Hearty Food for Mountain People

Hiking beneath La Ripasa near Panticosa, Spain

Dark was closing in, a gentle but persistent rain had soaked through my top layer, and the lights from the village were still distressingly far away.  It was hard to remember that we had started our day nearly ten hours earlier at an inn in that village over a breakfast of jamon, toast, and strong café con leche.  Since then we had tread 28 kilometers on rocks, road, scree, and snowpack; we had been pelted by hail and rain and caressed by the warmth of the shy sun; we had shared beers, coffee, and tales of the trail with fellow hikers seeking refuge from a passing storm. 

But at that moment, trying to make out the rooftops of Sallént de Gallego through a grove of threateningly dark trees, all I wanted was a hot shower, a dry towel, and the hearty mountain dinner that I knew was waiting at the end of the trail.

Half Grilled Rabbit with aioli

This past July, John and I spent eight days hiking in the Spanish Pyrenees.  Our journey was a self-guided loop around the Valle de Tena arranged through the outfitter Hike Pyrenees, a tour operator offering a variety of Spanish hiking trips both guided and independent, as we had chosen.  The idea of setting out each day with a detailed set of directions and map (in English) and needing to take along nothing more than our daypacks sounded like a dream opportunity to explore a mountain range that not many native English speakers get to.  At the end of each day, our suitcases would appear in the next village having been spirited there by car while we traversed by foot.

When planning this trip, in addition to the expectation of epic mountain vistas, I also harbored fantasies of pan con tomate for breakfast, leisurely vino soaked lunches and long dinners ending in a table littered with the leftovers of a tapas feast.  As it turned out, we would eat well and plenty, and tapas would occasionally be involved, but the mountain cuisine of Basque country was a far cry from the gambas ajillo, patatas bravas, and paella that many people think constitutes “Spanish cuisine”. 

As we hiked from idyllic village to idyllic village, we worked up an appetite.  Each morning we would eat our fill of fresh scrambled eggs, tostada con jamon (toasted bread with olive oil, crushed tomatoes, and cured ham), and fresh juice.  The proprietor of each inn would pack us a small lunch, usually a bocadillo stuffed with grilled chorizo or longaniza, or one layered with jamon, thin omelet, crushed tomato, and fresh lettuce from the owner’s garden.

When we stopped for lunch, sometimes it was in a rush, trying to eat in a breezy spot by the side of a river having found a place where the flies were not swarming and the mosquitoes might layoff of us for a minute. Other days we just powered through the hike, drinking our lunch in the form of an ice-cold cerveza, followed by a snack, and then the requisite siesta. 

But dinner in the Pyrenees was where the cuisine really shined.  In eight nights there was not a paella pan in sight.  The seafood was more bacalao (salt cod) than gambas.  And there was meat, well, in every form imaginable.  When it came to vegetables, the chefs did their best when the vegetable in question was a potato- and those were always best when fried.  In other words, this was hearty food for mountain people.   

In Sandiníes, a village of no more than a handful of old stone buildings, rests a non-descript structure called Casa Pelentos.  They have rooms, but you would be mistaken if you thought this was a hotel with a restaurant.  No, this is more a famous, under-the-radar beacon of Spanish regional cooking that happens to have a few rooms attached where you can spend the night.  We were happy to spend the night, as it gave us a chance to taste from the chef’s much-celebrated repertoire of Pirineos cuisine. 

Piquillo peppers stuffed with bacalao

 The energetic owner walked us through the menu nodding every few sentences until I nodded back indicating that I was following her rapid-fire, thickly accented Spanish.  In reality I only picked up a few words here and there but it was enough to point and order some of the dishes she enthusiastically recommended.  A starter of soup filled with chickpeas and morcilla sausage was robust and filling enough to be a meal on its own.  This followed with piquillo peppers stuffed with creamy bacalao that were none too attractive when smothered in a rich tomato sauce.  But the sweet peppers balanced well with the luscious salt cod filling.  John’s chilled asparagus soup was pure summer in its vibrant color while his lamb chops were juicy and grassy as if the lambs had been feeding off the same verdant fields through which we had been hiking.

