This Trader Joe's "Spanish Saffron" isn't grown in Spain either. But at least it only costs half as much as the so-called Spanish saffron in Madrid.

This afternoon we are flying to Santiago de Compostela. So in the morning Eva and I go to the Mercado de San Miguel. She wants to pick up some Spanish saffron to take home for presents.

“You know Spanish saffron isn’t really from Spain,” I tell her as we negotiate the crowd looking for stalls selling azafrán.

“What?” she says. “Are you crazy? Why do you think it is called Spanish azafrán?”

“Because it is sold in Spain.”

We have found a woman selling saffron in little plastic cases. It is ten euros for one gram, 25 euros for three grams. Eva buys two of the three gram containers. Holding them up in front of my face so I can clearly see the label, she says, “Spanish azafrán—the best in the world.”

“It’s from Iran,” I tell her. “Or maybe Afghanistan. It’s definitely not from Spain.”

Eva is outraged. In Spanish, she tells the woman who just sold her the saffron that I told her it came from Iran. The old woman shrugs her shoulder and looks away, neither confirming nor denying. “Esto viene de España, ¿no?” says Eva, pointing at the containers of saffron.

The old woman points to the label that says Spanish azafrán. “Eso es lo que dice,” she says.

“There,” says Eva. “You see? She said it is from Spain.”

“No she didn’t. She says that it says it’s Spanish azafrán. That doesn’t mean it was grown in Spain. Look it up. No one grows saffron in Spain anymore. The labor is too expensive. It all comes from Afghanistan and Iran. And is then packaged in Spain. So they can call it Spanish azafrán. Even though it’s not.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Eva as we leave the mercado.

“Fine. Don’t believe me.”

Eva puts the packages of saffron in her purse. We walk several blocks without talking before she says, “That was for my mother, you know.”

“It’s still a nice gift,” I tell her.

“Yes, just not as nice as it was before we went to the market. Thanks a lot.”

Okay, maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. I mean, it is good saffron. But the thing is, it’s not Spanish saffron. Not anymore it’s not.

A sad man in search of coffee in Madrid on a Sunday morning. Photo by DL.

Sunday morning I got up early and checked out of the Hotel De Las Letras. Eva was coming by about 9 to take me to the Ribera del Duero wine region about 150 Km. away. Since I had about half an hour until she arrived, I asked the clerk at the front desk if there was a café or something along Gran Vía where I could get a coffee. She looked at her watch and huffed. “Not this early,” she said.

It was 8:30. I thought perhaps her watch had stopped so I repeated this information to her: “It’s 8:30. On a Sunday.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“Wait, you mean there’s nowhere in downtown Madrid where one can get a cup of coffee to go on Sunday morning?”

“Not this early,” she said. “People are still coming home from last night.”

And it was true. I walked for blocks up Gran Vía and saw dozens of tired looking revelers looking like vampires afraid of the sun but not a single café where I could get a latte. After walking for about five blocks, I did come across a Starbucks. But it wasn’t open. Too early, I guess.

I walked back to the hotel and went around the corner to DL’s, the hotel’s stylish restaurant (that I like to think is named after me) which was just setting up their Sunday buffet. I asked them if it might be possible to get a cup of coffee to go. Was I eating here? they asked. Sadly, no, I told them. I was just hoping I could get a cup of coffee. To go. The waitress said, “One minute, please.” She went off and spoke to a manager. The two of them looked at me while discussing the problem. Eventually the manager came over and asked if she could help me.

“Yes, I’m checking out of the hotel this morning and was hoping I could get a cup of coffee to take with me as a friend and I are driving to Ribera del Duero.

“Ah,” said the manager, nodding. “You want a coffee?”

“Yes, please. To go.”

“To go?”

“Yes.”

The manager disappeared. Five or ten minutes later, the waitress was back. With a water cup-sized Styrofoam cup. Of lukewarm coffee. I thanked her and paid. When I got back to the lobby, Eva was sitting on a couch. “Where have you been?” she asked. I told her I’d been looking for coffee. For 45 minutes. “Good,” she said. “Did you bring me one?”

