Barcelona

Every time I think of Barcelona I can't help but sing that song by Freddie Mercury from the 1992 Olympics: "Barcelonnnnnna! It was the first time that we met..." You've got to love a rousing Olympic song, I haven't heard one for this year yet though. Anyway, since my long weekend to Spain with my friend H, when I think of Barcelona I now think of Freddie and food.

One of the things that I love about H is that she is someone who enjoys food as much as me. Breakfast is spent discussing where to go for lunch, lunch is spent discussing where to go for dinner and dinner is spent discussing all of the food enjoyed that day. Perfect. Bless her, she didn't even judge me when, despite being full from dinner, I ordered a 'four-baller' from the ice-cream stand, confessing that the only reason she wasn't joining me was because she has a wedding dress to fit into in three months. I'd say go empire-line and scoops away, but maybe that's just me.

Anyway, this was my first time in Spain and I wasn't disappointed. To be honest, how could you be disappointed in a country where, instead of serving dodgy peanuts on the bar (together with the 52 types of urine), they serve tapas, or should I say, tapath. Tapas is, however, as dangerous as the urine soaked peanuts in its own way. Laid out on the counter in all its glory, you would have to have a will of steel not to keep asking for more. Especially when it's as good looking as this:

We also enjoyed black pans full of paella which, according to the locals, should be eaten on a Thursday evening. My favourite bit of this meal was scraping up the nutty toasted grains of rice which had charred in the juices in the bottom of the pan. Yum.

Our guidebook led us to believe that breakfast isn't a big deal in Spain, but after finding a cafe full of baked goods I beg to differ:

Perfect. Especially when dunked in the spectacularly good Spanish hot chocolate. Seriously, this stuff was like chocolate custard.

Like other European cities I've visited, there seemed to be a great importance placed on the quality of the ingredients. The markets were full of people (not just tourists like me taking photos) and full of ingredients that just made you wish your hotel room had a kitchen.

I don't know whether it's just because I'm in holiday mode and out of the hamster wheel of my everyday life, but I always feel a bit cheated when I come back to London after visiting Europe. The food, the attitude to life, the free jazz in the park - how do other cities manage to get it so much more right?

Unfortunately I missed July's Daring Bakers' challenge while I was away, but I have had a peek at August's challenge and I will not be missing this one.

Vive La Revolution!

As I landed in Havana it seemed like the whole airport was heady with the smell of cigars. Passing the various 'Socialisme ou Meurt' billboards on the way into the city and watching people working the land with ox and plough I really felt that I had arrived somewhere different. Ostensibly Havana is the same as any beautiful old capital city. The buildings, even those crumbling around the edges, are photogenic, the museums are enlightening and we tourists are able to wander happily with plenty to see and do. However, Havana is the only place I have ever visited which doesn't have a MacDonalds. There are no plate glass windows full of shoes and handbags, you can walk for a whole day without seeing an advert and when you go to the bakery the choice is between white bread rolls and, er, white bread rolls.
Since I've been back people have been curious to know what Cuba is like. My standard phrase is that it is a place "full of contradictions". It seems that the hackneyed stories are true: a waiter can earn more than a doctor and while people had just been permitted to buy mobile phones, few would be able to afford them. More than one Cuban I spoke to derided America and Britain as imperialist hell-holes, yet others (mostly the younger ones) cursed the government and paraded around in t-shirts emblazoned with the Stars and Stripes.

I don't know enough to be able to discuss the Cuban political system properly, but I can say that no matter how many individual wants people are willing to sacrifice for the collective; personal enterprise still thrives. Generally speaking, private business is not permitted but people are allowed to make money from their house. This gives rise to various Casas Paticulares (similar to b&bs and much better than the state hotels) and Palandars (restaurants run out of people's own kitchens). The palandars are particularly interesting. In some you literally walk pass the family sitting in their lounge to go to a table in their kitchen whereas in others, particularly the more famous ones in Havana, you are greeted by servers with palm pilots and a reservation is vital.

