"Stuff I Eat" - Spanish morcilla

I don't intend to reference Anthony Bourdain -- the "celebrity chef/world traveler/pithy quote machine/professional wise ass," as I described him last time -- in every food post, but it's just inevitable in this one. The dude loves "black pudding" for reasons I never quite understood. Coagulated blood and lard stuffed into intestinal casings just didn't pique my appetite. Any food for which you can say "the fresher the blood, the better" scares me a bit.

Even so, for a long time, I was admittedly intrigued by Bourdain's affinity for a food that looks like a bloody stool. When in Spain, do as the Spaniards do. That's my motto, and I'm sticking to it. In my inaugural issue of "Stuff I Eat," I mentioned that I'd be willing to eat a "bulging, deep-red intestine casing stuffed with throwaway mammal parts" if the opportunity presented itself. I meant it as much as a figure of speech as a legitimate vow, but I soon found a bulging intestine on my plate.  

Name: Morcilla de Guadalupe

Translation: Blood sausage, or "black pudding," from Guadalupe, Extremadura

So what is it exactly? Ingredients vary by country and region. As is obvious, blood is the star ingredient that gives the dish its off-putting name. Fillers can include barley, pork, beef, rice, onions, fat, cornmeal, chestnuts, potatoes, oatmeal or whatever else tickles the preparer's fancy, I suppose. I tried various kinds in Guadalupe, a small Extremaduran town that's famous for its blood sausage. One type had potatoes, I remember. But the one I'm featuring here is the most traditional; it had pig lard, cayenne pepper (or something of the sort to give it kick) and pig blood for sure. There may have been onions, garlic and cabbage, which are all typical ingredients, but I can't confirm that.

Where I ate it: At a small cafe near the monastery in Guadalupe, Extremadura

Before trying it, I was thinking...: "I've already eaten way too many typical-of-the-area sweets today, so if I'm going to pack my belly even more, this stuff better be dang good."

Texture: Very soft, even crumbly. Some people say "pudding-like," hence the name "black pudding," but from what I experienced, that's a misnomer. It's not creamy in the way I imagine pudding, but to each his own. Neither is it like the inside of a hotdog or typical sausage, which are more solid, less moist, and they don't fall apart in a dissolve-in-your-mouth kind of way, like morcilla does.

Taste: I'm not a food writer. I have no idea how to describe tastes and textures and presentation in an eloquent way that really conveys my experience. I can tell you what morcilla didn't taste like, though. It didn't taste like ground beef or pork; it didn't taste like sausage; it didn't taste like lard. It did have a strong flavor of cayenne pepper or whatever the spicy bit was. And given that there's blood in the sausage, it did have a hint of metallic-ness.

Verdict: Delicious and filling. It's not something that I could eat a lot of because it's got a unique flavor that could quickly become too much of a good thing. But given the chance to try it again, I wouldn't hesitate.

Other types of morcilla de Guadalupe that I tried. I don't remember what the darker one was, but the orange one was blood, mashed potatoes and something spicy.

Where in the world was Teresa Lostroh?

It's been a while since I've penned a travel dispatch. I'm trying to move away from the whole chronological "this is where I went, this is what I did" formula, but in case you're asking, "Where in the world was Teresa Lostroh?"....Stick with me. I promise there's an entertaining line or two.

1.) Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain.
Went there for Los Carnavales, a Mardi Gras-esque liquor-fueled free-for-all. Was a tourist by day and a martian/some sort of Asian by night (we dressed up for Carnaval, in accordance with the custom). Felt like I landed on the moon when I visited the Teide Volcano, the world's third largest. Declared my panoramic shot of Los Gigantes (massive rock formations) the most epic ever. Ate three times my stomach's capacity at a typical Canarian eatery - and enjoyed every second of it. Got two Spanish friends to ask for a take-home food box for the first time in their lives. Broke my camera during an ill-advised self-timer attempt, therefore losing my beloved "vivid" setting forever.

Lunar landing?

The "Los Gigantes" panoramic

2). Mallorca (Majorca), Balearic Islands, Spain.
Was hoping for a glorious, snafu-less return trip to my favorite place on Earth. Went to the Cap de Fomentor peninsula on the island's northeastern tip, where I captured more epic panoramics and several Awkward Family Photo shots with my roommate. Also went to Sa Calobra, a remote cove reached by a mess of winding mountain roads. Went out, got my iPhone 4S and wallet stolen, effectively losing all photo evidence of the trip. So much for snafu-less. Thank goodness for memories. Ate fresh oranges from my friend's orange tree. I think the saying goes something like, "Once you go fresh oranges, you never go back." Let Mallorquin food win my heart even more (snails, bread, squid, vegetables, frito mallorquin, etc.) Spent Sunday in the obnoxiously Anglo neighborhood of Magaluf, where Spanish is a foreign language, Brits run amok shirtless and sunburned and Happy Hour starts at sunrise. Dipped into a bar at 7 p.m. that was packed with hammered middle-aged Brits reliving Spring Break. Jammed to lots of oldies and continued jamming even after the Brits' bedtime struck at 9:30.

Cap de Fomentor, Source

Magaluf, Source

3). Cordoba, Spain.
Split my heart in sixteenths as I fell in love with yet another colorful Spanish town. Got my mind blown by the Mezquita's wondrous mix of Christian and Muslim architecture. The place is huge. Went to a flamenco show in a nondescript basement on some Cordobese side street. Ate oxtail and flamenquin, a traditional dish of pork loin wrapped in ham, breaded and fried. Both dishes filled my belly but didn't change my life. Decided I must return when the city's ubiquitous residential courtyards are flush with May flowers.

