Calçots From laTerra Ferma

Long have I waited to eat calçots. Panic was beginning to set that this was the last weekend of Abril and I was going to miss out on eating these delicious onions. The period of calçotades begins on January 31 in Valls and ends in April. So understandably, I was worried I wouldn't find were to buy calçots and get my calçot fix.

An American could easily confuse calçots in the supermarket for leeks. Calçots are grown regionally in Valls, a small town in Tarragona, where it is said a peasant started the tradition of eating calçots by charring them over a barbecue and peeling the outer burnt layers. The peasant sought to salvage the onions instead of starving and throwing them away. The tender part of the barbecued onion is then dipped in salvitxada and held above your mouth. You lower the calçot covered in romesco sauce into your mouth and slowly eat away at the calçot as you would a piece of licorice or french fry, only in reverse position.

The best setting for experiencing a calçotada is at a masia owned by a Tarragonan friend and barbecuing outdoors. We had a friend whose family owned a masia out in the back country in Tarragona where we got to pull out the calçots directly from the earth, grilling them on the barbecue, and dipping them in the best homemade salvitxada I have ever provat.

Here is what you do if you don't have a friend with a masia or do not feel like going to a restaurant and opening your mouth like jaws in front of patrons staring at you as you swallow calçots. Resort to using your broiler i ja està! Calçots a la broiler! I tried it this weekend and they turned out tan deliciós, que bo.

I shopped for my calçots at my online provider for fruita y verdura ecològica, all fruits and vegetables include dirt and critters. The calçots  mysteriously appeared as a seasonal item to purchase in late April, hmm.

Err, my romesco sauce was not homemade

But it was prepared with artisanal methods

Washed and stripped

El resultat

Spain Is Different

That’s the retort I hear from my husband when I complain about the pace of some Spanish workers to get things done, “Spain is different,” he says to calm my annoyance. The Spanish are known for their laid back style of enjoying meals and life in general, and that’s one thing many an American can learn from. But the Spanish have also to learn from Americans when things need to move forward. I’m used to service ara mateix, right now, when you are paying for a service. I cannot get used to the constant pause and restart of some sectors to finish or begin a job. Here’s my story.

When we bought our piso we were proud of the raised terrace and the amount of uncultivated garden we could later landscape. With time we saw we would have to pave part of the garden because growing herba was out of the question in our north facing apartment. We have hired paletas (Spanish word for construction worker) or treballadors de la construcció to lay cement and pave a section of our garden. Here’s their schedule.

Arrive between    9:00-9:30 a.m.

Break                 10:30-11:00 a.m.

Lunch                 2:00-2:45? p.m.

Leave                 5:00-5:30 p.m.

The treballadors  arrived yesterday with their bosses past noon because they were out purchasing material. OK, fine.So they didn’t start at 9:00 a.m. as they said they would. They then left at 1:15 to eat and returned at 2:00 without their bosses. One worker is named Eusebio and the other Marco. Eusebio is in his mid 50s and Marco in his early 30s. I see that they begin to remove some of the wooden steps from the terrace and at about 2:30 they stopped and stood looking about the yard while smoking. Then they moved to a different area of the yard and continued to talk and smoke. I poke my head out at around 3:00 because I cannot understand why they are still standing around doing nothing and ask them how it’s going. They tell me that they can’t begin removing the rajoles on the terrace because they would have to use a regular hammer and pry bar. To remove the unwanted tiles they prefer to use a chipping hammer that does it “en un plis,” which is the English equivalent of saying, "in a blink of an eye."   They explain that removing the tiles manually will take a lot longer and they might as well wait until tomorrow when they have their super hammer, so for the moment, they will stand around. Stand around? Are they being facetious?!  

Yesterday's work. Partial removal of wooden steps.

No, they were not joking and they were absolutely serious about standing around. I ask them again why can’t they use a regular hammer and they both resolutely answer that the electrical chipping hammer is much better, it will remove the tiles very super fast. Then I ask where is their super hammer, and I can tell they notice the tension in my question. To that they reply that, “Oh, we left it at another site because we were working and today it’s really about getting an idea of the amount of work we have to do. Really, we are not prepared to work today.”