I smiled and handed her the cup. “This is yours,” I lied. “I had mine back at the restaurant.” She thanked me and we left. For the long drive to Ribera del Duero. Sans coffee.

Piropo illustration by Nick Mahshie.

It is late afternoon and I am walking down Gran Via with Eva when a flashy twenty-something male, passing in the other direction, says something under his breath to which Eva hisses. Like a cat.

“What was that about?” I ask her.

“Piropo,” she snarls. “A bad one.”

So what, you wonder (as did I), is a piropo?

According to the dictionary of the Real Academia Española, piropos are “compliments with an amorous or sexual expressive tone, usually said by men to women. The setting is usually the street where the participants do not know each other and can remain anonymous.”

A high school Spanish textbook says piropos are “Flattery that causes a woman to blush; a loud compliment on a woman’s physical appearance.”

Okay, so what was the piropo used on Eva? “It was an old one. Something about me having so many curves and him having no brakes. But then he added a more modern twist on the end.”

“Which was what?”

“He said, ‘Tu con tantas curves y yo sin frenos, que putazo nos metemos.”

“Which means?”

“I have no brakes so let’s go fuck. Subtle, no?”

No. And that’s the problem with piropos these days. What was once a subtle form of flattery has morphed into something crude and offensive. In the old days, a piropo was considered something of an art form. Think Shakespeare: “See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!” That line, from Romeo and Juliet, is nothing more than an old fashioned piropo, and what woman would hiss at an admirer murmuring such a desire?

Two other old school piropos: “Where you go, flowers must spring up” and “If beauty were a sin, you’d never be forgiven.” Over the top and a little corny, yes, but certainly nothing that a woman would find offensive.

But compare that to this piropo suggested on an iPhone ap called Piropos de Obrero (yes, there’s an ap for that): Si fueras barco pirata te comería el tesoro que tienes entre las patas. Translation? If you were a pirate ship, I would eat the treasure between your legs.

Just what every woman walking down the street wants to hear.

The tapeo, or eating of tapas, has a few unwritten rules. First of all, you don’t eat tapas in just one bar—you go to many. That’s part of the fun. And always you are having a little something to drink with your tapa (usually wine although OGs still order sherry and you’ll find the younger crowd sometimes going with beer). At some places you order tapas from a menu (this is becoming more the norm), but the old school way to do it is to just pick your plate of tapas off the bar. If that’s the case, you need to keep track of what you eat and confess it all when you ask for the check.

At a traditional tapa bar, such as you might find in San Sebastian, it is an insult to leave your dirty napkin on the bar; you toss it on the floor instead. But look around and see if that’s what others are doing. You don’t want to toss your greasy napkin on the floor only to get a bunch of dirty looks from your neighbors.

There are good tapa bars all over Madrid, but, for our money, the best area to tapeo is the street of Cava Baja in the La Latina neighborhood, which is lined from one end to the other with excellent tapa bars and restaurants. Even if you don’t have a particular destination in mind, just walk down the street and stick your head in the bar. If it’s noisy and crowded with locals, it’s probably a good place.

One last thing: We’ve written over and over about how late Madrileños dine, but this isn’t true when it comes to tapeo when the busiest times are at what we like to think of as Happy Hour—say 5 to 7 or so. In Madrid, you meet friends after work and have a small glass of wine, maybe a tortilla de patatas or some salchicha and this is all just a prelude to dinner many hours later.

Here, then, are our 10 favorite Madrid tapa bars (in no particular order) and what to sample.

1.     Casa Lucas, 30 Cava Baja. Pork loin on a confit of onions.

2.     Casa Gonzalez, 12 Calle de León. Pig’s cheek.

3.     Almendro 13, 13 Calle Almendro. Huevos rotos (fried potatoes topped with a fried egg and chunks of cured ham).

4.     Taberna Tempranillo, 38 Cava Baja. Good wine bar that serves “solo vino español.”

5.     Casa del Abuelo, 12 Calle Victoria. Shrimp with garlic.

6.     El Lacon, 8 Manuel Fernández y González. Blood sausages with eggs.

7.     Taberna de Los Lucio, 30 Cava Baja. Any of the house egg specialties.

8.     Vinoteca Barbechera, 27 Calle Principe. Solomillo with caramelized onions.

9.     Juana La Loca, 4 Plaza Puerta de Moros. Risotto with truffles.

10.  Cerveceria Santa Barbara, Plaza Santa Ana. Boquerones (white anchovies) in vinegar.

You know how in New York people argue over who makes the best bagels and in Chicago it’s over pizza? Well, the same thing happens in Madrid when it comes to tapas. Should the patatas bravas have a soft or crunchy crust? Should the boquerones be served in vinegar or deep fried? Wine or sherry? Bread or toast? It all depends on who you ask.

