by David Adams
I'm an impulsive Sagittarian by
nature (we 'archers' have the trait of wanderlust - go figure!); and
I'm a closet water-baby, too, because I love ocean and beach environments.
Except for the Costa del Sol in Spain, many of my sojourns have been
landlocked. I lived in Germany for nearly 4 years as both an Army officer
and civilian and used it as my jumping off place to wherever I wanted
to go be it Italy, Austria, France, Spain, the Netherlands, Switzerland,
or the United Kingdom (among others). But, after that length of time
in the 'land of lederhosen,' I came to the conclusion that I had seen
all there was to see (in West Germany, that is).
Oh, I had traveled in East Berlin
but it was too depressing to want to return. There were more Soviet
soldiers than there were East Germans. The populace, the landscape,
and many buildings still retained their 1945 Battle of Berlin charm
and ambiance! No, it was time to migrate and establish a home base that
was new and different. Someplace sunny and warm where the inhabitants
were just as 'solar' in personality and hospitality! I decided to take
a weeklong trip and determine where 'home' (although temporary) would
be. My index finger glided across the map towards Greece but magnetically
kept coming back to the Island of Mallorca. So, I packed my bags for
my week-long trip and headed to Mallorca to clear my thoughts.
Three months later, I was still
there! It had everything I was looking for; sun, beach, friendly people
and, of course, wonderful cuisine! Nestled serenely in the western Mediterranean
between the coasts of Spain and Algeria, Mallorca is the largest of
the Balearic Islands. Its typography ranges from plains and coastal
mountains and it's architecture transforms back and forth from the ancient,
to the Middle Ages to the present day millennium wherever you go. Archeologists
have dated the islands early inhabitants as far back as 1300 B.C. and
its historical importance in Mediterranean history is well founded.
Mallorca has either been utilized or dominated by the Phoenicians, Carthaginians,
Romans, Vandals, Byzantines, Moors, and the Catalans. Evidence of the
presence of these former cultures presence is still in existence today.
It's an amateur historian's playground and, in contrast today, it's
a haven and a getaway resort for mostly British and German tourists.
While many chose the main city,
Palma, as their destination, I wanted serenity and local flavor. So,
at the suggestion of a friend, I migrated to the fishing village of
Cala Ratjada in the outermost northeast corner of the island. Cala Ratjada
is picturesque with its whitewashed architecture, casual atmosphere,
and, in the hills above the village and port, looms the 13th century
castle, Castillo de Capdepera, as a reminder of its past. The day I
arrived there, I found that the small, seaside hotel I reserved was
closed for repair. Aside from wishing to strangle my travel agent, the
bad news was delivered by the hotel owners themselves, Augustine and
Isabella Esteban, who informed me that a private apartment had been
reserved for me, of all places, in their own home and that included
my own private cook! Aha! - one minute, utter despair and the next,
utter bliss!
Augustin Esteban was the head of
the Cala Ratjada fishing cooperative. Thus, my week-long, 90-day vacation
became a 'working' vacation, as well. Augustin taught me the art of
mending fishing nets among other things. Instead of wandering the hills
with a camera or lying on the beach, I spent hours on the dock with
the pescadores (fisherman) mending nets and unloading the fresh catch
off the boats. I, also, met and became friends with the captain of the
yacht belonging to Dr. James Cain, who was one of President Lyndon Johnson's
personal physicians. The captain, Gerry, was from Holland and in between
our sharing botas de roja (red wine drunk from goatskin bags), I was
instructed in the duties of being a deckhand. But, whether net mending
or deck handing, my favorite 'occupation' in Cala Ratjada was eating.
As it turned out, my 'private cook'
was the Esteban's personal housekeeper and cook named Maria Cordoba.
Stout, matronly, and incessantly cheerful, Maria rendered culinary compositions
in the kitchen that rivaled the musical artistry of any Flamenco 'Toqueador'
(Guitarist). The term 'personal cook,' however, was an oxymoron as my
choices were limited to whatever she was preparing for the Esteban family.
I realized that David (or Daveed in Maria speak) obviously wasn't at
Burger King and I couldn't have it my way! No matter as I savored everything
she served me daily.
Often, breakfast was a traditional
Tortilla de Potata (a Spanish omelet and I don't mean the IHOP version,
kids) that was thick, golden, and richly laden with eggs, thinly sliced
potatoes, onion, and hints of garlic. In the traditional Spanish routine,
all activity came to a halt at 1:00 o'clock in Cala Ratjada. Abandoning
the dock, we adjourned for lunch, served between 2 o'clock and 3 o'clock
in the afternoon was usually a light Tapa (appetizer for lack of a better
translation). Maria might prepare slices of Chorizo (sausage), cheeses,
olives, marinated tomatoes in olive oil, and Pan con Mahonesa (Bread
served with a traditional Balearic Island version of creamy mayonnaise).
A few glasses of red wine or sparkling water intermixed with idle conversation
conducted in Castilian Spanish (Castellano) were always a part of this
mid-day ritual. Smatterings of German and English were uttered for my
benefit, as well.
Life in Mallorca was an idyllic
scene and I don't think Hemingway could have described it adequately
(with all due respect to Ernest). You just had to 'live it' to appreciate
it. In the evening when we relaxed, the favorite pastime was watching
the sunset over the Mediterranean. If you've never seen one, they're
a wonder to behold while sitting in the Cala Ratjada marina cafe, sipping
Sangria, and chatting with the friendly locals. I know Maria rarely
saw one because she was too busy in the kitchen preparing one of her
sumptuous evening meals. There was always Sopa de Habas (bean soup)
followed by a main entrée that ranged from Rostit (Stuffed Pork)
to Arroz Negro (Black rice with Squid) to Zarzuela de Mariscos (Spanish
Bouillabaisse).
But my all-time favorite masterpiece
de Maria Cordoba was her Paella de Valencia. It was a heavenly blend
that included chicken broth, rice, saffron, pimento, peppers, chicken,
ham, shrimp, peas, white wine, chorizo, clams, garlic, olive oil and
mussels (Have I got your salivating attention, yet?). Maria's technique
was to cook it slowly and it wasn't cooked on the stove, either! In
keeping with true 'Paella Panache,' Maria prepared this marvelous mixture
outdoors on a metal tripod over a wood fire. Her Paella pan was as oval
and deep as the tire on a pickup truck! Sitting outside beside her on
a stool (Sangria glass in hand), I would query her as to her technique,
the proper amount and order of ingredients, preparation time etc. In
her jolly and matronly manner, she was only too happy to oblige with
true Mallorcan hospitality.
Maria, as with Isabella and Augustin
Esteban, were Mediterranean treasures in every sense of the word. In
essence, they became 'family' as they shared their everyday life with
me. In my week-long, 90 day vacation, they taught me the customs of
Mallorca, their family roots, an appreciation of fine cooking never
before experienced, and a work ethic that only comes with living and
laboring beside people of a simple, serene, and generous nature. I offer
you Maria's Paella de Valencia recipe in keeping with their memory and
their timeless traditions.
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