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😍 5/5 - An amazing adventure of Canary Island cuisine
By 👻 @Extraordinary619155, 02/25/2023 3:00 am
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If you believe you’ll have the opportunity to dine here in the next years, skip the review and simply go. The joy of exploring their cuisine is part of the experience and I don’t want to steal that from you with the following clumsy description. I found myself in Madrid. Work had brought me to Europe for two weeks which forced (and I use the term loosely) me abroad for the weekend on the company’s dime. The trip began in London but I did have (and did in fact exercise) some control over the journey. I chose Madrid for the weekend given the fact that I had spent considerable time in the other continental destinations I would traverse during the work week. Food and culture would be my focus (given the jet lag and fatigue and stress of the week, modest adventures seemed more appropriate). Without planning (a brave confession on my part - spontaneity is something I measure worse than most of the seven original sins) I managed a table at Gofio. A trip (via cuisine) to the Canary Islands. To slice off such a delicate and unique slice of Spanish gastronomy thrilled me, particularly given my ignorance of the place. I intuited a Spanish influence and that an island suggested seafood and a volcanic one suggested very mineral rich wines but my intuition ended there. The location is central. The winding central calles of Madrid. An understated entrance that you could walk by and be corrected by google maps and walk by again and turn three times on the wrong Calle before finding it. But I speculate. A warm greeting. A starting drink. A simple menu - a few variations on the governing notion that they will take care of you and at the end provide a menu of where you went. I dine early by my standards and at a time that most Madrilenos would describe as Jurassic. Spanish roosters were still on their first coffee. A fully bilingual staff (at a minimum…I suspect they expertly handle all dialects). With my dozens of Spanish words, I’m more fluent in Spanish than most trolls of Hogwarts so I insisted on Spanish only, which they obliged. Their patience and my confusion was a feature not a bug. We set sail and the adventure began. A tart overflowing with a creamy foamy top. A very thin crisp base and a taste of surf. Pine nuts and crispy vegetables paired with some shellfish either born in tiny bites or carefully trimmed to that size. A recognized the bubblegum tuna on the next course immediately. It sat on an ovoid of similar color and cover as before. Tuna on a hard boiled egg covered with Mayo and stuffed with potato salad. But it was perfection. Calling the Mona Lisa a portrait of a lady is correct but misses the mark. Third a croquette. I thought I heard iberico in the description. I think I was wrong. A crispy fried base held a return to potatoes and on top a carefully cared for egg yolk that oozed to unite the dish. A volcanic cider. So apples grow there. No obvious carbonation. No obvious sweetness either. I taste a few times. Why does it seem like a Sherry? A shrimp and partner dish arrived. A big beauty of a gambas prepared whole and barely cooked (the proper fate for it). Fleshy clean and tasty. The partner was some crisp bits with avocado cubes and three grey green globs. The chef has taken all the rich shrimp essence out of the shrimp and condensed it into those globes. Why did the cider taste like Sherry? Because Apple and shrimp don’t pair but Sherry and the sea do. Fantastic. A soup. In a thick rough black bowl. A small piece of pork with its skin. Baby corn and corn nuts. On the side are onions and queso and a powder I can’t identify. The server recommends it (I’m enforcing my avoidance of English which they accept). I taste it. Subtle. Not pork floss or the such. I complete the dish by jumbling all the onions (I’m a bachelor this weekend) and queso and half the powder. A rich yellow white wine from Diego island. Subtle bouquet. Tears nicely. Dry. Apparently if you are looking for sweetness on the Canary Islands, it isn’t in the fruit. Pescado arrives. That means fish. Sashimi style in this case. I might have heard a warning about spice? I see a bit of chili oil but it doesn’t intimidate me. Delicious. I relish the fish and conquer the chilis. I have battled mouse droppings chilis in Thailand, cried my way through Sichuan dumplings and wrestled vindaloos in Mumbai so I know what it is to fail in a spice battle. These chilis are accompanied by something rich and earthy that I love but can’t identify. A fat fried pepper arrives on a field of battle lost by various bones, bark and dried fish on a silver chalice. I believe my instructions are to take only the pepper. I’m uncertain. I eat the pepper. A perfect shade, thin and crisp and stuffed with a melange of cooked fish and texture. The delicate fried rim falls into the bowl and mixes with the sauce and serves as the final taste. But what of the rest of the dish? I glance about me. I can always follow the cue of an expert. Alas I sat first and my zeal (coupled with being without company) means I am ahead. I wait without commitment and the servers take it away efficiently and I detect no scorn. Success. A glass of red. From Santiago island? I smell. A nose of rich volcanic soil and more. Leather follows. What leather! A barnyard of leather. My God - did Noah’s ark crash on the Canaries? The taste is rich and full of tannins and luckily lacking the biblical menagerie. Shaved truffles! On a yellow broth. Boats carrying them must journey to the canaries I suppose. What are the ingredients? An earthy corn broth (not a variety bred for an easy life of rich soil and tender care?) with small soft boiled eggs (not chickens?) and the truffles. No messing around - jam just those taste buds with the strongest signal. No sweet corn here. Another course. More Spanish Dorado. That’s a fish. Venezuela. That’s a place. Arepa. That’s food. I see a splash of guacamole. The fish is perfect. Swimming (for the last time) on a delicate broth. The guacamole is guacamole. This must be a comfort dish. The arepa. A second glance (see wine list above and apply it to my current faculties) reveals it is attached to a chicken foot. Not a prediction I would have made. I bite in (arepa side first). Fluffy crispy corn flavors (I’d spent time in Caracas decades ago so grasped it right away). Perhaps some chicken broth played a role? Or perhaps shaking hands with poultry while dining clouds the mind. And some sweetness on the corn ! Red wine now gives way to new glass of a dark Cherry hue. The fragrance reminds me it’s time to bathe my pet duck but the taste is smooth. Pork and a rich green adobo? Potato chips on the side sprinkled with paprika. I use my knife for seemingly the first time. The pork is rich and textured and smothered in that heavenly sauce. I vacuum it. I move to the chips and discover the base of that dish filled with the sauce…an amazingly thoughtful treat. I check the rest of the table and find no more sauce to reeds my selfishness. A menu arrives at the end now rather than the beginning. I see a leche dish there so know dessert is coming. Corn again is in charge. It won’t relent to sweetness but pleases with texture, flavor and balance. Some ice cream, some cream, cinnamon and sprinkled sugar close the meal. It’s nice to be reunited with them but arguably I’ve been keeping better company. I leave with a blessing for the fishermen off the canaries and their rich hauls and the farmers and their steep harsh slopes. And a prayer for their dentists whose business suffer on a country that seeks culinary pleasures apart from those that rot the teeth. I sailed their seas and hauled in tunas. I plied their bays and netted crustaceans. I climbed their slopes and plucked their hardy grapes. I was invited into their homes and sampled their kitchens as abuelitas coaxed another bite. All within a walk from and a stagger back to my hotel. A reverse Columbus- i had discovered a new world from where his journey began. It will linger in my mind for years.
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