[Slapsie Maxie]

So, enough of the navel gazing, today, our last day, was all about the food.

Before I begin, some observations about the trip, Spain in general and the coast in particular and about me.

1) I needed this trip more than it is possible to describe. I was, subconsciously dying inside from the pressures of work, the pressures of two decaying friendships, both of which thankfully have been put out of our misery with no great loss on either side, and worry about health, my own and primarily that of my mother. There is a huge amount to be said for the restorative nature of The Costa with its beautiful weather ( today excepted ) even more stunning scenery and young ladeez that leave both in the shade. After one week of this I AM BACK. I AM MAD. I AM BLACK ( well anglo-asian actually ) I AM BAD ( bad means good in “street” BTW ) Now fully holidayed, I shall be officially unbearable

2) Spain, remains the country, outside of my own where I feel most at ease. It is an extra- ordinary place. The people are at once welcoming and yet private, fun loving yet capable of moments of extreme sobriety. Recent events have shown them at their best. Not for them the garment renting or gnashing of teeth, but a quiet determination to show that they are “as mad as hell and just not going to take it any more” The expulsion of the former government for lies that make Blair look like Helen Keller is something they wear on their chest as a badge of pride and they look to the UK and US to have the courage to do the same. I am not sure we will be the measure of their question

3) I have been unashamedly touristy this holiday and proud of it. I have traipsed around sights of interest with my companion, cooing at the splendours of Ronda and The Alhambra, I have also spent equally enjoyable moments sitting in seafront restaurants with the rest of the sunburned throng ( and yes, I did get a burnt bonce in answer to the unasked question ) while pointing and saying “Uno Bierio” I have regressed to the point where I think that saying the same thing in English again and again but louder is the same as making an attempt to speak Spanish.. That being said, I have had my more echt moments. I have ordered my tapas with due aplomb and walked without fear in the small bars and café’s of the back streets of Malaga. In that sense I am an explorer. I have gone where no fat, fortysomething slaphead has gone, well, if not before, at least not since I was last here.

4) The Spanish view of food and eating is exactly the same as my own. If it had a mom & pop, kill it and eat it. The younger you kill it and eat it, the better. I have seldom seen such small legs of lamb or piggie. I have certainly never seen calamaritos on a menu in the UK or US. Here, plates of the practically embryonic squid are ubiquitous. Like the Spanish, I am of the “get great ingredients and don’t fuck about with them too much” school.

5) Like the Spanish, I think bread is better left to the French. Spanish bread is universally horrid and is designed with low carb eaters in mind. It is not that it is, in itself low carb. It is just so fucking disgusting that you would not want to touch it giving you the same low glycemic benefit. However, like me, the Spanish feel that a day without chocolate is a day wasted. Splendid people

6) I like fried food.

7) I Like Spanish women even more, with the obvious exception of those who look like they were the inspiration for the VW Beetle. They are a feisty breed and I would have no problem if any of them wanted to tell me I was a very naughty boy indeed

8) The Spanish attitude to booze is also something of which I heartily approve. An early morning “heart starter” is not frowned upon as a sign of alcoholism, rather it is a sign that, like all sensible people, you understand that a drop of Brandy at 8am is ideal for getting ones circulation up to snuff for a hard day. The sheer variety of booze is bewildering, from the vast array of sherry and brandy to the selection, even in the most down at heel of bars, of decent wines all at good prices, puts the UK tax levys to shame. For shame Gordon Brown, For shame.

9) Spaniards should not be allowed to drive. The steering wheel seems to be something “other people use” and it is, apparently, perfectly legal to shave, apply makeup or do yoga or all three at once, while driving at 90 mph. I have not been so scared since I saw my ex wife on the morning after our wedding. I have had to buy extra underwear.

So, the final day began with us being awoken by one of the violent storms that hit the coast from time to time. By the time we had staggered out of bed, it has subsided enough for us to consider heading out.

We pointed the car towards Mijas where my chum and I promised ourselves we would walk the mile or so up the mountain from the Old town to a small church seated quietly in the rocks. It is a heck of a walk and even more so as the cold I had developed had moved to my chest. Still, after much wheezing, complaining and exclamations of “ leave me here , save yourself” we reached the church just as the Lord, as if by way of reward, allowed the sun to break through the clouds and smother the whole of the coast in its rays. The view from atop the hill is indescribably beautiful and you can see the coast for miles in all direction. So quiet was it up there that you could discern individual voices rising up from Mijas below.

