Friday, April 5, 2013

In Bloom


Spring is officially here, but only according to the calendar.  We all know it doesn’t feel like spring just yet, and I must say I will be so happy when the warmer weather actually arrives for good.  We had a couple of days where we got just a taste of the warm weather and then the wind quickly blew the cold air back, reminding us how unpredictable spring really can be.  I’m not only looking forward to warm weather but also the lovely and delicate flavors of spring produce that warmer weather brings.  We are coming out of the culinary doldrums of stews and heavy meals, and spring is the first bounty of more to come.  I savor each day of the soft warmth before summer brings on the unbearable heat and humidity us Southerners know so well. 
Taking a peek at restaurant menus this past weekend it is evident that spring is here in full force with the debut of green garlic, spring onions, asparagus, spring peas, and artichokes.  Soon there will be ramps, and in about a month or so we’ll see my most favorite of all: soft-shell crabs.  I look forward to soft-shell crab season much like a kid looks forward to Christmas day, or you could say I liken my enthusiasm for soft-shells the same as a kid in a candy store.  I anticipate this time of year each spring, scouting who will have them on their menus, making a reservation anywhere I can get my hands on these elusive little delights.  My first taste of a soft-shell crab was during my culinary internship working at a restaurant in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.  My job was to prep the soft-shells for frying, scraping out their gills and cutting off their little faces, placing them in rows on a tray for the pantry chef to dredge in flour and cornmeal to fry for a soft-shell sandwich.  The experience didn’t turn me off, but rather intrigued me and I was lucky enough to try one after lunch service one day, and have been hooked ever since. Soft-shell season only lasts about a week, maybe two if you’re lucky (at least here in the Upstate).  To me there’s an art to eating soft-shell crabs just like eating blue crabs in Maryland, just less complicated.  I like to pull the legs off first, eating them one by one, leaving the meaty body for the last bites of consumption.  I’ll be on the lookout for these guys, and as soon as they are ready, the soft-shell frenzy will commence.
One of my best spring memories is from a trip taken four years ago in early spring to Spain to visit Catalonia and the Basque Country.  The weather wasn’t warm quite just yet, actually it very cold and snowed on our last day visiting Rioja.
Tempranillo vineyards at Ysios winery in Rioja
Snowy front view of Ysios winery
After being in Barcelona for a few days visiting La Boqueria (the sprawling outdoor food market), the Picasso museum, and countless tapas bars we took a trip to Sant Sandurni d’Anoia just thirty minutes northwest in the Alt Penedes region to visit the birthplace of Cava.  As a lover of all things bubbly, I felt compelled to visit the region.  Cava is the famed sparkling wine of Spain made the traditional way like Champagne with the secondary fermentation done in the bottle, but with different grape varieties than Champagne with the exception of Chardonnay.  Typically, cava is aged on the lees for a minimum of nine months, while the non-vintage cuvees of Champagne are aged on the lees for fifteen months before disgorgement.  We set up a visit with the producer Recaredo, a small cava producer (and I say small compared to Codorniu and Freixenet who produce millions of bottles every year) that makes only single vintage and brut nature cavas, which is a stark contrast to some of the larger producers in the area.  Recaredo was established in 1924 right in the heart of town by Josep Mata Capellades and named in honor after his father Recaredo Mata Figueres.  On the way we stopped and overlooked dormant vineyards of gnarled vines of Macabeo, Parallada, and Xarel-lo, taking in the view of the rolling hills and Montserrat Mountains on the horizon.  After being welcomed at the winery, we toured the cellar where thousands of bottles were being aged on their lees, passing dusty bottles waiting their turn to be made into finished wine.  Once we came to the bottling area, we were given a demonstration on disgorgement, my first before doing it myself this past harvest in Oregon.  Everything here from riddling to disgorging is all done by hand.  Finally, we were able to taste these wines and were presented a flight of four cavas: rose brut nature cava, brut nature cava, brut de brut nature cava, and a gran reserva brut nature cava.  Spine tingling delicious.  All of these cavas were bone dry, complex and distinctive because of the aging and care put into making them.  Far superior to any other cavas I’ve had before.  I asked our guide Alex if these wines were imported into the United States.  He replied that they were looking at Neal Rosenthal, one of the best wine importers in the country, period.  I felt like we had discovered a hidden gem there in the cava world and selfishly wanted to keep this place just to ourselves. 
After our winery visit it was time for lunch.  Our guide gave us two options and we chose a country restaurant whose specialty was calcots (pronounced call-shots).  I was so excited because I had seen this on Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations where a party gathered to cook spring onions over a fire then buried them in the ground to get the bulbs tender, and devoured the spring delicacies.  The calcots we had were charred on the outside and then wrapped in newspaper to steam and get soft, then placed before us on a small platter with a small cup of romesco sauce.  When they arrived I could barely contain my excitement.  We were instructed on how to eat them and quickly dove in.  We pulled the charred outside downward, exposing the tender bulb and dipping the onion into the romesco sauce.  A bolt of sheer enjoyment surged through my body.  By the time we were done our hands and mouths were black from eating the calcots but didn’t care because this messy treat was well worth the effort.  More food came of once the calcots were gone; we dined on braised pig’s feet and finished drinking Moscatel from a porron.  Careful trying not to miss my mouth, I still ended up pouring it down my face onto my sweater.  I felt content as we headed back for Barcelona in fog of too much wine and too much food.  So far, it has been one of my most memorable and pleasurable meals of my life.
Drinking from the porron at the Andre Tamers dinner at AGR
Unfortunately, we discovered that pictures from this trip are currently MIA after I began looking for some to use for this blog post.  For now, all I have are a couple of pictures taken from a disposable camera and one from a dinner here in Greenville.


No comments:

Post a Comment