Category Archives: Toledo Tales

Toledo Tapas Competition 2015 – Drool Alert…

Today is a sad day in Toledo. Today concludes the annual tapas competition, which had us devouring a wonderful array of delicacies conjured up by the town’s bars and restaurants. Here is a small testimony to our greediness devotion over the past three weeks:

Mini curry burgers. Can't go wrong with that...

Our first tapa consumed on 5 November, the day the contest kicked off: Mini curry burgers. Can’t go much wrong with these.

Smoked beef on toast, with sobrasada (a kind of smoked meat spread) and brie. Really strong flavours, but it worked surprisingly well.

Wafer-thin slices of smoked beef on toast, with sobrasada (a kind of smoked meat spread) and brie. A brave combo of some really strong flavours, but it worked surprisingly well.

Salmon with guacamole and lemon mousse. Looks great, but didn't work. The lemon flavour totally overpowered the whole thing.

Salmon with guacamole and lemon mousse. Looks tasty, but, sadly, it was a fail. The salmon was tender but insipid, and the lemon flavour totally overpowered the whole ensemble.

Tuna marinated in soy sauce with peach alioli. Totally delicious.

Tuna marinated in soy sauce with peach alioli. Totally delicious.

I cannot translate this one. Nor can I describe it. It contained the following: deer, shitake mushrooms, apricot, gnocchi, potato. And it tasted weird. But good-weird. Could have eaten it again. And again.

I cannot translate this one. Nor can I adequately describe it. It contained the following: venison, shitake mushrooms, apricot, gnocchi, potato, cream. And it tasted weird. But good-weird. Could have eaten it again. And again. Top marks for creativity and presentation.

Octopus and potato. Very Galician, and tasted just as expected. Perfectly acceptable, but nothing to write home about.

Octopus and potato “lasagne”. There was nothing lasagne about it, it was merely a fancy presentation of a Galician staple, pulpo gallego (which I love). Perfectly acceptable, but nothing to write home about.

A very traditional Manchego affair: Pork medallion with potato, onion and a dollop of creamy mushroom sauce. Totally delish.

A very traditional Manchego affair: Pork medallion with potato, crispy leek and a drizzle of creamy mushroom sauce. Simple, hearty and satisfying. A winner.

Taken on our walk between bars: The sun catching the Christmas lights, with Toledo cathedral in the background.

I managed to take this yesterday while swaying from one bar to the next: The sun catching the newly suspended Christmas lights, with Toledo cathedral in the background.

You know me - it had to end like this! Oh my, that red berry cake was to die for...

How predictable am I… it HAD TO end like this, didn’t it?! Oh my, that red berry cake was to die for. First visit to a new cafe, but definitely not the last 😉

So, although TapaMania may be over for this year, there’s one thought that consoles me greatly: Toledo was recently voted Spain’s Capital of Gastronomy 2016 – I just can’t wait for the New Year!!!

Hair My Cry, O Blog!

When you move country, the first thing you’ve got to occupy yourself with is finding those people (and services) without whom your daily existence would be a living hell. For example:

  • Somebody who gives you a place to kip and store your belongings
  • Somebody who plugs the internet into said place
  • Somebody who tosses you a handful of peanuts every month for whatever tricks you’ve learned to perform along the way
  • Somebody who fiddles files your taxes so you don’t go to prison
  • And, most important of all,  somebody who slashes the unruly growth on top of your head every once in a while so you get to maintain the outer appearance of a humanoid life form

I thought my move to Central Spain a few years ago was a brush stroke of genius on the follicular front. It is a dry region. Unlike North London. Those with curly hair will understand.

CurlyHair

Remember this one going round on fb? = ME AT 7AM!

Shortly after my arrival, I stumbled into a nearby hairdressers called “Diseños” (Designs). Sounded like a creative sort of a place, I thought, and the fact that La Friseuse in attendance was close to my own age and also sported curly hair, gave me hope. I’m gullible like that. I imagined her channelling her creative juices into giving me a flattering cut that would, perhaps, make my witch’s chin stick out a bit less.