Me: So what are you going to do then until 5:00 p.m.?

Them: Nothing really.

Me: You’re not going to do anything else?

Them: No, because we don’t have the mechanical hammer.

Me: So what do you plan on doing?

Them: Nothing. Just stand around mainly.

Me: I see...you can't remove the tiles, huh?

Them: No, it's too much work to do it manually.

Me: It’s three o'clock. If you are not going to do anything ara then you might as well leave. Today I need to get my car to the repair shop before 5:30 p.m., so if  you are not going to work you might as well leave early.

Eusebio: Yes. We can’t work today. If you don’t tell the boss we left early, then we’ll leave so you can take your car to the mechanic.

Something about the mischievousness twinkle in Eusebio’s eye and his sly smile make me not get super American and explain to them that they should be earning their euros by chipping away at the tile in light of the fact that jobs are scarce and they should have a better work ethic, a work schedule is a work schedule, and they should have had all of their tools with them. I keep all my drivel inside and turn my attention on this fortuitous moment of getting ahead with a boring automobile repair chore.

In the evening when I protest to my spouse about the treballadors  preferring  to mill around for two hours because they don’t have an alternate tool to do the same work that a regular hammer and pry bar would do, he answers “You already know honey... Spain is different.”

I was very tempted to ask them why they didn't have the chipping hammer.

p.s. the next morning Eusebio and Marco showed up at 8:00 a.m. and began chipping away at the existing tile with a hammer and pry bar!

Les Flors

I meant to write about Labor Day, but all I have to say about that is that it is the 1st of May, and it came and went without much fanfare. Labor Day landed on a diumenge leaving us workers without a holiday to observe on a dilluns.

It also coincided with Mother's Day, which is one week before Mother's Day back in the states. As the flors in my jardí bloom, I will post them in honor of all Mares in Barcelona and America. Feliz día de las Madres Ama!!!

Fins ara!

Sant Jordi a.k.a. Saint George

Part I—The Present Tradition

In America, as in many other countries, Valentine’s Day on February 14 marks the day for the commercial sale of roses, chocolates, and romantic dinners. A single or a dozen roses is given to a lady friend as a chivalrous expression from a male partner.

In Catalonia, Valentine’s Day is also celebrated, but not by all. Most Catalans refrain from participating on this non-Catalan holiday to celebrate instead Sant Jordi. They wait for April 23rd for an exchange llibres and rosas. It’s a holiday similar to Valentine’s Day involving roses and love, but goes much further to denote Catalan patriotism, being that St. Jordi is the patron saint of Catalonia and Barcelona.

People pour the streets of Barcelona to slowly pace the endless book and rose stalls. Couples stroll crowded streets looking for the perfect book that will please, in this case, a male partner. Book stores from all over the city set up in different locations to sell the latest thriller, best seller, or poetry book. Traditionally on St. Jordi, it is the male figure that receives a book while he gives a red rose to his sweetheart. This exchange of llibres i roses  is not just between els amants, but also between family, friends or anyone you may esteem. Modern times, however, has altered the idea of un home receiving a book; nowadays, the dona also receives one.

There are as many rose stands as there are book stalls. From florists to college students, everyone is out to make a euro. College students hope to raise funds for their university club as florists hope to advertise their flower shop. You will see roses ribboned with the Catalonia flag symbol—four red stripes and five yellow stripes. The rose will also have a wheat spear to symbolize fertility. The most popular street to visit is Rambla Catalunya that begins at the northern end that intersects Avinguda Diagonal, and a few paces away from a dreary looking sculpture of St. Jordi by sculptor Joan Rebull.

You may also visit the 2012 clicking here  St. Jordi 2012 in Black and White

Lovely, velvety roses

Blue roses are an alternative to the innocuous red ones.

Roses and wheat bundles.

Musicians  adding a festive beat in front of a government building.

I know this cigarette smoking man.

Knights selling roses.

Writers waiting to sign autographs.

Rambla Catalunya--so crowded with people.