The other thing is that the tapas in Barcelona are different from tapas in San Sebastian which are different from tapas in Galicia which are different from tapas in Madrid. Even in Madrid, you will find huge differences in, for instance, that most traditional of Spanish tapas, tortilla española. Some make it with onion, some with green pimientos, and others with bacon. Who’s to say which is the traditional one?

That said, here is our list of the Top 10 Traditional Spanish tapas, the ones you must try before you start getting all experimental. Tomorrow we’ll list our favorite tapa bars in Madrid.

1.     Tortilla de patatas. This has nothing to do with Mexican tortillas. Rather, it’s an omelette with fried chunks of potatoes that we prefer in a wedge with ham and cheese.

Pulpo a la gallega

2.     Gambas al ajillo. Sauteed prawns with garlic. Or try them pil-pil (with chopped chili peppers).

3.     Pulpo a la gallega. Galician-style octopus served in olive oil, lots of paprika, and sea salt.

4.     Jamon iberico. Paper-thin slices of the classic Spanish ham from Salamanca usually accompanied by toast with a tomato spread.

5.     Aceitunas. We love Campo Real olives or the big ones filled with anchovies.

6.     Bacalao. Salted cod loin sliced very thinly and served with toast and tomatoes.

Callos a la madrilena

7.     Solomillo. An old-fashioned tapa made from what we would call the fillet of beef although another traditional tapa, solomillo al whisky, is a fried pork scallop marinated in whisky and olive oil.

8.     Croquetas. One of the most common tapas, try the croquetas de espinacas y queso made with spinach and cheese.

9.     Callos a la madrileña. Okay, I’m pushing the boundaries a bit here—this is a traditional tripe dish slowly cooked in a broth with paprika, tomato sauce, and garlic. And it’s delicious.

10.   Salchicha. Simply put, these are sausages and will vary from bar to bar. We like the dried dark red spicy chorizo slowly cooked in red wine.

The go-to box wine for making a kalimotxo in Madrid.

In talking about kalimotxo cocktails and the mass street parties in Madrid called botellónes yesterday, I failed to mention several important details. First, I learned about both from my friend Lisa Abend, a writer who has lived in Madrid for many years. She mentioned kalimotxo in a really brilliant story she recently wrote for AFAR magazine on the San Fermin festival in Pamplona (you can read the article here) in which, as part of her “Survival Guide to San Fermin,” she recommends that you “Don’t drink more than three kalimotxo in a row. Trust me.” I can second that. In fact, I’d advise that you never drink more than one kalimotxo (and be sure you’re under 30 if you do).

As I was writing my piece on kalimotxo and botellónes (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, read yesterday’s blog), I e-mailed Lisa and asked her if she thought botellónes were dying out in Madrid. She said no. “Actually, it’s stronger than ever, thanks to la crisis. No one in Spain is going to actually give up drinking; they’ll just do it in the street, with litronas and those nasty boxes of wine, instead of paying to go to a bar. Public drinking is illegal (if you’re not seated at an outdoor café, which since the smoking ban went into effect, has become a meaningless distinction as every bar in the city sets up tables on whatever meager piece of sidewalk they can find. The entire city looks like a fucking food court these days) at all hours, not just after ten. Cops show up every weekend to the botellón outside my apartment and stand in one part of the square. People who want to drink get up, walk ten meters around the corner, and resume their drinking there. It’s a very efficient system.”

Lisa’s e-mail reminded me of something else I forgot to mention yesterday: The legal drinking age in Spain is 18 and it’s illegal to drink in the streets of Madrid after 10pm. Which is pretty funny since a botellón never gets started before 11 or so. My experience has been that the police aren’t as concerned with the drinking (or the age of the drinker) as much as they are about littering and noise. So if you throw your shitty Don Simon Tetra Paks in the trash and keep your voices down, it’s generally not a problem.