Mezquita

Mezquita

4). Sevilla, Ronda, Trujillo, Granada, Malaga, and Nerja, Spain
Parents came to get a taste of la vida espanola. Cried when I met them at the train station in Sevilla (hey, it'd been five months). Launched a 10-day tourist blitz on this fine country. Did a generally terrible job of sharing with them the delights of Spanish cuisine (the best meal they had was at the hotel restaurant, without me). Made the mistake of ordering a fried seafood platter at a restaurant in the interior of the country. Acted as translator at a Case International implement dealer in Don Benito for my dad, who has an insatiable curiosity about agriculture no matter where he is. Took parents to Sevilla and Ronda, two places I'd already been. Forced my parents to be in more pictures together than they've been in over the past 35 years combined. That's not hyperbole. I'm serious. Went to a flamenco show in a kitschy tourist haunt in Sevilla. Enjoyed it despite its kitschy-ness. Fell in love with yet another pair of Spanish coastal towns, Malaga and Nerja. Pretty sure my parents are still talking about Malaga's marble sidewalks. Despite my love for Malaga and Nerja, thought both towns would be infinitely better if we could expel at least 70 percent of the northern Europeans and make the towns more authentically Spanish. Dad drove through snow - in southern Spain, of all places - to get to Granada, where that damned white powder covered the city for the first time in 25 years. Mom about lost her feet to frostbite while we tried (kind of in vain) to enjoy the Alhambra in the cold. Most importantly, was reminded of how awesomely loving, generous, fun and supportive my family is.

Plaza de Espana, Sevilla

Snowy Granada

Alhambra in Granada

Malaga from the fortress

5.) Toledo and Guadalupe, Spain
Have to wonder if my superlatives lose their weight when I overuse them: favorite, prettiest, most Spanish. But each trip manages to equal or top the previous. Loved Toledo's sublimely medieval core, which is on a hill reached by arched stone bridges. Toledo doesn't have the bright-colored buildings (much of the city is sandy stone) or the it-feels-like-this-entire-city-is-smiling vibe of Cordoba, but it's as genuinely Spanish. Guadalupe is what every small town should be: quaint, walkable, endearing, enchanting. It's all of those things despite the omnipresent tourist shops and carbon-copy signs hawking Guadalupe's typical blood sausage. Must admit the blood sausage is worthily hawk-able, though. Town's massive monastery has perhaps the loveliest courtyard I've seen yet. There I go with the superlatives again...

Toledo

Toledo

Guadalupe monastery

Guadalupe

Toledo

 That's the quick-and-dirty version of my life as of late.

Un saludo,
Teresa

"Stuff I Eat," the inaugural issue - Chipirones en su tinta con arroz

“Do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles through the rural provinces of France, Mexico and the Far East, eating only in Hard Rock Cafes and McDonalds? Or do we want to eat without fear, tearing into the local stew, the humble taqueria's mystery meat, the sincerely offered gift of a lightly grilled fish head? I know what I want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.”

There's no one wiser than celebrity chef/world traveler/pithy quote machine/professional wise ass Anthony Bourdain, at least when it comes to the profundity of food and travel. He'll go anywhere and eat anything, no matter how shady the establishment, how raw the meat, how undead the fare.

I'm no foodie, but a girl's gotta eat. So I'm embarking on a a food adventure of my own. It's a challenge that really isn't a challenge at all: to try something new every week and write about it.

That pathogen-laden bottom feeder? Give me a hearty sidedish and a nearby bathroom and I'll try it. That foul cheese whose mold is spawning grandchildren mold of its own? I'll try it. That bulging, deep-red intestine casing stuffed with throwaway mammal parts? I'll try it.

Hungry yet?

But seriously, considering I have no idea what half of the food is on any given menu regardless of where I travel, it shouldn't be too hard to dominate this challenge. Food and culture are intricately linked, especially in Spain, so I figure it's wise to flavor my experience a bit.

So here goes nothing: "Stuff I Eat," the inaugural issue. 

 Source

Name: Chipirones en su tinta con arroz

Translation: European squid in ink with rice

So what is it exactly? It's squid - full-bodied or sliced into rings - served with rice in an ink sauce flavored with garlic, onion, peppers, tomatoes, fish/chicken stock, etc. The fixings vary by the preparer, of course.

Where I ate it: In Don Benito, Spain, at a restaurant called "Cerveceria Gambrinus."

Before trying it, I was thinking...: "It kind of looks like the squid pooped on my rice." Then I wondered, "Do squid poop?"

Texture: Rubbery, gummy, as you might imagine. But it's not like I had to chomp mightily to get it down. I've eaten seafood in the past that pretty much exhausted my jaw. Fortunately, this wasn't like that. As for the ink sauce, it had the consistency of regular gravy.

Taste: Not a lot of it. It was supposed to be rich in garlic and onion, but it lacked a kick. The squid bodies themselves, which inside contained their tentacles, didn't have any notable flavor, either. It was a bit lifeless...pun intended?

Verdict: This dish has potential, and I would try it again without hesitation somewhere along the coast, where the squid is fresh and the preparation is a bit more inspired. 

Source

Until next time...
Un saludo,
Teresa