling out my hair or punching anyone in the throat. Though the space was busy, it was manageable, and the Spanish offerings were interesting, varied, plentiful and reasonably priced. Sure it was just a lot of cured meat, perfectly stacked fruit, seafood prepared every way imaginable, bins of nuts, colorful desserts and a guy holding a falcon near a paella demonstration (yeah, that happened), but let's put it this way - I took one photo of the royal palace and fourteen pictures here. We ate everything from cod fish on toast to burrata topped with sweet tomato jam and aged balsamic vinegar, and you guys? I think I fell in love. If the market was a dude and that dude lived in New York, I'd want to date him.
Dinner that night was at the aforementioned Ramon Freixa. This was part of Diana's prize, so although we figured it would be a nice meal, and we already knew how the room looked (a mosaic on the floor, a mural of
Gran Via behind segmented glass and avant-garde chandeliers), we had no idea what to really expect. Thanks to the attentive service and interesting food, it turned out to be one of the most incredible dining experiences I've ever had, and that's including the time I sat near a table in a French bistro at which a stripper performed. Though to be fair, that was memorable for entirely different, less sanitary reasons.
Upon being seated, we were offered drinks to kick off the meal. I would have been fine with tap water, but far be it from me to say no to some bubbly (champagne for Diana, and cava for me). "The origins" were then delivered to the table as we perused the menu, so we happily crunched the crispy fried dough and ham. This was shortly followed by a selection of breads baked by Chef Freixa's father.
When the waiter came back to take our order, he explained that we only had to tell him what we did
not want from the menu. They already knew about my citrus allergy, so we said we were game for anything. This was the right move, as we were presented with the following:
1. A plate of amuse-bouche-sized "snacks" - a pickled lettuce heart with anchovy puree, foie gras encased in a green shell so that it looked like a mini granny smith apple, black olives that had been manipulated to look like a stone, an onion/yogurt cake and a parmesan/soy puff pastry.
2. The appetizer course - pea stew with cod fish.
3. The starter course (yeah, I don't know how that's different from an appetizer either) - grilled scallops with several preparations of artichoke, bone marrow with
salicornia, and a rare Japanese leaf (yep, leaf) that had a crisp texture, clean taste and basically burst with water when chewed.
4. The fish course - John Dory with leeks and potatoes in a sherry sauce and a side of pasta made from black rice with chicory.
5. The meat course - beef cheek with parsley cream, "gnocchi" made from chestnuts, celery root puree and a side of tapioca, lentils and chorizo.
6. The "sweet wait" - lavender panna cotta, sacher cake, an olive oil/lemon muffin (the one faux pas of the night, serving this to the girl who can't eat citrus), a chocolate shell with passion fruit, "tutti frutti" jelly, a raspberry filled with green tea cream and a bite of apple made to look like a gold cherry.
7. A chocolate bon bon presented in a wooden box and filled with your choice of vanilla, praline or...something else I can't remember. I chose vanilla.
8. Dessert - a chocolate cube with several preparations of varying nuts including hazelnut ice cream, macadamia/pecan mousse and walnut yogurt topped with earl grey cream.
Oh, and did I mention the sommelier provided a wine pairing throughout the meal starting with white and moving on to a red from Ramon Freixa's private collection? 'Cause that happened too. I then finished the meal with an espresso while Diana enjoyed a glass of port, and we both nibbled chocolate candies and mini creme fraiche-filled sugar cones. What? Yes.
Surprisingly there was only one seating of the night, so once a table was finished, new customers did not fill their place. The service was outstanding, the chef introduced himself to each table, and rather than a check at the end of the night, Diana and I were each presented with a pearlized envelope containing our dinner menu. Unbelievable.
Giddy from dinner, Diana and I headed out to
O'Clock where Carlos Moreno works. Who? He had been a guest at the event in New York where Diana won the raffle. Oh, nice. We made instant friends with all of the bartenders, and Carlos made sure we were given extra drinks. Given the day's excessive consumption, this was completely unnecessary, but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. As was another bartender's unsolicited restaurant/bar/club suggestions, which she made sure to print out from an unseen computer before we left for the night. Madrid was treating us VERY well so far.
Day Three, Diana and I hit up more neighborhoods and tourist attractions, stopping for lunch at
Lateral on the pedestrian street of Fuencarral. Among other places (like the glorious Mercado de San Miguel), it had been recommended by my friend Cecilia, who lived in Madrid for a while and clearly knew what the hell she was talking about. (Muchas gracias, Ceci!) Here, I ate more iberico ham and a tosta topped with smoked salmon rolled around cheese, ham and apple. Friends, I realize that sounds disgusting, but I promise it was not. Diana had patatas bravas, a cod croqueta and beef with caramelized onions. We were pleased.