It is said that Cuba is not a place famed for its food. Wherever you go the menu is invariably the same: pork and rice and beans, chicken and rice and beans or fish and rice and beans. Choice is limited. Our large supermarkets or even our local corner shops are orgies of excess in comparison to the shops and restaurants in Cuba. Compare this bakery to your local:

That said, the quality of the fresh ingredients was excellent:

but I would like to have jazzed them up a bit.

When I think of all the pain and suffering that has been caused in the name of protecting the capitalist world from the evils of socialism, I feel truly sad. Despite it's beauty: and the flower sellers who take their blooms from door to door:I could never live somewhere like Cuba (imagine trying to do a Daring Bakers challenge with the limited ingredients?!). However, it was so refreshing to escape the constant demands to buy buy buy or to see children playing happily without an X-box in sight.

Returning from my two week stay I have started to resent the manipulation of the big corporates and the advertising from which we cannot escape. It seems I need to find a country with a happy medium - if anyone has any suggestions let me know! I have returned with a slightly altered perspective on how I think life should be lived and a fair few bottles of rum to turn into cocktails while I decide. Mojito anyone?

On a completely different note, Antonia at Food Glorious Food has nominated me for a blogging award - Yipeeeeeeeee! The 'Arte e Pico' award is awarded for creativity, design, interesting material and contribution to the food blogging community. It was a real surprise to be nominated for an award and given that I am less than loving my job at the moment, it makes me thankful that I do have something creative in my life. Antonia, a fellow Londoner, produces beautiful recipes, is honest when things don't work out as planned and her writing is chatty, funny and very readable. Go visit her if you haven't already. So, rather than start sobbing and list all the people I'd like to thank, here are my five nominees for other fabulous blogs. Drum-roll please...

1. Tantalising and terrific, it's Tartelette.

2. Food and so, so much more, Pink of Perfection.

3. Inventive recipes and striking photos, Mike's Table.

4. A witty and beautiful blog, Confessions of a Cardamon Addict

5. Another witty lady and a giver of great recipes too, at You say Tomahto...

Go and visit them all. For the rules of the award see here.

Aribba Aribba!*

So, I've been back home for over a week but I've been terribly neglectful of my little blog. Posting my Daring Bakers' challenge results from Cuba was clearly the peak of my diligence and now I need to get back on track. After having been away for nearly a month it was a real pleasure to return to the lovely Mr AB, my friends and clothes that hadn't spent 4 weeks crumpled inside a rucksack. It was also a delight to be back in my kitchen - lasagne making, banana bread baking and generally catching up on lost cooking time.

I'm conscious that there's nothing worse than a holiday bore and it would be only too easy for me to drone on and on about what a fabulous time I had. However, unlike those people who are subjected to their neighbours' trip to DisneyWorld with a slide show complete with script, you're only a click away from freedom. Surely that gives me a mandate for a little droning?

The first part of my trip was a solo stint to Tulum and Isle Mujeres in Mexico. I should admit now that I am a rubbish traveller. I always book flights away on my own full of bravado and notions of 'finding myself'. In reality I end up leaving messy mascara tracks on Mr AB's jumper at the airport and ringing my parents from the flight gate wailing "don't make me gooooooooooo." Not good for a grown 26 year old I know. Once I arrived at the eco-resort in Tulum I did, of course, cheer up. Well, after miserable old London you would wouldn't you.

Travelling on your own is hard work. There's never anyone to watch your bag while you nip to the loo and there's the constant fear that as a solo female traveller you'll be spirited away by some dubious sex pest. Or is that only me? You can, however, eat guacamole three times a day and no one will be any the wiser. Yes the guacamole was as good as you would hope and the other food was delicious too.

I really enjoy Mexican food but unfortunately it is one cuisine which is not very well represented in London (if anyone disagrees, please send me tips). So it was a real pleasure to taste so much beautiful food on holiday. There wasn't as much fish as you would expect for a spot on the Caribbean Sea but there was plenty more. One of my favourite snacks was a bowl of pickled vegetables which had a pungent, spicy kick. These feisty vegetables are put on the table as soon as you sit down and despite causing a few spice induced tears, they are dangerously addictive.