A botellon in Plaza de la Cebada in Madrid.

If you’re under 30 and visiting Madrid, there are two words you need to add to your Spanish vocabularly: kalimotxo and botellón. They’re related. Kalimotxo (the tx is pronounced ch as in much) is a street cocktail made, quite simply, from mixing equal amounts of cheap red wine and Coca-Cola. (Funniest thing I’ve ever read: The swanky food and wine magazine, Saveur, calls the drink a “red wine and cola spritzer.” Yep, and a hot dog is richly spiced and roasted meat nestled in a lightly baked bun.)

It doesn’t make any difference what kind of wine you use (although the box wine Don Simon, which comes in a Tetra Pak and costs one euro, is hugely popular) but it always calls for Coca-Cola (there’s something about the sweetness and caffeine that makes it the go-to kalimotxo mixer). Here’s how you make a kalimotxo: you get a one-liter drinking glass called minis or cachi or macetas, fill it half way up with red wine and fill the rest of it up with Coca-Cola. If you’re really sophisticated, you can add ice. Voilà! You have a kalimotxo cocktail.

You could drink a kalimotxo at home, but nobody does that in Madrid. Instead, you drink it at a botellón. The word itself means “big bottle” (in reference to the liter-sized minis) but refers to the groups of young kids (generally between 15 and 28) who gather in public places all around Madrid (and elsewhere in Spain) to share a kalimotxo or two. Three very popular places to botellón, particularly in the summer: Plaza de Espana, Plaza de Santa Ana, and Plaza de Dos de Mayo (although every neighborhood in Madrid has its own favorite botellón spot).

The Vinoteca Barbechera is a good wine bar for sampling the wines of Madrd.

Wine has been produced on the plateau surrounding Madrid since the Reconquista. Christian conquerors planted vines as a sort of agrarian border, marking their progress as they gradually took the Iberian Peninsula back from the Muslim states of al-Andalus. Not all that long ago, the local stuff was sold from barrels, not bottles, and was ordered as either vino tinto or vino blanco.

These days, you’ll find even the humblest tapas bar offering lovely bottles of Madrileño wine with a Vinos de Madrid DO label on the back. A good example is Vinoteca Barbechera, a classy little bar across from the Plaza Santa Ana, known for their pincho de solomillo and a great selection of local wines. The Grego Garnacha Centenaria, a refreshing red wine from Madrid, goes perfectly with the house specialty, a tender fillet of beef. Or order a glass of Cuatro Pasos, made from mencia, which tastes very fresh and fruity – almost like a Beaujolais – with roasted apple and foie gras on crisp toast.

When it’s time to pick up a few bottles to take home with you, two of the best wine stores in Madrid are Lavinia and Bodegas de Santa Cecilia. Lavinia is organized like a library, with knowledgeable clerks happy to help you find everything from an expensive Ribera del Duero to a bargain-priced vino de Madrid. Look for Rincón, a syrah-garnacha blend that has a lovely hint of vanilla on the nose. If you’re having trouble making up your mind, there’s an elegant wine bar upstairs for sampling by the glass.

Most Madrid bodegas aren’t open to the public, but there are a few exceptions. The most welcoming is Qubél, half-an-hour south of Madrid in Pozuelo del Rey, where owner Carlos Gosálbez, a former pilot for Iberia who speaks excellent French and English, is happy to pour you his organic blends of tempranillo, cabernet sauvignon and syrah. Also worth a visit is Cuevas del Real Cortijo de San Isidro, a historic winery near Aranjuez, founded by Carlos III in 1782. Their Madrileño wine, Homet, which is mostly tempranillo with a bit of cabernet sauvignon, merlot and syrah mixed in, can be sampled in their recently refurbished visitor centre.

Bodegas de Santa Cecilia, Blasco de Garay, 74, 34-91-445-5283.

Cuevas del Real Cortijo de San Isidro, Cortijo de San Isidro, Aranjuez, 34-91-535-7735.

