-By Danny Mellman

No longer a redheaded stepchild, Spain is the birthplace of some of the best in gastronomical delights. While the world may still be just discovering this culinary gem, it’s a designation Spanairds have always known.

Despite the push for tighter regulations, better labeling, fat removal, “all-natural” and “organic,” Americans are still obese and unhealthy; unaware and uninformed. How is it that Europeans — in particular, the people from the Mediterranean countries — eat more (lots of fats and cured meats), drink more, smoke more … and are still healthier and live longer?

As a chef-cum-food-writer, I am passionate about all things culinary: hunting, fishing, foraging, growing and seeing all foods — from the tiniest whitebait, the creamiest blue cheese, the best favas, peanut-sized, bejeweled tomatoes, I love food! What amazes me is that in this self-proclaimed American melting pot — the amalgam of history, cultures and immigrants; a country with so many talented chefs and great restaurants — the food available to average Americans is “garbage.” Is it the search for new foods or just the “almighty dollar” (not so mighty now) that drives our diets? Hamburger with less meat than chemicals; engineered tomatoes, crunchy and mealy but ripe-looking on the outside; or commercialized “free-range” chickens that are able to leave their tumultuous, scat-laden coops for 15 minutes a day (in fact, the door is open, but they are paralyzed to move).

Food is in the eyes of the beholder — you can see it, feel it, know it, whether you are speaking to a chef, a farmer or the little boy who shells peas for his father. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Spain, whose cuisine used to be the “redheaded stepchild” of French food. The region’s topography and microclimates are all conducive to premier foodstuff, but what really drives the Spanish palate? Only France and Germany garner more Michelin stars, and that is quickly changing. There have been many food revolutions here: the old school-new food of Juan Marie Arzak and his petite, indomitable daughter, Helena, or the intrepid, Daliesque gastro-genius of food chemists Ferran and Albert Adria are relative newcomers to the pure essence that is the Spanish food scene. Is it an inherent lifestyle factor, an extra food “gene” or the fact that the plenitude of perfect, natural, untouched, unmanipulated products grown, raised or made here leaves no room for bad cuisine?

I have long thought the incredible cuisines of Spain are so poorly underrated. And every time I travel back and discover more about Spanish products and cuisines, this thought becomes crystallized.

My first visit to Asturias — one of the four northernmost autonomous coastal regions, the other three being Galicia, Cantabria and the Basque, long known for incredible seafood, apples, cider and over 40 indigenous cheeses — came about through Asturex, International Promotion Office of The Princedom of Asturias, which had organized the trip for their annual export show. Buyers from all over the world came to view the enormous variety of foodstuff this small, seemingly little-regarded region offers. I have been cooking fabada and eating Cabrales for years, never knowing whence they originated.

This tiny principality, named after the Celtic Astures, is made up of three major cities of Aviles, Gijon and Oviedo, with a population of approximately one million. It was not the cluster of small villages and farmland I expected. My first sight, off the bus in Aviles, was of a sunset over towering smoke stacks and factories. The north was and still partially is the industrial Spain. Though it is known as “the Green Spain” due to its many limestone peaks, national parks and waterways, the north has always been driven by industry. The industrial revolution began here in the 1830s, with the exploitation of great coal and iron resources, but flourished during the rule of Francisco Franco, who developed huge steel manufacturing and fabrication industries here. These small communities had ample ports and mining. The local food production thrived but wasn’t exemplary, though it continued to grow with the influx of workers, which greatly expanded this northernmost region. Protected by mountains on three sides and the ominous Cantabrian coast on the other, these relatively secluded and strong-willed native people continued the development of their own life and cuisine, despite the growing population. Very proud, the population has maintained its heritage; a smile broadens as they speak of their formidable history.

The seemingly rugged and forbidding geography gave rise to a wide variety of eating and growing. Snow in the mountains and sun on the beaches. Hot humid summers cooled by windblown rain, mild winters with many cold snaps. The steep, rocky cliffs tufted with bright green grazing fields. A natural paradise, where myriad valleys extend in every direction and the Atlantic climate gives way to ideal pastures, favoring the herding of various animals — cows, goats and sheep, and the production of many types of dairy products and blends.*

The Bay of Biscay, notably some of the cleanest of seas, produces incredible seafood. The deep, lush valleys produce 26 varieties of apples, the famed Fabes (white beans) and wonderful kiwis — yes, that crazy green fruit — making Spain one of the top kiwi producers and the No. 1 consumer (the kiwi consumption in Spain is 3.4 kg or 7.48 pounds per person to 50 grams or 1.79 ounces per person in the United States). The Fabes, local IGO designate white beans, the building block for most Asturian dishes, have the unique ability to absorb four times the normal amount of liquid without bursting or becoming mushy.

