Botin restaurant

February 9, 2008

  

The Heart of Spanish Cuisine in Botin

 

Tucked away in the Calle de Cuchilleros, squats an old building, not nearly decrepit as it is old but rustic by its very existence on the same spot over the last 218 years. Approaching from the Plaza Mayor, you can barely make it out from the top of the stairway leading into the Calle, where most likely thousands of personalities have trod down this path, when in 1882, Gomez de la Serna wrote that “ . . it seems as if Botin has always existed and this is where Adam and Eve ate their first cochifrita . . “ Small wonder that this restaurant, dubbed the oldest restaurant in the world, continues to serve what it serves best, the cochinillo de Avila or their cordero de Un Aranda surviving many of its habitués. It continues to receive deliveries of the suckling pig from Avila, and the lamb from Aranda, because as the present proprietors (still from the original family), the Gonzales’ have said “ . . what matters to me is to please the client . . . if the public accepts the house, sincere like she is but comfortable without luxuries, with the best gender (ingredients) that is available that is possible to be offered . . to me, that is enough.”. This must have been the very same motto that a French cook, Jean Martin must have said as he setup a little inn on 17 Cuchilleros, together with his Asturian wife to provide accommodations and meals to the then many travelers to Madrid. It was an old city, having been established already in the 1500’s but the hordes of travelers would be wanting for some place to stay and some thing to eat. Regulations then did not allow inns to serve food but instead were only able to make offerings which their guests brought, thus, Jean would work only with what his tenants would have slung on their shoulders, a baby lamb perhaps or a suckling pig, of course, spurning a Spanish legend that in Spanish inns, you only eat what the travelers brought. This would have troubled the young painter Goya who worked at the Botin in 1765 as a dishwasher, wondering what artistry there was in dishwashing.

 

Nonetheless, the magic continues at the Botin, where Emilio Gonzales, sits as the third generation of the family operating the Restaurante and we have the good fortune to sit in one of the chairs where perhaps Ernest Hemingway once sat, spinning a yarn no doubt between glasses of Sangria, extolling the virtues of how to cook paella, but tonight we are here in this legendary place, with Fina Abenoja, to savor the freshest of food cooked in the oldest of cooking vessels, the cochinillo de Avila. It is said that the pigs from Avila acquire a certain flavor and aroma, that’s why that is the only place where real cochinillo should come from. The little animal is split from the neck right down to the belly to which an copious amounts of salt are added, paprika, herbs (bay leaf and tarragon no doubt) and it is allowed to sit to absorb the spices.  It is turned skin side up on a terra cotta oval dish then some broth to ensure its moistness and white wine is poured before sliding into an oak wood fire burning oven for the requisite hour to allow the baby fats to melt away, melding the skin to the tender meats within, and then it is done! Unlike Arturo Barea’s heroine, who goes to Botin to eat a whole cochinillo whether by herself or others, with a bowl of lettuce and a liter of wine, we are three, and not a whole but just a portion, a hind leg, but a liter of wine regardless. The night wears on as we realize, it is a Filipino manning the ovens, for the last 25 years.

 

The atmosphere is different from each level of the “meal house”. In the cellar, it is more private and surreal with the incandescent light casting a yellow glow on everything, but surrounded by the bricks and mortar, some of which have been there since the 16^th century creates an ambience of secretive and hushed tones, no doubt as rebels would be  hiding from the Franco loyalists of the time, and as you ascend to the dining rooms, natural light is let in and the homey atmosphere of an inn, is resplendent everywhere. Unlike other restaurants that seek to preserve the luxury of royalty in the table tops, cutlery and in the appointments, the warm woodposts and black and white tiles on the floor of the Perez Galdo dining room makes you feel right at home, overlooking the street or the display case of desserts most notably the tartaleta da manzana (apple tarts). The higher up you go, you can feel that you might be invading the private residences of Jean Martin, as is typical in a sitting room, entering the foyer through an arch from the stairway but the tables lining the walls and the prints depicting images of spain from another time will take you back down. On the topmost floor sitting over the Castilla dining room is the Felipe IV dining room where the largest number of windows look out onto the street and the area takes on an entirely different feel with lighter colors and the white tablecloths reflecting the sunlight in the day.

