Let's Build a Goddess!

     Valencia. Valencia en Fallas! The exclamation point represents a mascletà, because that's the epicenter of this greatest of all celebrations. I've written about the mascletà previously here in a blog post about my 2009 Fallas experience. I don't have too much to add, except that this year, my eighth Fallas, we had the privilege of experiencing a mascletà launched by Reyes Martí. It was a wonderful surprise to hear the Fallera Mayor begin the ritual announcement "Señora pirotécnica..." And Reyes Martí did not disappoint! I wasn't familiar with her and that seemed strange, but later I learned that Martí for many years has been doing the March 8th mascletà, which is International Women's Day, over a week before we can be there, but that this year, for the first time, she accepted the offer of participating on one of the festival's días grandes. The weather was perfect on the 18th and we took our place around noon, two hours before the ritual 2 pm start. It may seem crazy to many to wait two hours for a seven minute pyrotechnic show, but apparently tens of thousands of people also feel the way I do: by noon the fourth row was as close as we could get to the barrier. By 12:45 the Plaza del Ayuntamiento was overflowing and the streets leading into the square were quickly filling up.

At 1:50 all of downtown Valencia is a tightly packed can of sardines. You simply can't move. The wait went by fairly quickly and the atmosphere was wonderful. Suffice to say that Martí's final "earthquake" was extraordinary. Even more, the greatest ever! The ground was, literally, shaking beneath our feet, the absurd explosive power washing over the multitude and filling us all with giddy delight. Joy! An adrenaline rush like no other! Martí deserved all the accolades she got. As she told a reporter before the launch, her goal was to "shatter the plaza". Did she ever! If you're curious, you can watch this mascletà here, but keep in mind it is absolutely nothing like actually being there. The next day Asun decided not to do the long wait, which was too bad, but I had the great fortune of being joined by niece Maggie Murray, who was going to experience her first mascletà up close.

I got to the square at 11:25 and found a great second row spot. The wait was fine and we had some marvelous conversation with an entertaining gentleman who was a fellow mascletá fanatic. And who bears a striking resemblance to my brother Peter!:

He's been enjoying them for 55 years from the same spot! This final mascletà was the work of Hermanos Caballer. It was truly excellent, but for me not quite as overwhelming as Martí's.
     If possible I would go to Valencia every year for Fallas, even if there were nothing but the mascletàs. But of course the fiesta is much, much more than that. First and foremost are the fiesta's namesake monuments: the fallas. Here's the contribution from L'Antiga de Campanar, which took home the Grand Prize:

It was a controversial choice. Our favorite was Na Jordana:

The wonderful absurdity of dedicating many months of work, and in many cases very large sums of money (over $200,000 for the biggest fallas), to the building of these satirical monuments, only to have them on public display for just four days before they go up in flames is breathtaking. And it's the core of the fiesta. Walking around the city and admiring these impressive creations is certainly great fun. You can spend endless hours just doing that and you still won't seem them all because there are close to 800 fallas all told.
     For me, Fallas is quite special because far more than any other fiesta I've experienced, this one is successful in moving me out of ordinary time and into another dimension which is very real, albeit fleeting and for the most part superficial. (Not superficial in a negative sense, but rather in the sense that it lacks real profundity.) The fiesta works its magic. Every time. Ritual is central to this dynamic and Fallas has many, many rituals, the grandest being the flower offering which takes place on March 17th and 18th. Hundreds and hundreds of comisiones (the neighborhood groups that are responsible for organizing the building of the fallas monuments) take their turns parading through downtown and into the Plaza de la Virgen to offer flowers for the giant reproduction of Valencia's matron: la Virgen de los Desamparados (perhaps translatable as "Our Lady of the Dispossessed" or "Our Lady of the Unembraced") The flowers are used to create a gigantic floral cape:

It's quite a spectacle and always the same. Festive! The image of the comisiones entering the square is a classic Fallas "estampa" and every year newspapers and other media are flooded with the key element of this image: the fallera shedding tears of emotion as she offers her bouquet. (I'd get emotional too if I had a direct role in building a goddess! And I don't mean that as an irreverent joke. Regardless of what the Church proclaims in its official dogma, this is a Mediterranean fiesta and there is no doubt about what's going on here. The Mare de Déu is most clearly being worshipped as a Goddess. And it's wonderful.)

