Traveling Fresh Pepper: Madrid, Spain

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!

Las Ramblas

Just as New York City is itself a relatively small space packed with a staggering amount of activity, so too are some of its great restaurant finds. A handful of these wee joints have been discussed here before (ohwhassup, Against the Grain? Check you out, Prune), and now you can add the tapas spot, Las Ramblas, to the list. Ok, so each part of your body is basically touching someone at every other table in the room, but you will ultimately savor authentic Spanish dishes, grow giddy from a variety of sangrias, and become somewhat mesmerized by the mini water feature streaming down one wall. All in all, not too bad. It's like the tourist who rides the subway for the first time - she finds she is pressed against the man who smells too much of human, but she gets to buy a purse off Canal Street downtown, catch a Broadway matinee in midtown, and cap off the evening with a drink uptown at the Met. If the hassle in either case sounds like too much for the reward, go back to Kansas, Shirleen!

So...Las Ramblas? It is named for the popular pedestrian street in Barcelona, which has more performance artists and less NYU students than the Greenwich Village street on which it is located here in New York. A small faux-street sign displaying the restaurant's name indicates you have arrived at the right spot wedged between noticeably larger venues on the nightlife-laden block. Once inside, the friendly staff will figure out where you too shall be wedged.

The menu boasts such classics as patatas bravas and croquetas de jamon, but the more adventurous eater might be delighted to find chanquetes fritos (fried smelts with a garlic, olive oil, lemon drizzle) or banderillas con chorizo de pato (mini skewers of duck sausage, quail eggs, and pearl onion). Nothing is particularly bizarre, so picky eaters need not fear. The options are enjoyably authentic, and perhaps more importantly, they are prepared well with quality ingredients. For instance, the chicken empanadas are straightforward and satisfying. Additionally, there's not much to a dish of boquerones (white marinated anchovies), but fresh and served over fried leeks, they're fantastic...that is, if you like white marinated anchovies...which I happen to do...though I recognize quite a few of you just dry-heaved a little.

Considering Las Ramblas does not take reservations, your best bet to promptly snag a tall stool at one of the raised tables is to head over for a late lunch, say, when your dad's in the city, and he found a parking spot across the street from the restaurant anyway. Otherwise, swing by for dinner on that "date" with your flirty but slightly crazy coworker who should certainly never ever be your girlfriend ever...probably. Or stop in with Shirleen from Kansas - she had a rough day on the subway and would appreciate a good meal.

Las Ramblas - 170 West 4th Street, between Jones & Cornelia Streets

Grape and Grain/Against the Grain

There is a restaurant in the East Village, which is really a wine bar and a separate annex offering craft beer. What? Well you see, first there is Grape and Grain, a wine bar that serves dinner seven nights a week and brunch on the weekends. Then there is Against the Grain, which is a sliver of a bar next door serving nibbles and brewskies. Yes, you may order wine and beer at both venues, but the more extensive list of vino is available from the former, while the full list of light, white, pale, amber, dark, and darker beers is found at the latter.

Grape and Grain is a small establishment equipped with an L-shaped bar and several sturdy wood tables. Seating is a mix of mismatched stools, wood chairs, benches along the walls, and pillows in the front windowsill. Ornate little chandeliers hang from the pressed tin ceiling, which help to illuminate the votive lit room. The close quarters, dim lighting, and exposed brick walls add up to all shades of snug and cozy. The pan European food, flowing wine, and increasingly loud conversations mean all sorts of satisfaction and happy. The menu here includes appetizers (such as white bean dip with spiced pita chips), cheese, sandwiches (including brie and ham with whole grain mustard and tomato), pizzas (eight different varieties), and dessert.

Against the Grain is situated just on the other side of the building's residential entrance in an even smaller space than that of Grape and Grain. One raised table runs down the center of the narrow room toward the minuscule bar at the rear. Wooden stools abound, as do hooks on which patrons may hang their belongings. Exposed bulbs and votive candles provide the room's light, while a ledge runs along the left exposed brick wall that is adorned with rotating collections of art. According to the restaurant's website, Against the Grain is ideal for groups of twelve to thirty people, though smaller parties should have just as much fun. The menu here includes charcuterie plates, beer steamed cockles, and beer sausages as well as limited options from next door (why yes, I would like a meatball pizza with caramelized onions, thank you very much). The waitstaff hustles between the two venues delivering food and clearing plates, so at times, the wait is long, and the service is harried. That's ok, though - you have your drink and your date to amuse you in the meantime.

So head over to Grape and Grain with that small group who is conspiring to set that one friend up with that other friend. Down the line, you can all celebrate their engagement by reserving the main table at Against the Grain.

Grape and Grain - 620 East 6th Street, between Avenues B & C
Against the Grain - next door

Tia Pol

Allow me to take you on a guided tour of Tia Pol, an authentic tapas restaurant worth the hike this far west in Chelsea. I'll ask that you please proceed single-file and keep large purses tucked by your sides, as we will be navigating through narrow quarters. In the off-chance you disturb a patron, he may growl but would be unlikely to strike. If, however, you obstruct his path to the pinchos morunos (juicy, tasty lamb skewers), we here at Fresh Pepper will not be held responsible for the carnage.

Right then. On your left you'll find the wood and marble bar. Here, you may order beer on tap, wine from the all-Spanish list, or an entire meal comprised of small plates (sandwiches are available at lunch, and egg dishes make the menu at brunch - more on the food when we reach the back room. Please hold your questions until then). Perch on one of the mismatched stools, and be sure to check out the daily specials scrawled on the chalkboard. You may enjoy a welcomed breeze in warm weather, as the entire glass front of the establishment can be opened to the sidewalk. In colder weather, people waiting for seats will cram in this area behind you along the brick wall and will mentally will you to eat faster.