In the evening, we hit up
the Prado, killed the hour between the Prado's closing and our dinner reservation by drinking cava at The Ritz (apparently
we're fancy now) and then made our way over to another prize-dinner; this time at
Dassa Bassa. Chef Dario Barrio had reportedly been a protege of renowned Chef Ferran Adria (of
elBulli fame) and as such is no stranger to inventive cuisine. Therefore, ready for another culinary extravaganza, Diana and I sat in Dassa Bassa's whitewashed subterranean dining room with red and black accents and waited for whatever dishes the kitchen decided to send our way.
We were first presented with cappuccino and Campari, though that description is entirely misleading. The cappuccino looked like what it sounds like but was actually a sneaky combination of beef broth and tapioca. Yet again, as gross as that may seem, it was delicious. The aforementioned Campari was in a separate shot glass and floated as a red sphere in what tasted like Sprite. The molecularly manipulated gelatinous orb burst in your mouth, and I ask that you please excuse the off-putting nature of every word in this sentence.
Our next course was a sizable plate of two perfectly runny eggs under foam, mushrooms, truffle essence and croutons. We thought the waiter said potato was involved in this dish, but we didn't find any (maybe the foam?), and it seemed the language barrier posed an issue here more so than anywhere else. He could have told us we were eating baby elves basted in unicorn tears, and we would have smiled and nodded at him all the same.
The entree was a white fish encrusted in sesame seeds with a pumpkin/ginger puree, and dessert was a divine parfait of wine-soaked pears, cream, blackberry sorbet and a cookie crumble. Coupled with a crisp glass of white wine, this dinner was not too shabby either, and we had the chance to say so to the
handsome chef when we happened to run into him on our way out the door.
Our next stop of the evening was a bar called
Le Cabrera, where we were yet again treated exceptionally well despite the staff having no reason to go out of their way for us. This translated to free drinks, a restaurant recommendation for dinner the following night and an invitation to come behind the bar and help the staff clean. Note: they were appalled when I actually picked up a rag and insisted I instead pose for pictures. Note #2: it was time to leave once some dude made a final attempt at hitting on Diana by holding her arm and stretching his foot. His leg? It's creepy, who knows.
Our final full day kicked off with a guided tour (one more part of Diana's phenomenal prize) of the
Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, where art was viewed with a focus on food. At the end of said tour, the chef from the museum's cafe presented us with a single tapa that incorporated elements we had discussed in the paintings. It was both tasty and clever. Dear teacher friends, consider a snack pairing with your lessons to hold the students' interest. PS, everyone is allergic to everything these days, so maybe don't.
After the museum, Diana and I made our way to
La Ardosa, hailed as the oldest tapas bar in Madrid. Except it turns out there are two places with the same name, and we ended up at...
not the oldest tapas bar in Madrid. No matter! They had traditional options nonetheless, and after laughing with the locals over our inability to understand complete Spanish sentences, we ended up eating empanadas, croquetas, fried sardines, marinated mussels, patatas bravas and a big ol' plate of pigs' ears. They were tasty as promised, but Diana and I struggled with the texture of [gulp to suppress vomit] cartilage. A few unswallowable pieces discreetly ended up in the garbage by our feet, though from the look of things, we could have once again opted to toss ear-filled crumpled napkins on the floor. Ah Spain and your carefree attitude, I miss you already.
Dinner that night was enjoyed at
El Padre, the restaurant recommended by our favorite Le Cabrera bartender the night before. Not understanding portion size, we ordered like we had never seen food before, and had to be reigned in by our waiter. After putting down an oxtail croqueta, a chicken croqueta, a perfectly seasoned egg/potato/onion mash, fish-stuffed eggplant (again, not gross when it should have been) and a meat-stuffed red pepper, I had to tap out. With shock, awe, and admiration of her enviable perseverance, I watched as Diana ate dessert. It was a refreshing lemon/champagne sorbet that would have damn near killed me anyway, but I couldn't imagine finding the room within myself to choke it down. Good show, m'lady.
The next morning saw us off to New York, and the vegetable lasagna and beef options on the flight (though not terrible as far as plane food goes) paled greatly in comparison to our previous four days of awesome. That said, I am incredibly grateful for the trip, know I am unbelievably lucky to have had the opportunity to go, and would gladly eat airline cuisine sprinkled with pig cartilage for the chance to do it again. A big thank you to Diana, to everyone who made this trip possible, to the people of Madrid who welcomed us so warmly, and to those of you who made it to the end of this post. Let's start dropping more cards and see if we can do this again next year!