This is clearly not mid or southern Spain, with its year-round cavalcade of produce, yet the potatoes and other roots grown here are some of the tastiest I have had. The long chilly fall, winter and spring have fostered a heartier, warming cuisine — that of cured meats, soups, stews, preserves and full-flavored cheeses to match the whole-grain breads. The “sidre,” a natural, sparkling cider, the traditional alcoholic drink, is a curious, ageless beverage. El Escanciado is the practice of pouring the sidre, holding the bottle above the head and glass below the waist. A seeming bar trick, this long-distance pour — like the “pulled tea” of Malaysia and Singapore — aerates the liquid, which then “breaks” in the special thin-walled sidre glass to create its effervescence.

Then there is the “longaniza” (local sausage) with rich, velvety, amber boiled potatoes. Every menu has Fabada, the quintessential Asturian stew of fabes, “morcilla” (blood sausage), pork and chorizo. The rich Asturian beef, highly flavored and marbled, from animals that forage in the verdant grasses of the hillsides, runs a close second to the multitude of “embutidos” (stuffed/casings) and cured meats. The variety of shapes, sizes and flavors rivals any charcuterie or salumeria; morcilla, longaniza, chorizo, “cecina” (barely air-dried beef), “lachon,” “tochinos” and “salsicon,” just to start. Each town has its own little goodies, not to mention the local use of game, such as “ciervo” (deer) and “jabali” (true, wild boar). The desserts — other than the wonderful local berries — are also substantial: arroz con leche, a brule-style rice pudding; flan; warm fudge; pan perdu, a bread pudding, hot and crunchy on the outside, cool and creamy on the inside. There are also local spirits — aruxo, eau de vie, natural, flavored with honey or herbs — any of which can make you very happy indeed.

The small city center of Aviles is reminiscent of any port town: cobblestones, old town, churches, fountains, markets and eateries. Quite possibly the best seafood ever, incredibly clean, fresh and expertly prepared with a complex simplicity. My meals here were spot on, no clam overcooked, no mushy rice or seasoning too strong. The simple foods of heart and history are de rigueur here; one such spot is the Casa Lin, an unobtrusive hanging sign, small fish display in the window and the musty perfume of old sidre wafting out the door. I managed two meals here in three days! Smoke filled the air of this larger-than-expected restaurant; mostly older, local men playing cards, some businesspersons and me. Two grumpy waiters, with their sidre-soaked shoes, arguing about something, anything. They tell you what to eat and drink, and drop the plates as if they were bags of sand; and yet, when you taste the perfection of the food you are eating, you embrace the salt air and the sea.


Steamed “percebus” (gooseneck barnacle, only harvested in the north of Spain); plancha-seared razor clams with local red garlic; “sepia” (cuttlefish) so tender, in its own ink with tiny glistening jet-black pearls of rice; coal-grilled sea bass. No garnish, just local sea salt and olive oil — the purity of the food speaks to you.

I had met Rafael Olivo Climas Gonzalez, the owner/operator of La Isla Kiwi at the Asturex show, and though kiwi falls well below seafood, sausages and cheese on my must-eat list, the young entrepreneur was so enthusiastic in his offer to take me to his farm that I gladly accepted. The early morning excursion, which included a rowboat ride to this island orchard in the middle of the tidal Nalon River, brought a lesson in the history of kiwi and concluded with a lunch invitation, something I never turn down.

Rafael and I drove into the hills to a small mountain hamlet called San Roman; there is a train, a bar, a restaurant, a butcher and a hardware store. This small village is known for its wonderful, oddly shaped, pink and white mottled small, wild strawberries and ancient Paleolithic cave paintings.

We parked on a gravel spot on an overgrown lot and walked across the street to a small house, which turned out to be the second restaurant in town, El Llar de Viri. The owner/chef/hostess/server, a diminutive, rose-cheeked woman with an infectious smile, greeted Raphael and me like family; we were the only ones in the restaurant. We took a quick tour of the kitchen, garden, fruit trees, kiwi ... and then sat and sat, waiting for lunch.