People sorting through books.

No explanation needed.

Part II—Is He Golden legend or Real?

I could start by telling you that this famous knight slew a people eating dragon in Montblanc in the province of Tarragona some 100 kilometers south of Barcelona or I could tell you he really existed some 2,000 years ago. Jordi or George was the son of Gerontius, a roman solider from Cappadocia and Polychronia, his Palestine mother from Israel. George was born in Syria Palaestina somewhere between 275 AD and 285 AD. Both parents came from noble Christian families and consequently raised George as a Christian. When his father dies, Polychronia returns to Lods, Israel with little George in tow and gives him an outstanding education. George, however, decides he wants to follow in the footsteps of his father and becomes a soldier.

He goes to the imperial city of Nicomedia, which is presently called İznik in Turkey, and applies to be a soldier in Emperor’s Diocletian’s army. He gladly gives George the job as soldier having remembered George’s brave Roman father Gerontius. As George matures into his 20s, he proves to be a mighty fine soldier and is promoted to Imperial Guard. Everything seems to go in George’s favor until Diocletian issues an edict to persecute all Christians. George/Jordi bravely declares to Diocletian that he will not kill Christians, openly declaring that he is also a Christian.

Diocletian is stunned and maybe a bit guilt ridden that Gerontius’s son will face death if he does not renounce his Christian beliefs for pagan worship. Diocletian tries to persuade George/Jordi with land gifts, money, and slaves. But none of those material gifts sway George/Jordi to give up his Christian beliefs. Knowing his mortal fate will soon be over, George gives away all his wealthy possessions to the poor.

Diocletian decides to slowly torture George, perhaps hoping that George will give up his Christian beliefs and become a pagan. George, however,  is eventually decapitated in front of Nicomedia’s city walls on April 23, 303 AD. It is here that martyrdom for Saint George begins, his body is returned to Lydda in Palestine for proper burial. Christians begin to venerate him as a martyr and a church is eventually erected in his honor during the reign of Constantine I. The basilica is destroyed in 1010 AD and subsequently rebuilt in honor of St. George by the Crusaders. Veneration for St. George extends to the West by the Crusaders and that is why this popular saint is patron to countries such as Portugal, England, Russia, Greece, and many others. 

Forlorn looking St. Jordi by Joan Rebull.

If you were a princess, would you trust this knight to save you?

St. Jordi sculpture by Eusebi Arnau on the facade of Casa Amatller by architect Puig I Cadafalch.

St. Jordi on the facade of the Palau de la Generalitat; sculpture by Andreu Aleu. This patron saint is an ever present figure on buildings throughout Catalonia.

Part III—Montblanc Legend

Tuesday, January 13, 756 AD

Flames, flames, flames. Lots of red fire licking flames in my village of Montblanc by that ever persistent dragon that cannot keep his belly full. Everyday this beast comes out from its cave and pounds the earth with his weight, letting us know that soon he will be at the gates of our village, bellowing his cry until a feeble villager throws an animal at this continually famished beast. His tail pounds the ground, shaking homes made of mudbricks and thatch. The quakes sometimes upset rooftops and send chunks of straw to the muddied ground below.

All the villagers are out of chickens, goats, and only a few sheep remain. The remaining few will be given to the dragon today tied to a post outside the village walls.

Saturday—March 10, 756 AD

I feel the earth tremble again. The dragon will be at the gate again. The villagers met last night at the cavern and have agreed to give up their livestock to the dragon. We will be left without milk and meat soon with this new implication. Already the village suffers from the want of eggs, goat’s milk, and sheep wool. Farmer Bernat has the largest stock of cattle, and has agreed to tie a cow every third night at the gate. The village men do not know how to rid the mountain side of the dragon. They ploy ways to trap the dragon and kill him, but none so far have been set out to rid our people from this greedy dragon. The weather is still miserable outside and we feel hopeless.

