Stalking Greens in Spain

The food in Spain makes me wary – it’s highly nationalistic – no one tires here of tortilla española, patata bravas, manchego, and jamon. Eggs, Potatoes, Cheese and Pork. SAVE ME. It’s enough to make me give up on trying to find a salad as I perused the menus at the open-air cafes along what is commonly referred to as the golden triangle – the blocks between Madrid’s three great museums – the Prado, Reina Sofia, and Thyssen-Bornemsiza – where our hotel is situated. A salad according to every menu lacks the thing that I consider the key ingredient – greens, lettuce, a vegetable of any kind. So it was fortunate that we stumbled into La Taperîa and ordered grilled octopus, a salad of spinach, beets and fennel, baked potatoes in their jackets with an array of fresh made sauces of cilantro, aioli and that spicy brava sauce, as well as bottard, a sheep’s cheese aged in a similar way to manchego but richer in taste.

And it was there that I realized I was entering into this impending joy state of mind.

Afterwards, we hit the playground hard until one of the little Spanish toddlers peed by the slide then it was time to go; we got one of the ubiquitous calypso ice pops and listened to an outdoor concert under the Caixa and stopped into a boutique and bought a ring for Tin’s girlfriend back home. The ring’s large stone had a pattern very similar to a Klimpt painting. Then we strolled down the paseo in the dark to Neptune’s fountain where he was lit up like the God he is but then quickly, sticky hands and all, made our way back to the hotel to sleep again.

Tomorrow’s agenda – Prado or Le Corbusier exhibit at the CaixaForum. Hmmm, such wonderful decisions, who could choose?

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