As we come to the end of the bar, you will take note of the raised tables to the left. You sit on the high bench along the wall or on one of the backless stools while enjoying your meal in this area. That banging you hear is the bartender brewing fresh espresso. You will either get used to it, drown it out with your own chatter, or know to ask for another table next time.

Alright folks, a few more steps further into the restaurant brings us to...(drumroll for no reason)...this section. Here we find more small tables and stools to the right, perfect for serious heart-to-heart conversations as you dine face-to-face with your mother, brother, lover, significant other, or, you know, buddy. To the left is the kitchen. Peer through the opening in the wall to catch a glimpse of hard-workers working hard.

Anyone who needs the restroom will take this opportunity to go now. It is through this door on the left, and you will find it to be surprisingly spacious and delightfully clean. Everyone else will kindly direct their attention to the alcove where larger parties can be accommodated more comfortably than at the options up front.

Now, if we are all ready, please follow me into the back room, and be sure to mind the step. Here, there is plenty of seating for everyone at the several long tables, which are sometimes used communally for multiple parties when the restaurant is at its busiest. Settle in on the chairs with backs, because I am about to let you in on a little secret (which actually isn't a secret at all, but sometimes I like to be dramatic for no reason, as you may have noticed from that earlier drumroll): The food at Tia Pol is great.

Sometimes the food at tapas restaurants has a commercial feel to it. They offer croquetas which may or may not have come from a box, patatas bravas, a tortilla with egg, potato, and onion, and then there is usually a bowl of mixed olives and/or almonds. Now, that is all well and good (and offered at Tia Pol too), but thankfully Tia Pol realizes there is more to Spanish cuisine than that. Here you will find sweet peppers filled with potato salad and topped with imported white tuna (piquillos rellenos de ensaladilla rusa), a fava bean puree with beyos cheese on toasted bread (montadito de crema de habitas con beyos), razor clams and cockles (navajas y almejas), chorizo finished with sherry (chorizo al jerez), and unexpectedly addictive fried chickpeas (garbanzos fritos). Soups, salads, cheese plates, and cured meats make the menu too, as does a selection of desserts that cover more ground than just the expected flan. It is also wise to pay attention to the daily specials, as this is where you may find gems like flash fried peppers with sea salt and indulgent bone marrow toast.

Lunch is when the menu is more limited but includes sandwiches of crispy squid, serrano ham, pork loin, and chorizo with chocolate. Yep, chocolate. Lunch is available Tuesday through Friday from noon until 3:00pm. The weekends are the time for brunch (11:00am until 3:00pm) when chocolate couples with churros, serrano ham pairs with watercress and a poached egg, and a croissant is warmed a la plancha and served with orange marmalade and sweet cadi butter. Is it wrong that I could maybe eat that butter straight with a spoon? Probably. Not to worry, new friends, I won't. Probably.

Now that we have reached the awkward butter-confession portion of the tour, it is time for us to part ways. Be sure to make a reservation for your next meal at Tia Pol, as you have surely observed seats are fairly limited and customers are not. Come back with that scruffy professional before catching a show at the nearby UCB Theater, on date night with your girlfriend of four years, or by yourself when you are craving juicy, tasty lamb skewers so badly, you could physically harm anyone who obstructs your path to them.

Tia Pol - 205 10th Avenue, between West 22nd & West 23rd Streets

Sala One Nine

Whenever I say I'm going to a tapas restaurant, people ask, "Topless?!" Either I don't enunciate, or I know a lot of pervy morons. Whatever the case may be, the subject of this post is a perfectly lovely Spanish restaurant, where all guests and staff are fully clothed.

Sala One Nine is logically situated on West 19th Street. West One Nine Street. Yeah, it took me entirely too long to piece that together. There is another Sala located in NoHo on Bowery, and it is sometimes cleverly referred to as Sala Bowery. Though the two locations exhibit similarities, today's focus is on the Flatiron location.

I have been to Sala One Nine countless times, and the food has always been consistent. The menu includes sopas, ensalada, tostas, raciones, plancha, and horno. In other words: soups, salads, toasted bread with various toppings, small plates, larger grilled items, and equally large oven baked dishes. Basically everything is intended to be shared, so the size of your party should determine how many plates you order. Or, you can do what my friends and I do, which is order entirely too much food, because we can't resist certain dishes (hello, fried goat cheese with honey and caramelized onions [insert wink here]). The prices are reasonable, but it is possible to both rack up a sizable bill (see, night out with my girls) or get out unscathed (see, "Paella Sunday's," 2-for-1 happy hour, and any night without all my girls).

The atmosphere in the restaurant is lively, which is why it's tempting to round up the whole crew for an evening out. With two bars in the room (one up front, and one in the middle) and upbeat music playing overhead, the buzz is constant and, at times, outright loud. The lights are dim without being dark, and the rustic look (pockets of exposed brick peeking from behind painted plaster, arches framing the kitchen at the back as well as the stairwell down to the bathrooms, and dark wood tables and chairs) gives the impression of late night dining in Spain. It is also a great spot for a date, as banquets in the back allow for cozying up in the corners as well as face-to-face quality time across small candlelit tables.

I would recommend Sala One Nine to anyone looking for a fun night out with good food (multiple dishes feature serrano ham, yet vegetarian options are plentiful as well) and a substantial wine list (sangria too, of course). Before stopping in, however, it is best to make a reservation, as the restaurant's popularity does not appear to be waning. If you can't get a table until late, try to snag a spot at one of the bars, or pop next door to the Flatiron Lounge for a finely crafted cocktail while you wait. You don't have to be buzzed to enjoy the food at Sala One Nine, but it usually doesn't hurt.

Sala One Nine - 35 West 19th Street, between 5th & 6th Avenues