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| After
lots of rain, even though still far too little to fill the reservoirs
at El Chorro, the Valle de Abdalajis was lush, the huge swathes of
green in the valley and on the mountain slopes peppered with yellow
and purple flowers as well as clumps of glorious crimson poppies waving
in the breeze. Having skipped breakfast to sharpen our appetites for our menu del dia, we were very much in the mood, although it wasn’t long before we started to panic. The first restaurant we stopped at did offer a menu del dia, but the price was far too high. The second restaurant also offered what we were looking for, but the owner, for some strange reason, was very unfriendly and we were worried that the absence of a smile might be a bad omen for the food. The clock ticked on. It was nearly 2.00pm, still early enough, but without much time for further searching. Stopping to take photographs of the idyllic countryside didn’t help matters either, although it was so beautiful we simply couldn’t resist. Then we spotted our best prospect yet, just outside the town of Abdalajis. The car park was full, a good sign, and the restaurant was heaving with Spanish workmen. Now, if there is one thing you can rely on with Spanish workmen, it’s their knowledge of where to get a good lunch. The English equivalent, a greasy spoon with large mugs of tea and breakfast served all day just wouldn’t have the same appeal, unless perhaps if you happened to be an English workman. We managed to get a table and sat back full of anticipation, although our smiles were wiped rudely from our faces when we realised that there was no written menu. This time we had to listen carefully, pouncing on any Spanish words we found familiar. From what we could make out, we could choose between gespacho, cold soup, marisco, seafood soup, mixta, salad, and macaroni for the first course and then chanquetes con pimientos, baby eels, or chicken for the second. We opted for a macaroni and salad to share, the macaroni turning out to be penne with a bolognaise sauce, as good as any we have enjoyed in Italy. A shot of the chanquetes was interesting, looking like white worms with little black eyes, while the chicken was more familiar to our English background, served with freshly prepared potato chips. A glass of chilled white wine was the perfect accompaniment. Next came milk pudding, one with cinnamon and the other with honey. A lot of food, although all of it homemade and wholesome. Then coffee at the bar, a little fractured conversation in Spanish and “Home, James.” Is there an equivalent in Spanish, I suppose there must be, how about “A casa, Juan.” |
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Despues
mucha lluvia, aún demasiado poco para que llene los embolses
en El Chorro, el Valle de Abdalajis parecía exuberante, verde
en el valle y en las montañas, salpicado por flores amarillas
y purpuras y también grupos de amapolas agitando en el viento.
Sin desayunar por afilar nuestro apetito para el menú del
día, estábamos muy listos, aún no tardaba mucho
antes de tener miedo. |
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March
2006 |
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