Michelin Star
I don’t think I have ever eaten at a restaurant with a Michelin rating before this week. That’s pretty surprising given my business career as a senior manager on Wall Street for more than 35 years, especially given that I ran a global private banking business for six of those years, and those rich people do like their fancy and high-profile eateries. I’ve eaten in lots of fancy and expensive restaurants (most of which were largely wasted on me and my plebeian pallet), but while I have known about the Michelin star rating system, I simply couldn’t care less about it. I suppose that makes me a Philistine in many people’s eyes, but so be it. As I have written about at various times, I have never had a good relationship with food on any level, and that disdain should not be considered a bad reflection on Michelin or even the great chefs that aspire to the accolades of stardom. Whatever the opposite of a foodie is, that’s me.
So, imagine my surprise at being able to say that I have now eaten at three Michelin 1-star rated restaurants, all in Spain. No one is more surprised about this than I am. The first one was in Elciego in the Gehry-based hotel, then there was San Sebastián, a town known for its fru-fru design orientation, and tonight we added Oviedo. I had never visited any of these towns before this trip, which is surprising given how well-travelled I am, In fact, I really hadn’t heard of Elciego and Oviedo at all before getting this itinerary.
Oviedo’s claim to fame as best I can tell is that Woody Allen has declared it his favorite city in the world. That high praise has supposedly earned him a statue in town somewhere, not that any of us could find it…or even bothered to look for it. I love Woody and his body of film work (Kim not so much as she cannot get past his young womanizing ways). As I became more and more of a New Yorker over the years, my appreciation for his brand of humor just kept growing. I imagine Woody’s appreciation for Oviedo must have begun with his making of Vicky Christina Barcelona when he was in his Scarlett Johansson phase. You can define Woody like using rings on a tree, Paula Prentiss, Louise Lasser, Ursula Andress, Janet Margolin, Diane Keaton (many rings), Mariel Hemingway, Mia Farrow (uh-oh), Bette Midler, Mira Sorvino, Sarah Jessica Parker, Tea Leoni, Penelope Cruz, Blake Lively, Kate Winslet, and Scarlett. Quite a history I would say, and not a one that was underaged or related by law (unless you count all the Mia lawsuits against him).
Well, last night we went to dinner at Gloria, so let me, as a non-gourmet and more of a gourmond, defined as a person who simply eats too much rather than eating well, describe the meal. To begin with, the hostess/waitress/owner? was all over us in uncharacteristic intensive smiley service fashion. She immediately realized I was the hard-to-please person in the group and she not only accepted my limited palette, but embraced it. That resulted in a lovely ham croquette appetizer while others enjoyed eggplant (too slimy for me) and artichoke (too complicated for me). Without Bruce there (he had family calls to make), the main dishes went to tuna, scallops and tomato salads, all of which are non-starters for me. I got a pork dish that was easily and hands-down the best food I have eaten this whole trip and probably the best pork of my life. I gave everyone a taste and got general buy-in to my opinion. It came with veggies but I asked for potatoes (what is a meat and potatoes guy without his potatoes?). I chose to test the Michelin limits by asking for ketchup and rather than look at me in horror, she suggested some mustard. She and I had truly bonded in a culinary place that is quite rare (and I don’t mean undercooked).
What all of this did for my opinion of Gloria and her star was to think that she did Michelin proud. After all, a restaurant is a service business and she was nothing if not of service. I do not even think she smirked at me as we left, as one who panders to the crass might, instead basking in the glory of a round of applause for from us and an extra €50 tip. Smart lady.
Today we are headed for Santiago de Compostela at the end of the Camino de Santiago. The breakfast at our hotel, Hotel Castillo del Bosque la Zoreda located well outside of Oviedo and on a forested hillside, outdid itself with the breakfast serving just as almost every hotel we have stayed at this trip has done. I personally find so much less variability in the breakfasts and the consistency of quality high enough that I tend to load up at breakfast with fried eggs, crispy bacon, wonderful European rolls and perhaps a pastry or two, just for good measure. I have come to realize that my breakfast may be the only good meal of the day for me, so I go all out. I sense that others have a similar strategy since there are always a lot of eggs being ordered every morning.
The topography of the ride today was about half mountainous and then half rolling plains. We stopped for lunch in a canyon above the El Salto Dam. The restaurant hugged the cliff and it was getting lots of play from the pilgrims walking up the hill as well as the motorcyclists like us. Unlike yesterday’s lunch problems, today it was an embarrassment of riches with lots of sandwiches and French fries to go around. I’m not sure Michelin knows this place exists, but it hit the spot after a long morning of doing the mountain switchbacks.
We ran out the flats to Santiago, first on the local roads and then, as the afternoon rolled by us, we hit the highway for the last 40 miles or so. It was a relatively long riding day of about 6.5 hours in the saddle with about 90 minutes of breaks for lunch and rest stops. We caught some rain at the end of the day, but not before having at least one harrowing encounter with a road racer cutting up through the canyons. He was coming at us so fast that he couldn’t hold the curve and started to drift out over the line into our oncoming lane on one big sweeping curve. I have been riding sweeper or at the back of our pack so by the time he got to Bruce in front of me, Bruce got treated to his squealing tires as he tried to keep his car on line. He was not too successful since by the time he got all the way back to my position, he was two feet into my lane and given his racing speed (probably 80 mph) and my oncoming 60 mph speed, he passed within inches of my left leg at about 140 mph effective speed. I don’t know if he brushed me or if it was use the wind foil he was creating, but I sure felt it on my knee and leg as he passed. I saw stars for a few miles and trust me, these were not Michelin stars.