Lavinia, Calle de José Ortega y Gasset, 16, 34-91-426-0604.

Qubél, Calle Valparaiso, 9, Pozuelo del Rey, 34-91-872-5804.

Vinoteca Barbechera, Plaza Santa Ana, C/Principe, 27, 34-91-420-0478

Chef Fernando del Cerro at Casa Jose in Aranjuez.

Back in the 1950s, Jose and Maria del Cerro, who lived across the street from the local farmers’ market in Aranjuez, decided to open up a simple little restaurant in their home where they prepared lunches for the farmers, herders, and traders who worked at the market. Now, since Aranjuez was known for its produce—artichokes, Brussel sprouts, asparagus, cabbages, celery, strawberries—their menu focused on what was local and what was fresh.

The couple had five kids, all of whom helped out at mom and dad’s restaurant. One of the kids, Fernando del Cerro, took a particular interest in cooking. And so in 1991, he reimagined his parent’s modest farmhouse restaurant and opened Casa Jose which, within a year, had earned a Michelin star.

This is where Alicia was taking me to lunch. We had a reservation for two but when we arrived at about 1:45, Fernando’s brother, Armando—the restaurant’s sommelier—told us Fernando wasn’t quite ready yet to open the dining room upstairs (you know how the Spanish like to eat late). So he poured us both a glass of cava and we sat around the bar with the locals who were drinking a glass of wine and munching on tapas, particularly the restaurant’s pincho de tortilla. (When I pointed out to Armando that just about everybody in the bar seemed to be eating tortilla de patatas, he smiled and, not without pride, said, “En cuanto a la tortilla, es verdad que es maravilloso,” or “As for the tortilla, it is true that it is wonderful.”)

Before we could finish our cava, the hostess came over and led us up the wooden steps to the upstairs dining room with its high pine ceiling. Fernando, like his parents, is a big booster of the local produce. His menu changes along with the seasons which, he admitted to me after our lunch when he stopped by our table to see how we’d enjoyed things, can be frustrating. “It is a bit annoying when people come here in November or December and want the local asparagus or the strawberries,” he said. “There is no respect for the seasons. Everyone thinks things should be available every month of the year, but that’s not the way I cook.”

Fortunately for us, much of the wonderful local produce was in season. So we had Fernando’s glazed artichoke hearts with sea urchins; baby Brussel sprouts and prune bread wrapped around foie gras and an oyster; paletilla (lower leg) of baby lamb baked with green garlic; and, of course, the local strawberries with a Chantilly cream of roses.

Local Aranjuez strawberries with Chantilly cream of roses.

I asked Fernando about the local strawberries. He told me there are two kinds: fresas and fresones. The tiny fresas, he said, are like the French fraises de bois, while the slightly larger fresones were brought to Aranjuez around 1700 from the Americas (which is probably why they reminded me of the east coast Gariguette strawberries). “Both varieties are hand-harvested in Aranjuez in April and May, and only when completely ripe,” said Fernando. “You are very fortunate to be enjoying them today.”

And he was right. The tiny berries were so perfumed, so juicy, and so floral that I would hold each on my tongue and let it just melt in my mouth. An incredible spring treat.

In addition to its artichokes, Aranjuez is also known for their tender asparagus and sweet strawberries—all of which are just now coming into season. I was particularly interested in the strawberries here which are smaller and more flavorful than what we get in California. They actually look more like wild strawberries or what the French call fraises du bois. Actually, I think they are closer to Gariguette strawberries which are similar to wild strawberries but slightly bigger (and, I think, more flavorful).

Anyway, the strawberries from Aranjuez are delicious—and expensive (about 4 or 6 euros for a large basket). Tasting them reminded me of a strawberry gazpacho I had at a friend’s house in Barcelona years ago. It makes for a very refreshing lunch on a warm spring day. Here is my friend’s very simple recipe:

Strawberry Gazpacho

–2 kilos strawberries

–6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

–2 tablespoons vinegar

–1 small onion

–1 garlic clove

–salt to taste

Wash and hull the strawberries. Chop all the ingredients finely and press through a chinois or fine mesh sieve. Chill for at least an hour and decorate with chunks of strawberry wedges or pearls of watermelon.