Ruby tomatoes, sweetened by the sun, with pepper and oregano from the garden and local olive oil. Pastel de Morcilla, a warm soufflé made of house-cured blood sausage, local cream and eggs served with crusty, cracked-wheat bread. A fluted antique platter was covered in paper-thin house-smoked jamon. A small casserole arrived with roasted, sliced chorizo and onions, the orange-hued juices sputtering, sending a plume of oak and pimenton lust into the air. As we munched, gazing out the small paned, wavy glass farmhouse windows, I saw Viri (the owner/hostess) in and out, in and out, what was the problem? Rafael told me that Viri gathers as needed — the eggs, oregano, fruits, tomatoes, even the chicken. It’s anyone’s guess who actually owns the bird, since I didn’t see any coops or fences! My simple main was two lime-sized pig cheeks, perfectly braised, with onions, “setas” (a local porcini mushroom) and red wine; the depth of flavor created through hours of slow, covered cooking; a meal made with great local ingredients, patience and passion.

We finished with those great little magenta berries, still glistening with water, brought in by a neighbor as we ate. Three more tables came in, to turn Viri into a whirling dervish; we said our thanks and went on our way.

Gijon (He-hon), the second of the triumvirate, the largest and most city-like of the three, is quite diverse, with lovely golden beaches, a beautiful yacht basin, promenade and an old town. It also boasts the largest population, with a mix of businesses, industry, a football team and a National Aquarium, Acuario de Gijon. In general, Gijon seemed more commercial, with more cafes brandishing Coke and fast food. By the same respect, there is a good transit system and many opportunities for tourists. And as with all Spanish cities, there are numerous parks and outdoor venues, which are well utilized.

We did see many of the small towns of my expectations. Small streets, bunches of onions hanging in doorways, baskets of potatoes, “horreos” (old, raised grain stores, still in use and registered as historical buildings) and orchards abound. Even when the weather is warm and sunny, the land begs for hearty foods. Another natural resource are the hot mineral springs, the Balnerios. We went to one, encased in a 200-year-old hotel in Las Caldas, outside of Oviedo. Here, the underground hot springs, pushing 110 degree Fahrenheit mineral water into ornately tiled pools and tubs, draw visitors from around the world for the treatments and world-class dining.

Oviedo, the capital of Asturias, is nice, with many shops, restaurants, parks and and a cathedral. The old town is wonderful, with a 400-year-old university and many plazas. Wide cobblestone streets, a lovely mix of old and new architecture. Traditional butchers and bakers sandwiched between Prada and Max Mara. An interesting issue for the eateries is a lack of “building.” Many restaurants consist of 100-200 café seats outside and only a kitchen and small bar inside. Big, patchwork tents and awnings keep patrons dry/out of the sun. Once again, the draw is the seafood, stews, embutidos, cheese and sidre. While sitting at a small rickety table, enjoying a beer and fish soup made with clams and skate, I saw an exporter, Jose Gonzales, who had been at the Asturex Expo. He asked me to join him and his fiancée. Jose owns Atlantica, an exporter of premium Spanish foods, many of Asturian origin. And once again, the food flood began: oven-roasted rose clams, grilled sardines, fried fresh anchovies, saffron-braised little rock crabs. In this most casual atmosphere, without a chef in sight, our drinks sliding off our cockeyed table, I was again enjoying pristine seafood. Fish soup so good you would imagine you had to be at La Cote Basque in New York or in Marseille.

The famous cheeses of Asturias are no short story; all shapes, sizes, colors and milks, over 40 in all. From Cabrales blue and Gamoneau, a white blue, to orange/pimenton Afuega‘l Pitu to the fruity, almost crunchy, texture of aged Mahon, Tetilla, Royos, Los Beyos, La Peral, Vidiago — the list goes on. Traditional methods, wonderful milk and the elaboration within each valley have helped Asturias become one of the richest cheese-producing regions in the world.*

I heard two statements on this trip that helped me to better understand the cuisine of Spain and its relation to the lifestyle of the diverse people. The first was from Rafael Gonzalez of La Isla Kiwi: “The kiwi is alive and you cannot make it do anything other than what is natural.” And from a dairy farmer/cheesemaker of Cabrales, one of the most famous DO cheeses in Spain, when I asked how they could certify a cheese that can be made with a combination of three milks, in varying ratios, on different farms, by different people. He looked me in the eye and said, “Cabrales is a living thing, growing in a natural cave 1,000 years old, who can control that? That is Cabrales.”
Actually, that is Spain.


*1,2- Atlantica. Consorcio Expotador