Back in Sallénte we finally knocked on the door of the Hotel Almud at 8:30pm.  Maria, the owner, whisked away our soaking wet hiking shoes and backpacks to dry in her boiler room over night.  She even called the restaurant to push our reservation back, though assured us that our 9pm dinner time was still plenty early by Spanish standards.

Clean, warm, and dry, we limped our tired bodies 200 meters away and poured ourselves into chairs at Asador Casa Jaimico.  I don’t much remember ordering wine, but when a bottle of red magically appeared neither of us objected.  I will admit a tiny amount of shock at the enormity of my leg of lamb when it emerged from the kitchen a crusty oven crisped brown in a pool of its juices, but the size did not deter me from finishing the entire thing.

Leg of lamb at Asador Casa Jaimico

Nor did John have a problem polishing off a decadent starter of mushroom risotto with duck confit followed by half a grilled rabbit.  This was almost an obscene amount of meat between the two of us, yet we found ourselves picking at the bones for every last morsel.  It was easy to see after days of trudging up steep mountain slopes in sometimes dangerous conditions how this cuisine would evolve.  It was food as rugged and natural as the people who live there.

Eight days eating as they do in the Pyrenees was more than enough for two omnivores.  Our hard treks behind us and back in the modest sized village of Biescas for our last night, we did as many locals were doing that beautiful Sunday evening and went out to find a plate of vegetarian pesto pasta.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer currently on her honeymoon, en route to a new home in Hong Kong. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Hidden Soho: 3 Retreats from the Maddening Crowd

This is the time of year when those of us who live in New York begin to avoid Soho like the plague.  If the throngs of tourists are bad September to April, they are doubly so once warm weather hits in May.  But sometimes, even the most jaded of us residents need to head down that direction to load up on hiking gear at the new REI, stock up on basics from Japanese transplant Uniqlo, or, if we are feeling ambitious, browse the boutiques on the outskirts of the neighborhood looking for unique summer dresses.

Shopping always works up my appetite and hoards of tourists work up my irritation.  To unwind and recharge I’ve filed away a few hidden spots outside of the Soho norm to take a break, relax, and recharge before heading back out to the mean city streets.

Ceci-Cela: Located adjacent to one of the busiest intersections in the neighborhood, it might be hard to fathom this little café as a peaceful retreat.  Perhaps it is that from the front, Ceci-Cela appears to be nothing more than a bakery serving cappuccinos to go.  But make your way past the glass case filled with football-sized croissants and pain au raisin, and you find a small back room set up with a half dozen tables.  Not a place to spend an entire afternoon but Ceci-Cela is great for a morning coffee break or afternoon tea before heading back out into the maddening crowd.

Sunrise Mart:  You are probably wondering why a Japanese food store made the list.  What can I say, I find a certain zen wandering through neatly stacked rows of nori and soba noodles. As for food, this is no ordinary market.  Sushi, curry, and noodles are made to order.  If you are in a rush, bento boxes prepared the same day are stacked in the open cooler.  Grab a $2 Ito-En iced tea from the cooler, pull up a seat at one of the wooden tables at the front of the store, and you have excellent lunch plus great people watching on par with the fancy restaurants around the corner, minus the long wait.

Despaña:  Just to the east of Sunshine a few blocks is another market-meets-café, this time of the Spanish variety. Crossing the threshold of Despaña I feel my angst fade away followed by the recognizable grumbling in my belly.  The cheese!  Mahon and garrotxa call to me.  The meat!  Dark red chorizo and glistening pink Iberico jamon bekon. But those are for later.  My tired body needs food stat and Despana delivers.  A case of bite-sized pinxtos tempts with skewered stacks of peppers and cured anchovies on rounds of bread.  But for those days where blood sugar levels hover precipitously low, I go right for one of the large bocadillos.  On a recent weekday I settled into a stool at a communal table methodically munched on the El Quijote- a sandwich layered with dried cured pork loin, manchego cheese, quince paste, and drizzled with olive oil.  Washed down with a sweet and sour Spanish lemon soda, I was once again ready to face the crowds.  

