ReallyGoodWriter | Food • Writing • Poetry Iambic Cafe

food & poetry, but mostly the poetry of food

Food • Writing • Poetry

The week to date has been a blur of eating, drinking, reading, writing, talking, eating, drinking and so on. It’s been productive writing time for me, though I feel like every hour is filled, and manage to write only late at night when the muse is just about to fall asleep. We have had a couple of good brisk walks, including one yesterday to our lunch that was two hours there and two hours back. But we are all sensing that even a four hour daily walk might not be enough to counteract the scale of consumption.

Tammy is leading us to consider, poetically, questions of travel. We’ve spent a lot of time with the delightful book by Alain de Botton, The Art of Travel, and more with the likes of Elizabeth Bishop, whose Arrival at Santos kicked us off, and whose Questions of Travel have given us both the name of the course and a lot of food for thought.

Not as much food as Marisa has been offering, of course – her Valencian suppers are stupendous, and her lunch salads a little too inviting, particularly when augmented with fluffy tortilla or tuna pastries.

Tuesday morning’s session was in the orange grove,

with the penetrating perfume of orange blossom and constant buzz of bees, surrounded by lush globes of fruit whose juice we have been consuming at all hours of the day. As we left we discovered almond picking, a recreation I have been obsessively enjoying for two days straight, its rewards exquisite as we discovered on our mountain walk, when a pause and a couple of flat rocks coincided well with a pocketful of booty.

Yesterday was the mid-session break, and we began it with a private view of Relleu‘s museum, full of interesting and artfully arranged ethnological treasures to do with the history and traditions of the area: old bee-keeping equipment

caught my attention, and some beautiful wooden garden tools.

After our epic walk,

our lunch was a fabulous Paella Valenciana

in the village of Sella,

and we ate so much – including starters of croquetas (bacalau – salt cod, but very understated), champignons and a deliciously simple salad of lettuce, onions and tomatoes in lemon and olive oil – that we all felt the need to walk it off by returning over the mountain,

instead of catching the offered lift back. It rained and shone and gave us wonderful views over the terraced hills, through olive and almond groves, our path formidably bordered by wild flowers.

After a short rest, supper was at a tapas bar in Relleu, where we had some boquerones (but these ones were not anchovies, they told me sadly),

squid rings, pork and liver, some small squid-like/octopus-like critters, tortilla, ribs, bread, anchovy-stuffed olives, and an absurdly delicious coconut flan

(flan is the Spanish version of creme caramel, and it’s wonderful) followed by what I’d say is my favourite coffee in the world, cafe cortado, the slightly bigger and bolder Spanish first cousin to caffe macchiato, my other favourite coffee in the world.

And then made our way (phew, downhill) back home.

We are into our final couple of days here, which I’ve found very useful and pleasant, and of course extremely well catered. I just hope el Cheapo airline does not weigh its passengers for the return journey this weekend…

On Friday we decided to re-enact our historic walk (last year) in the Kent countryside, and so we did. We walked to Luddesdown

whose church was closed again. Nearby we saw again this old (? grain mill?) but last year it was autumn then and there were no such flowers in it.

And there was more brassica. A small purple forest of it.

And then on Saturday I hopped a plane to Spain to escape the rain. Lula has been vigilant, catching wild plastic pigs that might be threatening us (why else would they be flying away from us at regular intervals, she reasoned) and giving them a good shake to subdue them before presenting us with the corpse.

All is warm and peaceful at Almassera Vella. Marisa and Christopher would like you please to come on down!

Lots of lemons.

And it is orange season. We are being willingly drowned in fresh orange juice.

Marisa’s lentil soup was just what we needed after our travels.

And lunch yesterday was a beautiful sight; so many lovely cheeses! And an elegant Russian Salad with tuna.

A last walk round Parma on Wednesday, before I left.

Local artists have left their mark on the pots and pans since they first appeared in November.

Snowing in Borgo della Pace?

Market day as busy as ever.

Enoteca Fontana still makes the very best roast-beef panino con rucola in the whole world. I just had to check.

I was worried when the website for Ristorante Mosaiko dropped off the virtual map, but the place itself is still three dimensional, and chef Davide di Dio assured me that the website was only being redesigned, and would return one day under a new url. But not yet. There was some lovely raku on the walls and the Oltretorrente locals trickled in steadily until the place was humming a happy Parma air.

From my corner table I was reassured by another terrific meal that chef Davide has not worked himself into the ground, nor lost his imagination. The amuse-bouche – a tiny meat pie on a beetroot and balsamico base – was exquisite.

The Insalata d’astice, asparagi e arancia siciliana (lobster, asparagus and Sicilian blood oranges) was out of this world; if I’m not mistaken there were flecks of home-pickled ginger which made a gorgeous sensory contrast to the rest. And it was simply beautiful to look at.

How could I resist the Ravioli al baccala’ mantecato (salt cod ravioli), with shrimp, rucola and black olives? They were quite rich but I’d come to eat and eat I did. I also liked the bowl; at Mosaiko every dish has had its housing carefully planned.

And then Branzino in crosta di pane (sea bass) with zucchini – which was absolutely delicious – and black olive and pesto.

After my past experiments trying to make bonet myself, I thought I’d better try the real thing, which is reliably excellent here. And so it was again.

And this one’s for Howard (these guys live in a cabinet at Croce di Malta)

Yesterday’s lunch was a delight, in the clean bright and delicious world of Croce di Malta in central Parma.

I’d had a wretched supper the night before, ill-advisedly following an internet recommendation of Trattoria Corrieri, a place I’d passed a thousand times last year when I lived in Parma, but never went in, thinking it smacked of tourist haven. Too many tables, for one thing I guess. When I entered and saw it was apparently owned by the same people who owned Gallo d’Oro (which one of my classmates had been disappointed by), Enoteca i Merli – another nearby eatery – and a disco club, I should have fled, but it was Monday and not that many places are open; certainly none of my favourites.

So I ordered, intrigued, the Tris di Tortelli – a selection of three pastas, two of which are local favourites I’d been wanting in my ritual way to taste again (tortelli d’erbata and tortelli di zucca) and a third that sounded like fun (one made of spalla cotta, which is a delicious salumi). When I finally got my order (after it had been delivered to and half consumed by the man at the next table and whisked away and re-cooked and re-routed without a word of apology from the grim faced waitress) it was lacklustre; all of the tortelli were bland and uninteresting. The melanzane parmigiana which followed it was truly horrible: tough, poorly cooked eggplant and utterly lacking in visual or gustatory charm. The waitress never reappeared – ashamed I hope of her own and her kitchen’s performance – so I left, my only enduring gift a morning after headache from the house wine.

And this is what I got at Croce di Malta. Parmigiana di carciofi – made with fresh artichokes, and every bit as good as the one I had there a year ago.

Followed by zucchini alla scapece with smoked provolone, more a salad since it was served at room temperature. I was told the zucchini had been prepared with oil, a little vinegar and fresh mint; they like to make this with vegetables such as zucchini and eggplant. It was utterly amazing, the zucchini tender and lightly but thoroughly flavoured.

And to finish things off, a beautiful crema caramelata – freckled with vanilla and perfectly smooth and just the right size.

And of course, a caffe macchiato to finish, the milk properly frothed to the right silky consistency.