 

It isn’t luxury you feel although the prices say otherwise, but the rustic ancient feel of the premises is what attracts and holds you. From the waiter who had worked the premises for 40 years, to the etched glass dividers sealing away muted conversations in the dining room, the Botin reflects a gastronomic and cultural trip back in time.  In the kitchen, toque in head and typical chefs clogs and hounds tooth pantaloons, remain the standard attire, but you look into the small opening where the lamb and pigs go through and you see the tiles lining the exterior of the oven showing some ladies cavorting in a dance they’ve done for hundreds of years. You realize there is a bit of history with every bite you take of their dishes. From the Jamon con melon, to the gazpacho, and on to the Sopa de Ajo and the fresh strawberry desserts. We feast and dine on history tonight, and hope that the next 218 years will find our next generations enjoying the same.

The Alba review

February 2, 2008

   

 

The kitchen glowed with all the fiery heat of the ovens  that had been burning for years as it is typical of most furnaces to burn continuously as to fire it down would be disastrous to the next day’s operations. To start up a wood burning oven that had completely gone cold would simply take too many hours to the detriment of the diners who would have fallen in line outside in the cold to feast on food on the menu.  You could almost imagine the steps of little Anastacio, barely age 10 but already a kitchen hand, dishwashing which in those days may have meant drawing water from a hand pump in the backroom or even the backside of this tenement, as it was 70 years ago in Avila. He would look at all the activity in the kitchen from his vantage point outside, the yellow glow of light enunciating the importance of keeping the oven temperature just right for the cochinillos waiting their turn in the ovens, splayed on oblong ceramic bowls, like a procession waiting to enter the church. Endless shouts of the chefs shouting instructions to their kitchen hands, who would willingly respond with their “SI SEŇOR!!” for all to hear; and it is this busy sight that paves the path that he takes from dishwasher to finally the kitchens of the Chipen restaurant as a chef where he was convinced to come to Las Islas Filipinas. Chipen is Spanish for the act of touching the fingertips to the mouth with an action of a kiss while the hand makes a broad sweep forward with the smack. These memories are probably now just a faint wisp of what might have been some thought from a dream, somewhere between reality and imagination for Seňor, Anastacio de Alba, chef patron and erstwhile founder of what may well be the first purveyors of authentic Spanish cuisine in the Philippines, once hailed as the man with the golden touch.

 

We meet at their Polaris address which has remained there since its 1988 reincarnation as the Patio de Alba, when it re-opened taking the place of Casa Colas, which Don Anastacio had put up in 1980 in what was then a quiet residential neighborhood, slightly off the beaten track of what was then the reckless drag strip which was Makati Avenue. Tucked away amidst mature acacias and low rises, away from the maddening crowd, the well heeled mestizos, and the avid dining habitués would have found solace in the dark woods and heavy red curtains so typical of the Castilian penchant for quiet luxury within the walls of this little cantina.  Anastacio held sway here, weaving the magic of his craft, seasoned by years toiling behind a stove, in front of an oven, behind a kitchen counter, having taken countless trips to markets, to procure the freshest of ingredients, and experimenting with alternatives in this tropical country trapped in some Mediterranean summer. Today it is Miguel and Cachelle de Alba, heir to the throne so to speak of the restaurant chain named after Anastacio, that speak to us of how tradition meets the children of this legacy.

 

“ . . . all the recipes were passed on like some oral tradition and there was no fixed measurement for any of the recipes but it was always the same, same taste” which sounded more like a magical expression than a complaint from Miguel. Although business was his training, particularly in accounting, despite the countless hours he spent in the many kitchens of Alba’s fame, he recognized the value of consistency in all the menus. Having inherited the restaurants operations, he sank himself in the study and awareness of what this legacy held. With thanks to the CCA (Center for Culinary Arts) Miguel found himself immersed completely in the process of the operations and realized, it was in his blood after all. As we speak in the lazy afternoon sun of the Makati branch, the heavy red curtains are gone and in its place a pleasant stained glass mosaic on windows that one had never thought were actually there. Miguel and Cachelle met through his half sister and Cachelle readily admits she knew nothing of food except that she loved to eat. This was obviously enough and now they find themselves in the thick of the business, in an industry where the crowds can swing every which way with every new trend, the Alba’s chain has survived through it all. Beyond fusion, creativity, new world chefs and every other imaginable trendy cuisine, Alba’s survives. Cachelle provides the marketing and promotional support while Miguel continues the creations in the kitchens.