Thursday, April 20, 756 AD

Terrible, sad news has reached all the villagers, including me. There are no more cows left to give to that raging beast that torments us. There are no more animals left to sacrifice. I never thought that I would have reason to fear for my life behind the castle walls that protect my family and me from danger. I have watched the village grow in togetherness for fear of the dragon. But my father, the king, has agreed with the villagers that a human sacrifice is presently needed to quell the dragon's hunger until a solution is found to slay him. The name of every villager was written on paper, including my family's. The first name drawn was mine. My knees weakened and I swayed in fright as my nursemaid held me up when my father told me of this abhorrent news. My father wept on his throne when he told me that I would be the first maiden sent to the dragon for sacrifice. News of my cruel destiny reached other villages as far as Balaguer and La Seu d’Urgell, and knights have come to my father’s castle with a promise to slay the dragon. If they succeed in slaying the dragon, my father has promised my hand in marriage. 

Saturday, April 22, 756 AD

My father cannot bear to see me tied outside our village fortification, right outside the portcullis. So I have decided I will walk up the mountain at first light and meet the dragon in his cavern. My father and mother will be spared the agony of watching that cruel beast snatch me with his powerful jaws and devour their only child.

Sunday, April 23, 756 AD

I am alive! I had almost reached the cave when I heard the sound of hooves approaching. I looked over my shoulder and  saw a young knight bearing a long and gleaming sword at his side. He wore a white tunic with a red cross, like the ones I have seen crusaders wear when they stop for rest at our castle. He asked my name and immediately knew of my royal title. His knight name is Jordi, but he did not identify for whose lordship he battles. When I explained why I was climbing up the mountain he cast me aside and told me to hide in the woods. I did as he said, and kept a fair distance from him as he rode up to the dragon’s den.

The alert dragon immediately stepped out from his dwelling and without delay blew fire from his mouth. The quick and agile knight held up his shield and protected himself from the fire. This happened a few times as Knight Jordi held his shield up to the flames to keep from scorching. Upon the third fire breath, the knight dropped his sword unable to hold onto both the sword and the sizzling shield. He swiftly claimed his sword again and ran beneath the dragon’s belly; the dragon lolled his long neck from side to side looking for the knight. A few tree tops were scorched as the furious dragon spewed forth his flames thinking the knight had run to the woods. I could feel the remaining heat from the tree cinders, as I was not too far away from the dragon and the knight.

The brave knight regained his strength, and when the dragon twisted its neck back trying to look for him, Jordi came out from under the dragon’s belly and plunged the sword straight to the dragon’s heart. The dragon’s limp neck hung forward looking for the knight. The beast opened its jaws again to breathe fire or perhaps to devour Jordi. The knight removed the sword from the dragon’s heart and swung it at the dragon’s head, creating a second pool of blood.

The dragon’s head crashed to the ground almost crushing the knight. Seeing that the dragon was almost vanquished, the knight struck the dragon’s heart a second time.  Blood poured steadily from the beast’s heart to the ground, until its last beat made his entire body collapse lifelessly. I neared the exhausted knight and everything in me surged with relief and excitement—our village would no longer suffer. I neared Knight Jordi and planted on his cheek a kiss of gratitude. He appeared surprised at my gesture and faintly smiled at me. I felt something underground push my feet upward, making my feet slip sideways. I held on to the knight and he immediately set me aside. He stared at the ground in disbelief, as did I. A long stem began to sprout from the ground where the dragon’s blood coagulated. The stem quickly turned into a stalk and when it reached the height of my waist, a rose bloomed. 

We stood there in awe of such unexplained phenomena. When the rose stopped growing the knight cut the rose from the stalk and gave it to me as a gift to commemorate the dragon's death. 

Live action

Yummy...

Which Holiday Do I Prefer?

Cigarette smoking man and blogger.

Both. I appreciate the focus of love on Valentine’s Day with the romance of dining at a restaurant. I also like Sant Jordi because of the romantic legend behind the celebration, the passionate search for the right book, and of course the rose. 

I decided that I would give my home (man) a book by Paul Auster, Sunset Park, to get him out of his preference for high fantasy epic books. He on the other hand decided to give me a book by Catalan journalist Pilar Rahola. Fins ara and petonets!

p.s. don't forget to check out Sant Jordi 2012