Then there were the fish tacos. Oh yes. My favourite were served at a roadside stall which fried the fresh white fish in an airy tempura-style batter and allowed you to help yourself to salsas and sweet coconut sauces galore. Oh god I've got cravings right now.

In the name of research I did buy a couple of cakes from the local bakery but they weren't that great. I should have known that this chocolate one would disappoint, but I was seduced. It was ok but a little bit too much like the bottom of a cheap chocolate muffin. I should have stuck with the mangos. Yes the mangos. If I had the necessary skill I would craft an ode to the Mexican mango. They are ambrosial. These yellow skinned beauties were as sweet as honey and as smooth as silk. I know that sounds like a bad description from a Mills and Boon novel but they were that good. When I got back I stupidly bought a mango from Sainsbury's in the hope that it would quell my cravings. Hah! It was like eating something on mute.

My overwhelming impression of the food in Mexico was the strength of flavour. Not just from the chilli heat but from the the fresh, sun-ripened quality of the produce. It all tasted vivid.

Leaving Mexico was a wrench. Not least because I had to leave behind breakfasts like these: ...in favour of a country which "you don't visit for the food." Cuba. More of which to come.

* No I don't know what it means!

If we took a holiday, took some time to celebrate...

No, it's not a celebration of Madonna's Immaculate Collection album, great though it is. Rather, I'm going on holiday. I'll be away for three and a half weeks (I know, very jammy) visiting Mexico and Cuba (apologies to any American readers). So, it's going to be a little quiet around here. Dodgy internet cafes permitting, I'll be able to post this month's Daring Bakers challenge but other than that, I'll be busy garnering fresh ideas from Central America.

In the meantime, enjoy the wealth of brilliant blogs out there, perhaps starting here, here, or here.

Happy, happy cooking.

Paris in the Spring

I know that it's old hat to say it, but isn't Paris fantastic? I was lucky enough to spend last weekend in this feast of a city and I didn't want to come back. This was my fourth jaunt across the Channel and it was all thanks to Mr AB and the Housemate both of whom were tackling the Paris Marathon. You may remember that I got a trip to New York thanks to Mr AB's last marathon effort, so I'm doing pretty well on the back of his speedy legs* (fingers crossed for the Barbados marathon 2009).

One of my favourite things about this honey-hued city is that on almost every street there is a bakery and a florist. There something so right about a place where people don't want to be further than a few metres from flowers and cakes. Of course, when I wasn't trying desperately to spot J and C in the crowds of runners I was trying desperately to fit more bread/pastries/steak into my ever-expanding tummy.

I started on Saturday morning with a visit to the market Saxe-Breteuil which lies at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. Perfection!

As you'd expect, the quality of the food was outstanding and as I wandered the stalls I silently cursed not being able to take it all home. English markets now seem un petit peu merde in comparison:In the end I settled for a pastry: and one of these delicious mini cakes (note that they are mini - that's why French women don't get fat!). Moist frangipane sponge - mmmm.

As well as the market, I also wandered the fabulous food hall at Le Bon Marche. This is a living museum for all the beautifully packaged and beautifully prepared foodstuffs that you could long to buy. The main department store also has a fantastic haberdashery department; it's truly wonderful. In the end, I was seduced by these pink packages:

I'm thinking mini scones topped with the rosewater jam and delicate rose-scented sables along side.

There are so many recommendations for Parisian restaurants that it is difficult to know what to add. I will, however, mention one delicious place that we stumbled across on a walk from our hotel to the river. Located next to a garage it looks pretty unassuming but, L'A.O.C. is a delight. Its speciality is rotisserie meat served with potatoes roasted in the juice dripping from the spit. Who could ask for more? Together with a vibrant salad (of course, given the location, impeccably dressed) and fresh sourdough bread, the meal was everything you hope for from a French bread. We even had tarte tatin:

A bientot my foodtastic Paris.

* 3.5hours (I was very proud).