[Rail Paul]

Jonathan Reynolds writes about a recent trip to Spain. He notes that the chefs designed several of the serving / tasting implements

La Brocha

While using superb produce, for instance, Mr. Arola mixes sea urchin, pea juice and a complicated cream of seaweed and boletus mushrooms at the bottom of a nearly conical white bowl (like all the other china, designed by the chef), on top of which, at the very last moment, the waiter ladles what appears to be the yolk of a quail's egg that's been dyed green.

La Cumbre des Casares

This is a working person's restaurant, providing the worker's collar is white, as Pozuelo is said to be one of the richest suburbs in Spain. The three of us managed a bill of $326 - much of this thanks to our host's insistence that we sample just about the entire menu, including two superb liters of Spanish white, a jeroboam and a liter of its reds,

Restaurante Arce

The ones at Arce were particularly good. First, a golf-ball-sized chunk of meaty rice I didn't remember ordering appeared, followed by three thin strips of house-smoked cod, venison and salmon carpaccio, each complementing the other; then a perfectly deep-fried croquette filled with a creamy codfish-enveloped shrimp resting on a mild tomato sauce; this was followed by spanking fresh shafts of fat white alternating with slim green asparagus in a mousseline (orange-flavored hollandaise) sauce, which highlighted the differences between the two varieties.

La Broche, Miguel Angel, 29, (34-91) 399-3437. Closed Saturday and Sunday. Reservations essential.

La Cumbre de Casares, Via Dos Castillas, 23, (34-91) 351-1170. Closed Monday. Reservations not accepted.

Restaurante Arce, 32, Augusto Figueroa 32, (34-91) 522-5913. Closed Sunday; Saturday dinner only. Reservations recommended.

Dassa Bassa, Villalar 7, (34-91) 576-7397. Closed Sunday and Monday. Reservations essential.

Madrid area

[Wilfrid1]

More on La Broche right here.

I suppose I should give up the struggle with the NYT's: "The surroundings flirt with pretension, but then so does 'The Iceman Cometh'." Meaning what, exactly? 'The Iceman Cometh' flirts with pretension, but it still a good play? And why that play, particularly? And what, other than the title, is pretensious about it?

[Daisy]

Wilfrid, on Jun 6 2005, 02:19 PM, said:

More on La Broche right here.

I suppose I should give up the struggle with the NYT's: "The surroundings flirt with pretension, but then so does 'The Iceman Cometh'." Meaning what, exactly? 'The Iceman Cometh' flirts with pretension, but it still a good play? And why that play, particularly? And what, other than the title, is pretensious about it?

Ironic, since Reynolds' writing, IMO, often flirts with pretension. He is, among other offenses, a horrible name-dropper.

[Miguel Gierbolini]

Anyone spend some time at El Museo del Jamón. Ahhhh Madrid, pan tumaca, jamón iberico, some churros, couple of cañas . . .

[Wilfrid1]

The Museo chain has expanded considerably - they are all over the place.

I will post more about my recent visit over the next few days. But how hard it is to leave a country where the ordinary, everyday standard of eating is so high. I swear, you can get a better sandwich at a railway buffet in Spain than at [insert name of fancy NYC sandwich emporium here].

[Steven Dilley]

Rail Paul, on Jun 5 2005, 10:24 AM, said:

La Cumbre des Casares

This is a working person's restaurant, providing the worker's collar is white, as Pozuelo is said to be one of the richest suburbs in Spain. The three of us managed a bill of $326 - much of this thanks to our host's insistence that we sample just about the entire menu, including two superb liters of Spanish white, a jeroboam and a liter of its reds,

I've been unable to find any additional information on this place. Anyone?

[Rail Paul]

From the article, but it's the only reference I could find.

La Cumbre de Casares

However, you can eat like a normal human being in Madrid, too. Just outside of town (seven and a half miles, 20 minutes by taxi) in Pozuelo, this perennially full family-run restaurant features more than 160 items on its menu, including most of the hams, shellfish and canapés Spain has to offer. ''See that couple?'' asked our host, Bill O'Hale, as we strolled in at 9 p.m. ''They're just finishing lunch.''

The two large, raffish rooms, which spill out onto the sidewalk, signal that this is a place where ties and jackets are virtually against the law. We were lucky to have the genial Mr. O'Hale, headmaster of the American School in Madrid, guide us through the vast menu, though based on this one elephantine tasting, it would appear that if you like a particular ingredient -- steamed mussels in a pepper sauce, say, or shrimp grilled in a half-inch of olive oil and garlic, or any one of a bunch of pâtés, porks, cheeses, eggs -- it will be heartily prepared here.

Desserts, which sound as banal as fried milk (a wonderful custard) and a puff pastry filled with whipped cream, are actually delicious. The ambience is noisy and cheerful, though we never had difficulty talking or being heard. (This was true of all the restaurants I visited in Madrid. New York should take note.)

This is a working person's restaurant, providing the worker's collar is white, as Pozuelo is said to be one of the richest suburbs in Spain. The three of us managed a bill of $326 -- much of this thanks to our host's insistence that we sample just about the entire menu, including two superb liters of Spanish white, a jeroboam and a liter of its reds, and a half bottle of Omivire, a dessert wine so good Red wouldn't let us have any. Less gluttonous and enthusiastic diners could probably fill stomachs and spirits substantially for $64 apiece.

[Maurice Naughton]

Clearly, I've been away from Spain far too long. Last time I was there, Franco was still in power and soldiers with machine pistols in front of the local barracones made us walk in the street ro get around them, instead of between them and the barracks entrance. And I'd never heard of cava, vino de Moriles-Montilla, jamon iberico, pan tumaca, champignon al ajillo, and sopa Juliana.

Youth IS wasted on the young.