SPANISH SUNDAY LUNCH: BALLS AND ALL
I have been down in Andalucia for exactly a month, working on the book
In that time, it has been “Groundhog Day” every day.
Wake up, breakfast, write, swim, write, lunch, write, supper, write, Smallville (terribly sorry, but I don’t have many English channels) sleep
So, this weekend, with the first draft of EAT MY GLOBE just about completed, I decided to take a weekend off and enjoy myself.
I headed down to Fuengiorola yesterday, to the local market and bought a leg of baby lamb, which I was delighted to find came with a little testicle attached. With it, a crescent of perfect morcilla de Ronda, not sloppy like its Leon cousin or plumped with rice as its more famous Burgos relative. But, spicy and redolent of Andalucia’s Moorish heritage.
A little snack before hand of some Costialla Iberico, slow cooked so the meat began to fall off the bone. Washed down with a cold Cruzcampo. Then on to the Morcilla served with a Protos Crianza 2004, with lots of vanilla to counterpoint to the spice.
The leg was, if I say so myself, rather good. Crispy skinned and pink inside, I served with a luke warm ratatouille with plenty of local garlic.
Now, I am on the balcony of the apartment with a rather too large glass of Carlos Primera watching a gaggle of twenty some things, in skimpy bikinis, play volley ball.
I may have almost finished the book, but I may never come home.