 

On this particularly balmy afternoon, we sit and talk beside one of the windows. A portly waiter serves us ice cold water, and iced tea, nonchalantly with hardly a smile but with a crisp efficiency. “. . over twenty years” is his reply to our question of how long he has worked here. That would mean, he was here when it first opened as Casa Colas! “ . .  .and Papa treated everyone as family here . .” quips Miguel as Cachelle nods in affirmation, “ . . which can be both good and bad . . . and we deal with it like, well . . family” like most anything else in this world that has any real meaning. It is a formula that seems to have worked and we were never one to break with tradition specially one that has been around since 1952, good, bad or otherwise.

 

One of Miguel’s contributions to the well read and oft ordered menu are the tapas which he prides in adding on to his legacy to the selections. Although gambas al ajillo and Angulas have been around for just as long on the menu, if there was one part of  Spanish cuisine that has just recently been RE-discovered, it would have to be the tapas. The night begins late in Madrid, Barcelona and just about every other Spanish town and city, as the diners begin the libations with small dishes ranging from the shrimp, to eels, to the snails and carnes as well as an occasional vegetable, partnered with some fresh baked bread, which in older times would have been set on top of one’s glass of wine or sangria, to discourage any thirsty flies or insects no doubt. To this day, this fixture replayed across all cities in Spain as the night wears on, and tonight it seems we’ve walked right into this  tradition as Miguel has laid out 18 dishes for starters.

 

Where do I begin, as the strains of Laura Fygi’s Latin Touch album squeak past the speakers ingeniously placed into the rafters waft its wailful lament of Perfidio begin with what we know, the gambas ala plancha, grilled prawns, peeled with heads kept on. traditionally served in a small round ceramic bowl, the blend of olive oil, garlic, peppers and the shrimp wastes no time in lending something familiar to the palate, succulent and tender, the delicate flavor of the sea does its expected dance with the rest of the ingredients and it is a portent of things to come. Watching Miguel dig into this creation determines how important it is to suck the heads to extract the maximum flavor from them. Calamares fritos dredged in a flour and starch mixture and fried crisp refresh our taste buds in time for the first unknown dish, the eggplant baked with anchovy and three cheeses (Berenjenas al Horno) . The eggplant contains very little in terms of personality as it is essentially becomes a tasteless mash as you cook it but the anchovy laced mixture gives it more than its every been. Quickly washed down with some Sangria, that once again is authentically served with chopped fresh fruit, we pummel forward. The albondigas de chorizo in a tart sweet and sour tomato sauce is unlike what you would normally savor elsewhere but is instead redolent with the intensity of the ground meat and chorizos rendered to a smooth consistency by what we can only imagine is created by hand chopping ground meat to a smooth paste.

 

There is likewise a selection of seafood that belies the fact that Spain is bordered on three fronts by waters from the Adriatic and the Mediterranean, as we press on with the smoked mackerel, it is the Tanguigue Ahumado sliced and layered, dotted with capers and drizzled with olive oil and the juice of lemon, as if its natural oils weren’t enough, but this is an example of how the local produce found its way into the restaurants menu, as the fresher fillets of Mahi Mahi fish prepared ala ceviche rolled with asparagus lend an entirely fresher flavor to the palate. The real piece de resistance, which can only come from Spain is the Angulas al ajillo, baby eels, simmered in olive oil and garlic with a generous helping of spicy hot peppers, the texture is very much like spaghetti not quite al dente but bordering on raw-ness, but with a more firm rubbery texture and a flavor unlike any other fish as it is at once earthy and undoubtedly a swimmer.

 

More Sangria pours on as we go lower down this spread of goodies, while lost in conversation about  the old La Mancha in Magallanes Village. It would seem so apt that an area named after the first European to come to the islands would be host to one of the most visible landmarks dedicated to one of the most touching stories from Spain, Don Quixote de la Mancha. When it was built in 1975, it was a monument to Seňor de Alba with its majestic windmill slowly turning and underneath, the club where the well heeled would savor his concoctions. At the time, the only other restaurants that came anywhere near what he accomplished would have been the Reina Castilla by the Astral group, and Minggoy’s, but alas, this would pass on to become the British club, and soon enough, the construction of the interchange, came the demolition one by one of the heritage sites in the area, from the astrobowl, to the Magallanes theater and finally the windmill of La Mancha. “. . . He would spend hours looking at the windmill and reminiscing about the good times there. . “ Cachelle related to us, “ . . good thing the owner of the restaurant allowed him to sit there looking at the windmill before it was torn down.”. Representations were made with the owners of the land to preserve it as a landmark but it fell on ears that were not deaf but had more commercial thoughts so some of us just remember what it was like to have our won windmill in the city. Still, it is not the monuments that one remembers about a man but in this case, his food, and this simply lives on.

