Rick Stein - Albondigas in Tomato recipe
Rick Stein - Albondigas (with Almond sauce by Janet Mendal)
Jan 23, 2012
Albóndigas
Rick Stein - Albondigas in Tomato recipe
Rick Stein - Albondigas (with Almond sauce by Janet Mendal)
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 4, 2012
Dec 25, 2011
Nov 21, 2011
Madrid: 8:05 to Cádiz
Early Monday morning, station approach, temperatures dropping towards winter as the wind bullies leaves and twigs off trees and great roars of traffic thunder over roads in the darkness.
Differing smells drift from doorways as shutters are lifted up and another day begins in Irvine. We join the fast walkers snaking our way to the station onto our super modern train, free earphones and leg space and other expectations of the developed world.
Differing smells drift from doorways as shutters are lifted up and another day begins in Irvine. We join the fast walkers snaking our way to the station onto our super modern train, free earphones and leg space and other expectations of the developed world.
Nov 20, 2011
Madrid: Two days like this (Day 2)
Awoken Sunday morning by a string quartet in the street outside. We later breakfast down towards the Paseo del Prado where there is ham, there is egg and there is potato. I am joyous as I neck my coffee.
With rain threatening are umbrella-less state we enter the Thyssen-Bornemisza museum where there was an exhibition of Architectural paintings - perspectives, legends and ruins. We are inspired and our imaginations are decorated with new ideas and ideals. An expensive bottle of Coca Cola follows.
Later, enthused, we are further motivated by a selection of world food at San Anton Market in Chueca. I take a glass of white wine, AB Vermouth as we soak up the noise, people watch, lean on the bar, sample some sushi, watch plates of food go by.
We then meet dear friends who we met at Active language in Cádiz, five years ago, where all this started. First we meet the big-eared-tripper who is as impulsive as ever and seems to have had another haircut by a man with poor eye sight. He leads us to meet Seblon in Barrio La Latina who has cloned himself and we enjoy small beers standing in a crescent shape.
Next, Seblon and his clone lead us to Barrio Lavapies where AB and I settle a curry score we had decided earlier on in the day. It was a wonderfully, fresh, herby and light curry and it went to the top of my Bhoona list which is the style of curry I have almost always eaten due to my Dad’s recommendation back in 1996. (Restaurant Moharaj C/ Ave Maria, 26)
Friends reunited again after the curry with SB and the boys. The flat capped one (D) is in full flow and is dryly punctuated by the other (J). They are quite a team as a waiter with century old eyes puts plate after plate of tapas on the bar for D to consume with his luminous drink. After a red wine, AB and I drift back to the hotel, full and fatigued.
With rain threatening are umbrella-less state we enter the Thyssen-Bornemisza museum where there was an exhibition of Architectural paintings - perspectives, legends and ruins. We are inspired and our imaginations are decorated with new ideas and ideals. An expensive bottle of Coca Cola follows.
Later, enthused, we are further motivated by a selection of world food at San Anton Market in Chueca. I take a glass of white wine, AB Vermouth as we soak up the noise, people watch, lean on the bar, sample some sushi, watch plates of food go by.
We then meet dear friends who we met at Active language in Cádiz, five years ago, where all this started. First we meet the big-eared-tripper who is as impulsive as ever and seems to have had another haircut by a man with poor eye sight. He leads us to meet Seblon in Barrio La Latina who has cloned himself and we enjoy small beers standing in a crescent shape.
Next, Seblon and his clone lead us to Barrio Lavapies where AB and I settle a curry score we had decided earlier on in the day. It was a wonderfully, fresh, herby and light curry and it went to the top of my Bhoona list which is the style of curry I have almost always eaten due to my Dad’s recommendation back in 1996. (Restaurant Moharaj C/ Ave Maria, 26)
Friends reunited again after the curry with SB and the boys. The flat capped one (D) is in full flow and is dryly punctuated by the other (J). They are quite a team as a waiter with century old eyes puts plate after plate of tapas on the bar for D to consume with his luminous drink. After a red wine, AB and I drift back to the hotel, full and fatigued.
Nov 19, 2011
Madrid: Two days like this (Day 1)
With open arms we stood in the centre of Madrid surrounded by grand buildings, those metaphors of power that stand so strong yet so detached. It was a weekend away; a city-break in the capital but above all it was a trip to see Elbow perform.
The weather was dull, clouds clung close to rooftops throughout but we were in good company and did not walk the earth alone. Our hotel was bordering on plush and we threw those grand curtains wide in our bedroom and were graced with the bustle of milling Madrileños and tourists in Puerta Del Sol.
Sat around jugs of pale beer come the late afternoon with friend SB from Jerez, and a couple of lovely lads from Essex who were accompanying her. As promised I wrote one of them a limerick.
A flat-capped man, hard to contain
Was on his way to Southern Spain
He liked a long chat
‘till he bought a prickly hat
That itched away at his brain.
Garlic prawns and sweet, heavy red wine at Casa Del Abuelo for AB and I before into white taxis we bent - SB with a bottle of Rum in her handbag - to the Elbow concert in Palacio Vistalegre at about 9 p.m. The gig was exceptional, the sound was quality and subsequently our heads were reminiscent of mirrorballs upon exit.
Back in the centre around about midnight we dodged rain showers, uttered lost words, stood surrounded by Angels and drunks and admired glistening pizza in neat little rows before tiredness pulled us to bed. The poetry of getting ruined.
The weather was dull, clouds clung close to rooftops throughout but we were in good company and did not walk the earth alone. Our hotel was bordering on plush and we threw those grand curtains wide in our bedroom and were graced with the bustle of milling Madrileños and tourists in Puerta Del Sol.
Sat around jugs of pale beer come the late afternoon with friend SB from Jerez, and a couple of lovely lads from Essex who were accompanying her. As promised I wrote one of them a limerick.
A flat-capped man, hard to contain
Was on his way to Southern Spain
He liked a long chat
‘till he bought a prickly hat
That itched away at his brain.
Garlic prawns and sweet, heavy red wine at Casa Del Abuelo for AB and I before into white taxis we bent - SB with a bottle of Rum in her handbag - to the Elbow concert in Palacio Vistalegre at about 9 p.m. The gig was exceptional, the sound was quality and subsequently our heads were reminiscent of mirrorballs upon exit.
Back in the centre around about midnight we dodged rain showers, uttered lost words, stood surrounded by Angels and drunks and admired glistening pizza in neat little rows before tiredness pulled us to bed. The poetry of getting ruined.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 2, 2011
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