But no. My veteran Figarette happened to be of those people, who had figured out their solution to their hair troubles, and that would just have to do for everybody else. She herself had resorted to straightjacketing her wiry mop into a rectangular shape, which kind of suited her, but sometimes, one glove does not fit all.

This is actually pretty much matches my appearance as well as my facial expression post-redesign - just imagine a sticky-out chin instead of a snout.

This pretty much illustrates the result. And also my facial expression post-“redesign”. (Just imagine a sticky-out chin instead of a snout.)

Since I don’t really care for having a square head – I’m already German, let’s not forget – and adding the fact that the salon’s “design” component referred more to its prices than the craftsmanship, I went in search of a new chop shop as soon as my rebel locks had managed to break free from their cuboid confines.

This time, I asked about the price first. Twelve bucks, I was told, and one can’t argue with that. In North London, you wouldn’t even get a drunk on the Tube to drool on your head for that. Like I said, I’m gullible.

Now, haircare professionals do have a bit of a reputation for enthralling their captive audiences with tales of their all-inclusive summer break at CattleProd Resorts, but THIS was something else.

If you are acquainted with British English, you may have heard the expression “talking the hind leg off a donkey” – a disparaging reference to a tedious person’s excessive loquaciousness. At forty minutes in, I was very nearly at the point of fearing that my extremities would drop off due to necrotic tissue damage induced by the most inane of moronic monologues I had ever been subjected to in my entire life.

But the ceaseless chatter wasn’t the worst part. What really drove me to distraction was that the girl would stop short after every snip in order to accompany her onerous outpourings with wild gesticulations. At one point, überchatty scissor sister was exposing all the parts of her body to me which had ever been nibbled on by a mosquito. Don’t ask me how we got there. I can only assume that those bloodsucking creatures are, in fact, totally soundproof.

No, I told her, a blow dry really wasn’t necessary. Yes, I was aware that it was the midst of winter, but putting on my woolly hat would probably stop my dripping fringe from freezing to my eyebrows on my way home, and I’d see myself out, thank you very much.

On my second visit, it was the owner who cut my hair. (I had made sure he was holding the fort all by himself after peering through the window at a stealth angle). He was pleasant, professional, and, above all, soothingly SILENT. I was in and out of there in twelve minutes flat. INCLUDING a blow dry. An 87% time saving on my first visit. And the cut was good.

This week, it was high time to excise the felt mats once again, and so when I walked past the salon on Tuesday afternoon and found it empty but open, I  decided to seize the opportunity. I wish I hadn’t. As soon as I entered, I spotted her, slithering out from behind the spiral staircase. Miss Verborrhoea.

As she led me to the washbasin, I felt my eardrums tighten in anticipation. So far, she’d not actually uttered anything besides standard salon protocol. Maybe she’d been on speed last time, and had sworn off it since then.

All was well for about five more minutes, until she suddenly stopped working the warm lather into my pelt. Did I mind if she nipped off to the toilet for a second, the water tablets her doctor had prescribed made her want to pee every five minutes.

Did I enquire, with a caring look on my face, what terrible affliction would require such a sprightly 20-year-old to be popping diuretics? You bet I did not. But I would find out. In excruciating detail.

Thank heavens it’s still summer here in Spain. My hair dried in an instant as I shot through the door into freedom at supersonic speed an interminable hour later.

Toledo Does Cocktails!

It’s not all about tapas in Toledo. This weekend, and this weekend only, several bars are running a cocktail special. We went to check it out last night.

We kicked off with a piña colada, because the advertised special wasn’t available for some reason. Maybe it was better this way. The “Carol Kick” promised to be a florid concoction laced with some energy drink. It would probably have kept me awake till Tuesday.