 

So typical of Spanish cuisine is the preservation of meat, traditionally used to flavor stews and other concoctions, such as the sausage or salchichon, would be a heavily seasoned tube of select meat, herbs and spices; and of course, the jamons, that remain a fixture in most Filipino homes, even before any of the restaurants famed for the hams came into existence. This was the difficulty of the de Alba’s when finding this integral ingredient in Spanish cooking. Miguel tells me that they now have their own commissary in Mandaluyong that prepares the hams and cold cuts, which is an assurance of authenticity, consistency and the delivery of the tasty tidbits that go into the creations at the restaurants. On this spread we are treated to spectacular views of entire jamon serranos, morsillas, chorizo de bilbao, chorizo botifara and salchichon, all home made to the exacting Alba taste. “ . . we supply to some of the other Spanish restaurants and five star hotels” quips Miguel “ . . secret na lang where  . .” sheepishly with a naughty smile, and we surely understand. At the Polaris address, the deli opens at 0800 and that early on there are shoppers for the cold cuts that are churned out by Alba’s commissary.

 

As we polish off the last of the tapas, the Tortilla Espanola, which is simply a layered omelets of potato and egg, sprinkled with some parmesan and parsley, this is eaten hot or cold but all too often, we get an overcooked dry cake, this is still silky smooth in texture with the flavor of egg and potatoes dancing delicately against each other; and the final item, their equivalent of pizza, Coca de Berza y Chorizo, which is the Majorcan pie with local pechay leaves, (yes, pechay!) cheese and chorizo likewise taken either hot or cold; the final pieces in the puzzle come into the picture. It is the eternal Spanish favorite, cochinillo and paella.

 

The choices of paella may have been so limited in the olden days, as paella valenciana was pretty much it, with the flavors of chicken, pork and seafood blended in the now familiar dish. Originally though, paella was made from whatever wild meats were available, from rabbit to deer and consequently, the national dish of Spain re discovered its reincarnation into what it is today. At the Alba’s, there are generally three choices, the standard, and by this I mean not an ordinary variety, but the standard by which all other paellas are compared against, to the Paella Negra, “ . . the Japanese love this . .” which is made with the squid ink resulting literally in a black colored dish, and then there is the Paella Verde for the vegetarian made with asparagus, broccoli and even cooked with a vegetable broth. The flavor really comes from the agglomeration of different ingredients bound by one common thread, saffron. This unique pustule creates a texture that surprisingly covers every grain of rice in a slimy texture that yet allows the flavors to be locked into each grain. Never mind that it costs over US$ 200 a lb. for the premium, there is simply no substitute for it and is one of the few ingredients that Alba’s continues to use without compromise. The Paellas always take time to cook. Whichever way you look at it, it still takes 20 minutes to cook rice to perfection, and another 5 minutes to allow the natural starches to form a shell around the mixture so that you can spoon out every grain with nothing sticking to the sides of the paellera.

 

Unlike in the lonely planet where many times, the guest traveler prefers to imagine what something tastes like, the cochinillo is unparalleled in its presentation, that you can’t resist tasting it. It arrives splayed on a paper wrapped tray, resplendent in all its crisp and rich appearance. In Ristorante Botin, they give you a serving spoon because you can literally cut it with a spoon, in some other restaurants in Manila, they chop it with a plate, but at Alba’s please, give me a civilized knife, fork and don’t splatter anything on my shirt. It’s still unbelievably soft on the inside and crisp on the outside. The seasonings a secret, the flavor a secret discovered. Although, they do serve a small portion of the liver based sauce, it isn’t really necessary as the delicate flavors of young suckling pig shine right through. Typically, you would want a piglet about 4 kgs. So that would demand a mere two and a half weeks or 17 days old to have just the right amount of fats, meat and before the bones start getting too hard. Traditionally baked in a wood burning oven, it is cooked slowly to ensure the skin’s crispiness and allow the underlying fats to just melt away. From Segovia, to the world, to Alba’s Ristorante, a gift of satisfaction.

 

Who knows how long this legacy will remain? What wonders still lie waiting to be found in Alba’s coterie of different recipes? We only know this, if you want to know what Spanish food really is, Vamos a comer a Alba’s.

 

Open everyday for lunch and dinner, check out the lunch buffets in their branches and dinner exclusively at the Tomas Morato Branch.