THE COOKBOOK TEST #0079: ADVENTURES IN TASTE: THE WINES AND FOLK FOOD OF SPAIN

INSTALLMENT #0079 (PAID) THE POWER TO FASCINATE / DETAILS MATTER / FOLKIN' IT UP

Dear Subscribers,

I wish I'd written ADVENTURES IN TASTE: THE WINES AND FOLK FOOD OF SPAIN. Is it because of its dazzling use of language? No. Is it the author's potent mix of deeply informed authority and dry wit? Sort of, but still mostly no. Is it because in order to write this book, you would need to eat, drink, and live deeply for years in Spain, tasting everything delicious under the sun and traveling every major road in search of culinary brilliance? Ding ding ding.

Adventures in Taste isn't just a cookbook, or even just a book; it's an account of a life well lived. And then you read a bit more deeply about author D.E. Pohren and you learn that this food and drink thing is almost a side street for him - he and his wife lived in Spain and performed flamenco for a living, while documenting the art form for the world. (Salon has a terrific profile of the guy - no mere dabbler, he's an actual flamenco legend, which isn't a bad achievement for a kid from Minneapolis.) 

There are countries that I naturally vibe with: Japan, for sure and forever. New Zealand, most definitely. And Spain, for certain. Becca and I honeymooned in Spain nearly 20 years ago, and I still remember vast tracts of that trip as though it happened yesterday.

Food, of course, was a big part of it. We ate and drank dozens of lovely things while we were there, but Ronda comes to mind immediately when the topic comes up. I had one of the best meals of my life there, while staying in a beautiful two-floor suite in the parador (state-run tourism hotel) overlooking the countryside that rings this fairy-tale town.

It was just breakfast, but it was remarkably fresh and delicious fruit (mostly citrus), simple but absolutely perfect pastries, and terrific coffee, taken on our patio overlooking the fields of Ronda.

And I had one of the worst meals of my life there, also at the parador, in the dining room. Despite the level of pretense (sky-high) and expense (similar), the meal started out bizarre, got really really bad, and ended with a dessert marred by the presence of a human hair on a scoop of gelato. By the end we were giddy with displeasure, absolutely tickled by how sideways things had gone. (See also: our trip to one of the most famous restaurants in Quebec.) And then we wandered out into the little town, looking for a bar or restaurant the locals were eating at. We found one, a crowded little bar with kids playing on the patio outside where a light but delicious dinner for two including wine totaled about $12, an absurd bargain even at the time.