Dali and Dinner

Day 15 continued...



No, that's not a baguette on the mannequin's head.

We crossed into Spain for a whirlwind 48 hours, or two days if you will. My nose had been buried in my mini guide book on Catalonia for the last few days. There was so much to do and see in the region. Unfortunately, we had to be picky -and choose.


Our hallway neighbor in NYC, who I will refer to as BK, had been lucky to spend some time in Spain over the last year. He'd even managed to be paid for his travels, directing concerts of Broadway stars in Barcelona (who knew the Spaniards loved Broadway? Apparently, they do.). During pre-trip hallway conversations, we discovered he would be in Spain again, and at the same time as we would. Half-laid plans were hatched to try and meet up while across the Atlantic. BK also shared with me his experiences of Spain along the Costa Brava...and the one that stood out was the Teatre-Museu Dali in Figueres. "It's a trip", were pretty much his somewhat exact words.

Figueres was on our way to Jafre. It was an easy decision to stop and see the famous Dali Museum. As promised, it was a trip. I've always held a subtle affection for Salvador (even if I dismissed him during my college years, since every dorm wall seemed to be graced with a poster of his melting clocks.). But here, I got to see the true twisted genius of the man. I would have liked to knock back a couple of whiskies with him (I don't even drink whiskey) and have an intense evening long conversation, trying to suss out his uncensored answers.

Exploring Le Teatre, I almost did. Every inch of this museum is thought out, with irony and wit apparent in every view- the fact that "theater" is part of the name is quite appropriate. When we visited, unfortunately, we seemed to share the museum with hordes of annoying people who elbowed me at every chance (after visiting La Teatre, frankly, I think Senor Dali would have found this extremely amusing), but it was still worth every second. I like the way Dali thumbed his nose at convention and found his own voice without maliciously hurting the innocent. It's as if he could see the depravity in each human soul alongside the humanity and cajole the viewer into seeing both sides at once. I could write a thousand of words to describe his art and my reactions to it, but pictures and seeing it in person will let you find a better interpretation, your own.

After visiting the museum, we surpassed exploring any more of Figueres since we had a cooking class scheduled at our B&B and didn't want to be late.


As we continued our drive to Las Nenas, we witnessed a disturbing sight. Alongside the rural back roads, we saw several prostitutes lounging in chairs at the edges of the fields, waiting for their next customer. Since their skin was so deeply tan, we assumed they were of Spanish descent, but later learned they were eastern European girls who didn't have the means to leave Spain or find lawful employment. Their only option for survival was selling themselves by the side of the road. It was just so bizarre. Their laid-back demeanor coupled with the rural setting made it look like they could have been selling lemonade rather than sex.



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We finally located Las Nenas in one of the tiniest villages we have encountered yet. As we knocked upon the gate, Katie's sweet voice welcomed us in. She was tending to the garden and awaiting our arrival. We were early, and the only guests that evening aside from a birding couple from San Fran. We were the only ones signed up for the cooking class, and had a good amount of time before it began. Katie said it was a quick twenty minutes to the beach, so after hauling our suitcases to our room and presenting her with the prized Ceret cherries, we sped away for yet another chance to soak up the Mediterranean. I managed one quick dip in the ocean. The water was warm but the wind was kicking up it's heels and I didn't want to catch a chill and come home from our trip with a cold.


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Cooking class.

Our teacher and chef this evening was Katie's partner, Martha Cronk. In setting up the class via emails, when she asked our preferences, I went for the "do as the Romans do" approach and requested a Spanish menu, either Catalan or Basque. Martha chose a Catalan menu for us . I appreciate that she chose dishes that we could easily replicate at home (we've already made one of them twice).

We began with an intro to knife skills. I learned pretty quickly that my knife skills were a little lacking and was highly upset that my husbands' surpassed mine. I may have stumbled a bit, but the chopping hints I learned have stayed with me long beyond our class (Martha, I listened and learned!) .

As we prepared each dish, Martha told us about the ingredients, variations and their relation to Catalonia and substitutions we could use back in the States.

Martha did a lot more of the prep work than we did...she's a good ole' perfectionist and I can relate to her approach (just try getting in my tiny excuse for a kitchen when I am preparing a meal). Even when she took over and rescued us from moments of ineptitude, it was never rude. It got our meal on the table sooner, and her cooking tips still stay with me long after our vacation ended.


Our menu- don't remember the Catalan names for the life of me....

Toasted bread with tomato and garlic

Salad mixta

Squid (pulpo) two ways. One version with Catalan chile powder- unique to this region of Spain. The other emphasizing olive oil and chili flakes. Both were easy and simple to make. The Catalan version was smokier and more succulent than the other.

Stuffed peppers with Tuna Salad

Main course was Rabbit with Ratatouille. Martha assured us there was really no difference between the French and Spanish versions of ratatouille. The rabbit was fantastic, and she suggested when recreating this dish back in the states (where rabbit is hard to come by, and much more expensive) to substitute chicken and place a piece of bacon on top during the oven cooking. Good tip- this is the dish we've recreated and it's so easy and delicious!

Dessert- our prized cherries from Ceret and apricots macerated in Muscat wine.

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After assembling most of the dinner and setting the rabbit and ratatouille in the oven to finish cooking, we joined Martha in the garden to relax. Our first crush is France, and we told Martha of our love of France and desire to live there one day. She had apprenticed in a French kitchen and due to her experiences there, didn't share our adoration. She and Katie had found their Shangri-la in Spain. She regaled us with many stories about their new life in Spain. They love the boisterous spirit of the Spaniards and find the French too reserved. We found it ironic, since our experiences in France have been so wonderful, and we have always found the people to be welcoming.

After we enjoyed the fruits of our labor, Martha bid us a good night and headed home (she and Katie live in a house in a neighboring village). Our stomachs were so stuffed with good food, that DH and I decided (needed to) take a nighttime stroll down the road that lead past the village. We meandered down a dirt road lined with wheat fields. The fields etched a deep purple silhouette against the deep azure star studded night sky. Even though we could see the bright lights of what appeared to be a grainary or a small factory in the distance, it was wonderfully quite as a soft breeze gently caressed us.

We ended the evening in the garden with some guilt free midnight snacking-- a nightcap of our cask wine from Ceret (pretty damn good!) and some more of the maceracted fruit from dinner.