Madrid

This past weekend I was invited to have lunch with the Marqués de Griñón, Carlos Falcó, at what used to be the family’s hunting estate but is now a winery. That sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Having lunch with a Spanish Marqués at the ol’ family hunting estate? Carlos would be the first to laugh over this assumption. There’s still something regal about the old estate, with it’s over-sized fireplace whose mantel is littered with tarnished silver trophies from pigeon shooting that, as Carlos says, were won “back when we shot real pigeons.” But the lodge is dark and dank and a bit musty (not that the Marqués wouldn’t like very much to spruce the ol’ girl up, but at the moment he can pay for either reconstruction of the old family estate or for the Syrah and Grenache wines grown on the 22 acres surrounding the estate, and he, wisely, chooses the latter.

Carlos Falco and his daughter, Xandra, at their wine estate outside of Madrid.

Joining us for lunch was his daughter, Xandra, who does the marketing for both the world-class Marqués de Griñón wines produced on the family estate just outside of Toledo, Dominio de Valdepusa, as well as the excellent table wine, El Rincón, made from the grapes of the vines grown around the hunting lodge. For lunch we had a squash soup with olive oil and Manchego cheese followed by red-leg partridge “probably shot a hundred meters from here,” according to the Marqués. All washed down with their iconic Marqués de Griñón AAA wine which is only produced in very small quantities and only in vintages that are worthy of this wine (this was from the 2008 vintage).

Afterwards, we tried to walk off a bit of our lunch by taking a stroll around the vineyards. Tasting a grape, Xandra said, “For me, there is a bit of magic about growing these grapes and then going to a very good restaurant in Madrid and seeing someone ordering and drinking our wines. It is what we love and why we no longer have time to go pigeon hunting.”

Madrid’s best chocolateria has to be Chocolatería San Ginés. Madrileños love their chocolate con churros (Spanish hot chocolate, thick and frothy,with a corrugated foot-long donut stick )  and no place does it better than this Puerta del Sol institution where, despite its monstrous size, seems always packed, particularly in the middle of the night when locals young and old come here to close out their  late-night dining forays.  Pasadizo de San Ginés 5, 91-365-65-46.

Another good place for tapas in Madrid’s Latina neighborhood is ¡Toma Jamón! The name means “Eat Ham” and this small café, one of a chain of five, is all about Spain’s emblematic  food, jamón Serrano, as becomes obvious when you note the 50 or so cured hams hanging behind the bar.

See how long it takes your companion to notice that the beer taps are bronzed hams, then munch on the free corteza (pork rinds) while mulling over  whether to start with the mollete de jamón Ibérico or the local melon wrapped in jamón. 6 Calle del Mediodia Grande, 91-366-29-17.

Lisa is so polite. When I suggested that we get some tapas at this bar Gerardo told me about, she didn’t say anything. Which, if you know Lisa, means she didn’t approve.

“You don’t like that place?” I said as we walked up Gran Vía.

“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging.

“But it’s not great.”

“There are better places if you want tapas.”

Gerardo is a guide I met at the Reina Sofía Museum today. I figured if the guy had great taste in art (which he did), he should also know some hot tapas bars. But maybe not.

“So,” I said, “where do you think we should go?”

Well, if I was going to pick, I’d go to Juana La Loca, she said. “It’s right by my house. So I know the owners. And the food is amazing.” So that’s where we ended up. And Lisa was right: The food was fantastic. Here’s what we had:

–Lomo con pimiento (pork loin, paprika, cheese)

–Alcachofas laminadas plan (artichoke hearts)

–Carpaccio de bonito (tuna carpaccio)

–Risotto tartufato (risotto with truffles).

All washed down with a Mencias from Bierzo called Cuatro Pasos Mencias that was very fresh and fruity tasting—sort of like a young Beaujolais.

Going home after a long night in Madrid.

Ernest Hemingway said, “Nobody goes to bed in Madrid until they have killed the night.” I’m not sure I like that wording. I’d say nobody goes to bed in Madrid until the last vestige of darkness has been drained from the sky. It’s as if the night is a long banquet and the Spanish refuse to leave the party until every last morsel has been consumed, every drop of wine swallowed.

On weekends in particular it’s not at all unusual to find the streets full of revelers making their way home, still dressed in fine evening wear, as the pale light of dawn approaches. I know. I passed them on the street last night, singing arm-in-arm, as I myself wearily made my way back to the Hotel de las Letras.