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.