Ceci-Cela: 55 Spring St., New York, NY

Sunrise Mart: 494 Broome St., New York, NY

Despaña: 405 Broome St., New York, NY

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Eating Thai in Namibia and Other Surprising Food Finds

Ever play the Chinese restaurant game? John taught me that one. It’s a game we have been playing during our summer travels. The first person to spot a Chinese restaurant on arriving in a new town scores a point. The idea being, that no matter where we are in the world it seems every city, town, and village can lay claim to a Chinese restaurant. To win, we just have to be the person to spot it first.

Finding a good Italian restaurant in Lusaka is not that much different than having a Chinese restaurant sign pop up while driving through the rural cow covered Swiss countryside: both are familiar yet strangely out of place. Though chow mien in Switzerland may not be our thing, sometimes eating the local food can also mean being open to cooking styles half way around the world from wherever we happen to be at that moment.

I initially noted Cai Tai in Swakopmund, Namibia, a Thai restaurant, because the sign was written in English and Chinese. I did not score a point for the sighting as the restaurant turned out to be Thai, not Chinese, but our interest was piqued. This coastal, German town with its Bavarian hotels and brauhaus was not the place I expected to find a Thai restaurant. But after weeks of dinners dominated by large slabs of game meat, the idea of a nuanced Southeast Asian lunch was too attractive to pass up.

Cai Tai was not good African Thai cuisine, it was just good Thai. Inspired by the grey coastal weather, I ordered a soup starter to warm up. No generic tom yum here, instead a bowl of glass noodles mixed with pickled vegetables and bits of ground pork were steeped in a spicy aromatic broth. It was the sort of soup I would want my grandmother to make when I’m sick, if my grandmother were Thai. The mutton came highly recommended by the Bangkok born chef/owner. It was thinly sliced and seasoned heavily with whole cumin seeds and chilies, seared in a wok and tossed with green onions and sliced celery.

Finding unexpectedly good food is part of the pleasure of traveling out of my comfort zone. I could rationalize that my standards are lowered when out of the developing world but no, I am very sure that Portico restaurant in Lusaka, Zambia was excellent Italian food, period. The night in question, a large group of us were asked to choose from a set menu which included a couple of African style meat dishes, a few pastas, or any pizza we might want off the standard list. I went basic, pizza with red sauce, cheese and pepperoni. Basic was delicious.

Judging by the many empty plates, most of these belonging to well traveled folks with good taste, the others in the group were not disappointed by Portico’s version of Italian food either. The pizzas came out thin crust and with just the right amount of char around the edges. The ravioli and tagliatelle were homemade and the sauces were authentic. We may have been eating in Africa, but the food was pure Italian.

Even in Singapore I was treated to a surprise, this one a happy stumble upon a newish Spanish tapas bar in the hip neighborhood of Duxton Hill. Singapore is known to excel in the import of cuisines from around the world but Singaporean food expert Seetoh was the first to admit Spanish cuisine is one area where this famous food city has typically not fared as well.

Sabio immediately impressed with its long, room length bar plated in glass with full view of the cold tapas on offer- a good sign of authenticity even if the black and white chic of the walls and tables suggested more style than substance might be found there. Not every dish was a success- the special of skewered chicken and manchego was still raw in the middle upon cutting into a piece- but the rest succeeded to an extent that even if I didn’t exactly think we were in Barcelona, I could have closed my eyes and would have sworn we were at least somewhere in Western Europe, not Southeast Asia.

The gambas al ajillo came plump and juicy with the sort of wine and garlic sauce that begs more bread in order to wipe clean the dish. The chorizo was spicy and rich and the Iberico jamon tasted of the Spanish highlands. It was not perfect, but it was mostly very good. When I knew there would be no shortage of Asian food to eat during our visit, tapas were a breath of fresh, Espagna air.

After two months of playing Chinese Restaurant, I’m not sure who’s ahead. But if we hadn’t been playing that silly game, we might never have found Cai Tai and we might never have known the pleasure of eating authentic Thai cuisine in Africa. It is always good to eat local, but on occasion its not so bad if that locally prepared food comes under the influence of a country half way around the world.