Afterwards we headed towards Fuengirola for a last cup of steaming hot chocolate and some crisp, freshly fried churro. The chocolate was a little thinner than before, but the churro were the best we have had yet and all the better for not being dusted in sugar.

Then to the supermarket to pick up some bits & bobs for the trip home. I have packed my suitcase with a wide variety of Iberico products, some of the amazing chocolate they use to melt for the hot choccy drink and enough nuts and broad beans to sink one of the small trawlers you see in Fuengirola harbour.

Lunch was a picnic of stuff bought at the supermarket. Fabulous, plates of lomo, and cercedo, some manchego, tomatoes, pickled garlic, olives, crisps cooked in olive oil, Costilla ( lamb ribs ) brough from the supermarket already prepared, juicy, fatty and perfect, fruit. All washed down with a couple of cans of Mahou. Why am I going home again?

Then the last of those decadent afternoon naps which confirms that I am on vacation before heading into town for the last meal of the trip

1) Meson Galan – A small Bodega in the backstreets of Fuengirola which was opened by a retiring Matador called, er Galan. We had a nice glass of Oloroso by way of introducing this rich drink to my friend

2) RESTAURANT PORTOFINO – is another of my parents favourites on the coast and is, despite its Italianate name, considered one of the best Spanish restaurants on Mijas coasta. It is run by a grumpy man called Giovanni who my father once announced in a stage whishper was as “charming as Mussolini’s Grandson” However, over the years, he has mellowed and made all the right sympathetic noises when I explained why my parents had not been in to see them for such a long time.

We began, pleasingly enough with some Gambas Pil-Pil and some bocquerones. Both really good examples of their type

The Speciality of the house is the Paella which has to be ordered at least 48 hours in advance as it is not on the menu. Unlike the ersatz versions in other places, this is the real Mcoy.. The stock takes a day to prepare and the dish includes

Calamaritos
Octopus
Welks
Small Shrimp
Large Shrimp
Three types of clam
Mussels
Pork
Veal
Chicken

It all comes in a stock plumped rice with peas, pimenton and saffron rich. It is one of the finest things I have ever eaten. I would urge anyone who is in this part of the coast to order it. A steal at EU25 for two

We drank a bottle of Conde De Valdemar Crianza which at EU17.50 was about what I pay in Oddbins for a bottle

We could not move at the end of the paella ( the most carbs I have ingested in about 3 years ) so got the bill which was a very decent EU62 for two.

Followed by a walk on the beach as the waves pounded the shore and then by a decent size Soberano, this was a perfect way to end an almost perfect trip

Finally, let me say again, in case I have not laboured the point enough. I love Spain. Every last bit of it. From the bars of Madrid, to the bustling hustlers of The Costa. From the elegance of The Alhambra to the fabulously mysterious game shows on TV where the rules seem to be “the lady with least clothes and the largest breasts wins” this is without doubt the greatest country on the face of God’s earth. If you have been here, why are you not rushing back? If you have not been here, you do not know what you are missing. Your life will be incomplete without a cup of dark rich chocolate and some piping hot crisp churros in the morning, a trip to see the Velasquez paintings of crippled fools at The Prado in Madrid, a plate of fried fish by the beach in Los Boliches, a nap in the afternoon, a wander around the old town of Ronda or the Museo Picasso in Malaga, a few pre-dinner glasses of Manzanilla with some pinchot of morcilla in the backstreets of Fuengirola, a wonderful supper with a glass or three of Protos, a promenade along the seafront and a final lingering glass of Pacheran before heading home to dream dreams of olive skinned women or slim hipped Joaquin Cortez lookalikes, as is your want.

I am already planning my return, why aren’t you?

S

[Wilfrid1]

Oh I am, I am. You speak much truth. London and New York aside, if I could live anywhere in the world it would be Barcelona. And, happily, the game shows on Latin American TV in the States are run along much the lines you describe.

I had been torn between returning to Madrid or Barcelona this year, but now I'll have to consider this area too.

[clb]

Home? Not yet, Simon, please; I've been so enjoying the daily episode.

clb