Piña Colada

Chunks of tinned pineapples on sticks are kind of “exotic”, I suppose…

Purple Turtle

The “Purple Turtle”. A bit like imbibing liquified gummy bears!

Bar man

Precision at work 🙂

Strawberry Limon Dry

…and I give you the “Strawberry Limon Dry”. Not bad, though I didn’t quite manage to finish it.

OK… it’s midday Sunday and I’ve only just rolled out of bed. In an hour and a bit, I’m meant to be doing tapas… watch this space 😉

 

 

 

Feather Storm In Toledo

The best weekend afternoons start like this:

Maria: Do you want to have lunch tomorrow?

Me: What kinda lunch?

Maria: Whatever happens to come with the drinks.

It’s very hard to argue with that. So for lunch we went.  It lasted from 2pm till 10pm. Interspersed by a street theatre performance on Town Hall Square.

Drink

Lucía’s luminous drink

Pimientos de Padrón

Pimientos de padrón. These are small green peppers, deep-fried, salted, totally addictive.

Toledo Cathedral Lit Up

Toledo Cathedral lit up, and a sea of people waiting for the performance to start.

Giant Screen

The performance included several eardrum-busting explosions, which sent clouds of dust and feathers up into the air. This is the back of a giant screen the performers used to project images onto.

Feather Storm

Maria in the midst of the feather storm. Either that, or we’re having a bloody good pillow fight…

Grumpy Mornings

I’ve had no water (again!) since last night, so I was just a tad grouchy this morning. Over brekkie, I read this post about someone having a really shitty day, which helped to put things into perspective somewhat.

Shortly after, and still in a huff, I trudged out to buy some groceries, and it occurred to me that this situation can’t be much fun for the owner of the vintage clothes shop tucked away in that corner:

Clothes Shop

On the way back, loaded up with broccoli, carrots and oyster mushrooms, I treated myself to a coffee and a sliver of cake for €1.20.  And when I got home, the water was back on, HURRRAAAAH! Life’s OK again now 😉

Free Beer!

Well, not quite… but it got your attention, didn’t it? 😉

Toledo has a brewery that makes Domus, aka “La Cerveza De Toledo”, whose proud history goes all the way back to … erm… 2007. (Sorry, this is my Bavarian heritage scoffing here…). BUT, I have to admit, the stuff ain’t half bad.

On Friday, Carmen alerted me to the fact that they were running a two-week promotion: two bottles of the brew and one ‘special’ tapa, featuring Domus as an ingredient, for a fiver, with 27 local restaurants/bars participating.

So, today we went off to investigate.

Mussels

These mussels in creamy sauce were divine…

chicken wings

Chicken wings with caramelised onions. Lovely 🙂

We scoffed more than just those, but the pics didn’t turn out so well. One of us – either my camera or I – was struggling to focus…

We may have to do this again next week.

Municipal Water Feature Crimes – Part Two

Some of you will remember my momentous rant about Toledo’s eyesore fountain, which obliterates the historic city centre, from a couple of weeks ago. Sadly, this isn’t the only… erm… visually and conceptually challenging water feature the city has foisted upon its residents and visitors.

There’s also this one, located to the west of the Jewish quarter:

Decking fountain

What did you say? You can’t see a fountain? Just a dead tree sticking out of some shoddy decking?

Well, let me put it to you: This whole sorry plank assemblage IS the fountain.

But a fountain needs to spout water!

 

I hear you. Let me help you: Can you make out that tiny hole/ring in the fourth row of planks in the centre of the photograph above?

No? Let’s get a bit closer to it:

StandpipeHere we have it. An upturned standpipe sunk into slats of wood, oozing water, like some up-the-creek plumbing. Sigh.

OK, this one’s not quite as aesthetically offensive as the other one, but as far as decorative water installations go, it’s another spectacular fail.

The only positive thing I can say about this piece of “public art” is that the sound of trickling water, as you’re walking over the area, is actually quite pleasing. Unless you happen to be desperate for a wee at the time.