Europe

Europe

ImageIt was a Lonely Planet recommendation, but the description made it hard to tell – it was definitely trendy, but would it be good? We arrived, and it was, as promised, a scene. A hungover beautiful and eclectic mix of intellectuals, euro-hipsters, intimidating groups of girls that had ‘fun’ engraved in their shawls, and Turkish men.

I tried to get a look at people’s plates, just to see what the food looked like, but everyone’s plate was empty. Not just empty with the bones and the garnishes still there, but empty like three separate tables of people were currently scooping up the last bit of sauce with their knife and fork and slurping it up. A promising sign.

So we sat down and waited, but nobody came. The place was crowded and it seemed like there were at least 10 waiters, but when I followed their paths each “waiter” sat down with the plate of food they were bussing and started to eat. Which is when I realized it’s a buffet. The kind of place where if you don’t fend for yourself, you’re not going to get anywhere, and you’re certainly not going to get any food.

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papituWe took a break from olive picking to hop across the pond to Barcelona to attend the Catalan International Environmental Film Festival. We were invited through our friend, Will Parinnello, who was being honored for his films about this year’s Goldman Environmental Prize honorees.

All of which means that we spent three days — and nights — with some of the greenest people on the planet. It was nice to learn that environmental heroes can eat and drink with the best of them. When you think about it, munching on tapas and slugging down innumerable glasses of Cava is really just another form of re-cycling.

On an earlier trip to Barcelona, Jill and I had lunched at a counter in the Boqueria, the extraordinary market in the center of town. When we mentioned to some locals that we wanted to repeat this experience, they pointed us instead to a little piazza just outside the entrance to the market. There, they told us, is a tapas restaurant that the Barcelonians prefer. It’s called Papitu and it was wonderful, indeed. 

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mugaritz.jpgThe 3-star Michelin restaurant Mugaritz (rated 3rd in the Top Fifty Restaurants of the World) is high up in hills of Errenteria, Spain twenty minutes outside of San Sebastian. It is surprisingly easy to get to if you are an expert in Himalayan climbs, hairpin turns, and fluent in the basque language called Euskara. After you arrive at this culinary mecca, you remove your crampons, ice axe, and Formula One racing helmet, and are ushered into their gorgeous kitchen sanctum. A sparkling cava (Copa Cava Opus Evolutium Ad Private) is given to you to sip. A discussion is then held between you and the various friendly alchemists who will be cooking your meal regarding the philosophical underpinnings of that evening's dishes.

You are taken to your table. A glass of Ossian 2008 white wine is poured. A single small potato (called "Edible Stones" on the menu) that has been cooked in an edible clay shell sits on top of heated gravel. You bite into it hoping your dental insurance has been squared away and realize that it is soft and what you always hoped a potato could be, what any food could be. You dip it into an aiolli sauce and realize that if you only went to Spain for this one potato it would have been enough, more than enough, maybe even too much.

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