Gastronomique Delight
We have all noticed since being here in Spain that it stays dark in the mornings until quite late. In fact, I see that sunrise this morning is not until 8:21am. Of course, on the other end of the day, that means that it gets dark much later than one might expect, today for example sunset here is not until 7:57pm, which seems late for October. In NYC right now, sunrise is 6:56am with sunset at 6:33pm. Our day here is only one minute shorter, which implies that we are more or less at the same latitude as New York City. But if you look at the map, the Iberian Peninsula juts out to the west “underneath” the British Isles such that we are actually far enough west of Greenwich, England (where GMT defines itself at the Prime Meridian) that we are directly beneath the heart of Ireland while being an hour ahead on the clock. All of what we know of as Continental Europe has tried to be on the same time zone for convenience I suppose and hence, we get that screwy light/dark issue at this time of year hereabouts. This will all change when we get into Portugal in two days, since Portugal has clearly thrown EU caution to the wind and said to the world, “We love the EU, but we gotta have more morning daylight”, so they are on GMT zone and an hour later than the Spanish countryside that we are heading into and that juts out west as much as Portugal does. I feel better having dissected that whole issue for myself, because biorhythms are hard enough to adjust with jet lag, we don’t need celestial confusion to pile onto that.
I am sitting here in the lobby of the Palacio de Luces (Palace of Lights…strangely enough) in the dark, waiting for the breakfast room to open at 8am. This is a magnificent Relais & Chateaux hotel that meets or exceeds that international standard for excellence in hospitality. It is set in an obscure spot on a coastal hilltop near the fishing village of Llastres, which we rode through last night getting here. I say last night because Bruce and I didn’t ride in here until almost 7pm and thanks be to the celestial quirk of the region, it was still daylight.
As I have reported, Bruce and I hung back yesterday from the group and took several hours off in mid-afternoon for a call he needed to make. It may have been the best thing that has happened to me on this trip. That’s because, thanks to my GPS and its “No Highways” toggle, it led us through 67 miles of the most magnificent countryside either of us can remember riding through. To begin with, we went into some canyons in the Parque Nacional Picos de Europa that were as spectacular and then some than the canyons we ride in Utah every May. They were stunningly fun and curvy roads that were so smooth and so picturesque that the fact that they were vehicle-free was an amazement to us. We chicaned our way down the canyons looking up occasionally at what looked like a Spanish version of the Matterhorn. When we got through that and came out of the mountains near Langreo, we somehow managed (thanks again to the GPS I imagine) to take ourselves over another mountain with views of the Atlantic and alpine curves galore. When Bruce and I arrived at the hotel we were so exhilarated by our 90 minutes of hedonistic pleasure on the bikes that we hugged and gave each other high fives. Best afternoon of riding ever.
Bruce and I may have consistent taste in roads, but we are at opposite ends of the spectrum at the dinner table. Those differences have been on full display during this trip due to the Spanish fine cuisine palate. I am not sure if it is the hoity-toity nature of our accommodations and restaurant selection or just the nature of Spanish cuisine, but Bruce finds my palate somewhat childlike (he keeps accusing me of only liking macaroni and cheese and chicken McNuggets). He, on the other hand finds that the weirder and more offensive the flavor of the item of ingestion, the better. As an example, for lunch yesterday he ordered squid in black ink and practically licked the plate. For dinner, he doubled down (as good Republicans are so good at these days) and ordered a squid starter and then an octopus entree. The octopus came under a glass dome filled with smoke and was adorned with a red piece of what looked like coral. Bruce was not prepared to let anything go to waste, so he popped the red coral-like thing into his mouth and declared it mostly devoid of any particular taste. This pattern has been repeated over and over with Bruce favoring anything with a strong flavor or close to still being alive. His choice in animal protein is consistent. The less cooked the better. He says that this extends even to items like pork that are known historically to be best either avoided or at lest very well cooked. Bruce says that he likes it if the pork oinks before he eats it.
Everywhere we have gone on this trip, including two Michelin 1-star restaurants, Bruce has been enamored with the menus and I have been appalled. Basically, I have had one dish in five dinners that I could stomach. I grant you, I am a picky eater (at least in terms of epicurean delicacies), but Bruce is amazing. The will eat anything it seems and has no fear of trying literally everything. The stronger the taste, the better for him. The gamier the game, the better. The rawer the meat, the better. And he certainly can pack it away. Basically, he has eaten 80% of my diners for me…as a favor to me.
So today we rode back down into the Parque Nacional Picos de Europa, reversing the course Bruce and I took yesterday, and went even further into the park. It all started off on a bad foot for me as I got a face full of gasoline from an unruly pump as I tried to fill my bike. Two bottles of water later for a self-administered eye lavage and I was OK to proceed, though I smelled of gas for the entire day.
We stopped for lunch in a lovely little town with a magnificent view of a wide mountain cirque. The first place would not serve us until 1pm sharp. Then they would only sell us complete 4-course meals but everyone who sat had to get one. We found that unreasonable (especially since there were no other customers to give way to), so we left. Next door was a bar that had some small open-faced sandwiches. When I tried to buy three plus a Coke Zero, I was told that the little sandwiches were on allocation, one per drink. So I ordered two drinks and made do. Everyone else settled for drinks and one plus chips. Ten minutes later we saw the woman bring out lovely large pork and cheese sandwiches on baguettes. When I asked why she didn’t tell me that was available, she simply said I hadn’t asked. So went my day, including a tour of all the local scruffy neighborhoods with steep little streets while I tried to find our hotel.
Despite all of my complaining about the gastronomique delights of the day and the week, it truly has been wonderful riding and camaraderie. We only have one soldier down as Maggie has managed to contract COVID (her first time) while so far, the rest of us are apparently fine. Onward to the statue of St. James at Santiago de Compostela.