Andalusia is lively flavor

“Dare to taste and share without prejudice. ”

The south of Spain everything can amaze you: its andalusí (Hispano-Arabic) architecture, the scent of orange blossom, the luminous sky of its beaches, the works of its famous natives Velázquez and Murillo, its narrow streets with flowery balconies or its flamenco singing and dancing, to name just a few.

In my case, thanks to my Sevillian friends, I discovered in Andalusia the taste of delicacies that I never thought I would dare to try.

I had the good fortune to visit them on two occasions, both equally captivating.

In the year 2000, when my immaturity still made me answer "no, thanks" to the invitation to an Iberian ham, Juan Luis (father) angrily, although maintaining his cordiality, gave me the order to try it since I was going to eat a ham from a pig fed exclusively with acorns from his Serrano field. The slice was thin, almost translucent, its texture smooth and its flavor simply delicious. His smile at my acceptance was evidence of the pride he took in raising these animals in his land full of cork oaks. "You've just tasted a real ham today," he exclaimed.

What to say about the tapas night in the Santa Cruz neighborhood!

A few sandwiches in one bar, a shot in another, often without even knowing or daring to ask what exactly they were.

And so the hours passed until around midnight they hurried through the little streets to get to the bar -if my memory does not betray me- El Tamboril. Well, the fact that I was a guest did not allow much questioning, so I followed their instructions as to where to sit in that narrow place. At twelve o'clock a singer came out who, to the sound of his guitar, began to sing a Salve a la Virgen.

The passion with which the music was born from his hoarse voice and aching strings shook me and I remember the emotion to this day.

Then followed a bit of flamenco and the jarana even led me to imitate a few steps of such a sensual dance. The joy, I dare say, was shared by both the hosts and the guest.

Almost ten years after those magical days, I returned to Seville to visit my dear friends, without imagining all the new experiences they were going to offer me as well as their wise advice.

I remember both the sweet taste of Inés Rosales' oil cakes and the story told by my hosts. Inés started selling them on the street and ended up forging a huge company. What delicacies!

At night, a few steps away from that apartment with a tremendous view of the Guadalquivir, El Candil awaited us in the Los Remedios neighborhood. What confusion Google Maps gave me when it indicated that it is located at Avenida Adolfo Suárez 14... In my fragile memory the way of the González Marcos family (my friends) had always been Avenida Carrero Blanco... It turns out that globalization is such that not only do we share the pandemic virus, but we also have the same habits of changing the name of the streets in those latitudes due to or "thanks" -as defined by the ABC newspaper of Seville- to the Law of Historical Memory.

Anyway.... indeed, Andalusian haute cuisine was going to be the star of that night, marinated with exciting stories of my great friend, a charming character. His imprint was gentle and his warmth unique.

He gave some indications and a string of dishes paraded across our table.

I felt that his eagerness that night was to teach me to enjoy those flavors as much as life itself. He talked to me about work, about the gift and about fear and the importance of facing them with courage. Graciela, for her part, accompanied me reflecting on freedom in small cities like hers and mine Salta: "It's better to be envied than pitied" was her maxim, because, as she said, "people are always looking for your sorrow".

That day I ate boquerones (the crunchy fried fish), scrambled cod, fried lamb brains and cameralized eggplant with cane honey. All foods that -in theory- were not to my liking. How ironic!

Just when I thought that this feast for the palate was over, the maître came with a plate of oxtail, ready to separate the meat from the bone with just a spoon and to invite us to share it. My prejudices this time did not even dare to appear, what an ambrosia!

The next day we visited the Maria Luisa Park; the small castle baptized the Costurero de la Reina; the impressive Cathedral with its Giralda. Then a drive along the waterfront, passing by the Torre del Oro, the pavilions of the Expo Iberoamericana of 1929, the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza and even crossed the Puente del Alamillo designed by Santiago Calatrava, a first cousin of Puerto Madero in Buenos Aires.

I believe that this tour was orchestrated by Juan Luis so that we would arrive with an appetite at the steakhouse restaurant.

Manolo, the waiter, brought us Iberian ham from my host as soon as we got to our seats - what a pride for him and for me! Then I lived the curious experience of finishing cooking the tender meat on a hot ceramic plate placed on the table. To top it off, I was told to season it with a very rare salt, which years later a gourmet friend recommended to me: Maldón salt. It is made of crystals extracted thanks to a particular phenomenon that occurs in the county of Essex, England.

That shower of salty flakes not only seasoned the steak but also embellished it like a display of stars in their universe.

The banquet ended with tocino del cielo, a kind of a more compact flan, and a mandarin sorbet... How difficult it is for me to describe those singular flavors!

The walk through the villages of the Huelva mountains had a magic of its own. Arriving at his farm, Juan Luis proudly showed me his pigs, trying hard to transmit his passion for them and for life.

Later, in Castaño del Robledo, his hometown of a generalized immaculate white, we shared his childhood home and the charcuterie where he cured and preserved his hams, while he continued to instruct me selflessly. We said goodbye with another unforgettable dinner. Mushroom scrambled eggs, potato omelet, gazpacho and croquettes. Before leaving we closed with a shot of caramelized vodka.

I celebrate Andalusian gastronomy, which meant my culinary maturity, and even more I celebrate my friendship with Sevillians, who contributed to my personal development in those years of change.

Cheers and to your memory, my immortal friend Juan Luis!