WITH so much to worry about - the election, arrangements for theroyal wedding - we took some time off to consider the offal food ofBorecelona. As a part-time resident of this relatively sunny clime,the Buffer enjoys the Mediterranean diet. The salads, olive oil,garlic, blue fish, corn-fed chicken that never lived in a factory,fruit, red wine.
This is all very healthy but not as interesting as that other,slightly darker side of the Med diet - the consumption of the lesser-known parts of the animal. The Buffer's pursuit of dishes involvingbestial excrescences and internal organs was sparked by an idlecomment from my Borecelona guide. 'That restaurant, ' he said in hisperfectly conserved Kirkcaldy tones, 'does the best rabo de toro inBarcelona'.
Rabo de toro is oxtail. With all the publicity in recent yearsabout bovine pestilence, you would normally think twice about eatingthe meat from the nether end of this animal. Then you think about theBritish supermarkets clearing their shelves of millions of items withthat Sudan 1 colouring additive. What we found particularly strangeabout Sudan 1 was that as well as being an ingredient in yourshepherd's pie to die for, it was also put into shoe polish.
Which might explain why that Cherry Blossom stuff the old faitherused to put on his brogues was called oxblood red.
But back to that oxtail. Mad cow sounds sinister and off-putting.In Spanish it is vaca loca which comes across as quite cheery,perhaps a dance similar to the salsa. Suffice to say, the very nextday we were having the rabo de toro. Our guide was not wrong.
The oxtail was delicious; fragrant even, since ingredients such ascinnamon and cloves made this version different from those previouslyencountered. Your rabo normally has a thick, sweetish gravy but thisone came more in a broth, possibly because the chef here is sparingwith his addition of carrot and onion to the mix but liberal with thered wine. The rabo is labour-intensive. Once you've extracted all themeat from the nooks and crannies of the tailbone, there is muchmopping up of broth to be done with crusty bread.
But even before we could get to grips with the rabo, there was thehuevas fritas for starter. Huevos fritos, as most Brit tourists willknow, are fried eggs. What a difference an A makes. These huevasfritas were also fried eggs but of the fish variety, hake roe stillin its delicate tegument, deep-fried in a light batter and eaten witha squeeze of lemon juice. Think of the dish not as millions of unbornhake but as a savoury fish sausage and it goes down very well. It wasthe nicest piece of piscine offal we have tasted since DuncanMcGregor, legendary creator of that Brigadoon-style Glasgow pub, theUisque Beatha, fed us cod cheeks. But that was when the Uisque was awelcoming bar and not part of a chain. Now, its only saving grace isthe traditional music session of a Sunday evening. The only cheek ondisplay is from customers waiting wearily to be served, or indeedbarred if their comments are overheard by the staff.
Meanwhile, back in Boreceloneta, you are probably wondering whatis the name of this rabo de toro restaurant. So are we. The card hasbeen lost. It is called Bota-something-or-other and is to be found inthe Placa Barceloneta just behind the Fastnet Irish bar which, sincewe are handing out opinions on pubs, is probably the least-worst ofthis genre in the city. The reason we give such vague directions torestaurants is in case people go there. They may not share our tastesor, worse, occupy our table if it's busy.
One of the offal-est experiences to be had is also in Barceloneta,on a corner in the market square in a place with no name above thedoor. It's called Cova-something-or-other and on the small menu youwill find cap i pot. Cap i pot is the ultimate test for the tripehound. It is bits of bloody meat attached to much larger lumps ofglutinous animal fat.
If you find the Cova-whatever, are not put off by the charming old-fashionedness of the joint, and manage to get a table in all thechaos, maybe you had better stick to the morcilla (black pudding) andchick peas. Or, more healthily, the marinaded and baked artichokes orthe mackerel just out of the sea and slapped on the grill with asmearing of olive oil, garlic and parsley.
The rabo de toro served only to whet the appetite for pig's cheek,a dish particularly beloved in Buffer Towers. We were sent once tosample El Bulli, rated the best restaurant in the world at the time,and the inventive cooking of chef Ferran Adria was wonderful but notas good as the lunch the next day. It was in a hotel somewhere in theAlt Emporda.
Sorry, we've forgotten but just cruise about this part ofCatalunya up from Girona to the French border and you will findrewarding eating. We had pig's cheek for starters and cow's cheeksfor the second course.
The search for galtes (as pig's cheeks are called in Catalan) tookthe Buffer 20 minutes cycling (another healthy aspect of theMediterranean diet) around our barrio to find a restaurant with thedish on the menu del dia. It was worth the effort. The galtas were upto standard. They make a rich dish and flake off the bone. The meatmanages to be lean, probably because of all the exercise involved inbeing a pig's cheek muscle, but with a hint of that aforementionedoffal glutinosity. The cheek came with a starter of fish soup, abottle of wine, and a peach for dessert at the rip-off price of euros6.50 (about pounds-4.50). Sorry, I've forgotten the name of therestaurant. It's Francfort-something-or-other on a wee street calledMaria Aguilo in the Poblenou area of Barcelona. You can't miss it.It's near the shoe shop that sells slippers with a marijuana-leafdesign.
By sheer chance, the Buffer's third lunch in a row also involvedan obscure piece of animal. It was in a restaurant with no menu whereyou can order by having a look in the various earthenware dishes ondisplay. It is where we found the mollejas. Tomas, the patron,pointed vaguely in the direction of his neck when explaining whichpart of the lamb was involved. The mollejas were lovely, just on theedible side of squishy, in a tangy stew with spring onions. Some ofthe pleasure was taken from the moment when Tomas returned to tell usthe English word he had been searching for earlier.
'Glands, ' he said. Further research reveals mollejas are thethymus glands, or sweetbreads as they are known in good, oldfashionedBritish cooking. We had always avoided sweetbreads, mostly becausethey sounded suspiciously like sheep's testicles, didn't come in atangy spring onion stew, and didn't have a nice name like mollejas.
This restaurant also has no name above the door. If you must, youcan find it in a street called Doctor Trueta just off the Rambla dePoblenou. You can't miss it. It's beside a supermarket called SorliDiscau, or Surly Discau as it is known because some of the staffaren't too cheery. If you find it, say hello to Tomas, and send aglass of rioja over to the Buffer in the corner. We can'twholeheartedly recommend the thymus glands but try the meatballs.They're the best in Borecelona.
Keeping it simple
UNDER the influence of pig's cheeks, or maybe red wine, the Bufferhas managed to resolve the above-mentioned issues of the upcomingelection and the royal wedding.
Prince Charles, dear boy, second time around it's better to keepthings simple. We can recommend the tasteful but low-key ceremony atthe Italianate wedding suites in Park Circus in Glasgow with just theweans and a few close friends present. Then head to the Stravaiginrestaurant in Gibson Street for the pre-theatre menu. You could bringthe whole thing in for about pounds-500 and give the monarchy a goodname for elegant frugality.
Tony Blair has set an excellent precedent on how the electioncampaign should be run by making an important manifesto commitment onmaternity leave not at a news conference but on Woman's Hour.
Let's keep the news and current affairs programmes election-free.
Let the debates be on shows that really matter. Health secretaryJohn Reid on Casualty. Chancellor Gordon Brown explaining his fiscalpolicies on the QVC shopping channel. The agriculture minister,whoever that might be (it's Margaret Beckett), explaining the latestfood crisis on the Archers. Foreign Secretary Jack Straw presents aspecial edition of A Place In The Sun from Iraq. Or how about PrimeMinister Blair in a post-election episode of Relocation, Relocation,Relocation.