It's a 24 hour parade, split over two days! It took a while, but Asun, Maggie and I eventually made our way into the square and were able to get fairly close. I was standing a couple of rows behind Maggie and Asun. After a while I noticed a little commotion behind me and it was a family fighting to get close so they could see their son march by the Virgen. I moved back so they could take my place. As I was exchanging places the father was overcome with emotion and with tears streaming down his cheeks began calling out to his son: "Mi angel, mi angelito!" ¡Una emoción fuerte! After that I needed a breather, some refreshment (and a bathroom break) so we stepped into, of course, Cafetería La Virgen!

And then it was back to walking and visiting Fallas. It was a long walk out to L'Antiga de Campanar, but well worth it. And then fireworks! At 1:30 am. (Yes, they start at 1:30 am!) And then the 19th, another mascletá, this one followed by a wonderful lunch with all our students at the revamped Hotel Reina Victoria.

A siesta. Later, our own little fireworks show! (Notice my expert handling of the lighter!)

Well, all good fun must come to an end. Fallas always ends like this, with the city going up in flames in the grand Cremà. We decided to watch the Cremà of the Estévez-Amorós Falla, which won first prize in Section 1A:

It's always fun to see the firefighters hosing down the facades of buildings. After all, that's what keeps the city from truly going up in flames. That would be a fantastic job: firefighter in Valencia. But only during Fallas! And so we go to bed purged. Ready for Spring, for a new start. Our Goddess stands proudly and beautifully. But not for long. Quickly, it's back into ordinary time, but now armed with magnificent memories of good meals, fun walks, beautiful fallera dresses, the constant beat of petardos, colorful fallas, perfect weather... la fiesta. And that's why I write this down: otherwise I forget. And I never want to forget Fallas.

The Future of Paella

     A few days ago I took a run along the beach. That's a good thing. Even better, after a short time my head started to clear and this allowed me to think a little about a topic that interests me: the future of paella.



What follows are the thoughts I had during my run, edited into fully formed sentences. For a long time now paella has been one of Spain's most internationally recognized señas de identidad. Visitors want to consume it, of course, and many millions of Spaniards also enjoy paella not infrequently. The food industry, aware of paella's great marketing power, has convinced bars and restaurants all over Spain that they must offer this traditional dish from Valencia if they want a piece of the tourist business. As a result, mediocre and less than mediocre establishments offer several varieties of pre-made paellas. This pseudo-food is barely eatable, so just seeing it advertised is painful. It's not just restaurants, of course. The food industry has for some time now been marketing many varieties of pre-cooked paellas. Frozen paella? Yes! Paella in a can? Yes! A paella sandwich? Yes! Paella pizza at Pizza Hut? Double Yes!! (But, apparently, only if you live in Poland.)  In short, bad "paella" has become ubiquitous. It is a sad state of affairs, especially when you consider that serving a high quality paella is not an especially expensive or difficult task. (That said, it does take work, patience, and much attention to detail.) One might think it's not a big deal, really. After all, in the developed world we are surrounded by bad food of all kinds. (Here's an image that readily evokes gastronomic nightmare, USA version:



And you wonder why we have an obesity epidemic?)
     But what really has some people terribly agitated in Spain is the question of authenticity. You know, the how dare you call that a paella! issue. A transcendent topic: what, exactly, constitutes a paella? First off, it's helpful to understand that the word paella comes from Catalan, and simply refers to the pan in which the dish is prepared. (In Spanish, the pan is referred to as a paellera.) Thus, anything prepared in a paellera can, by logic, rightly be called a paella. (Or not!)

In Spanish it makes more sense to refer to these dishes as arroz a la paella, that is, rice in a paella pan, since arroz is, evidently, the defining ingredient. Not any rice, of course, and this is the beginning of the authenticity discussion. Paella should be made with the bomba variety, a very short grained rice. You may have read that the real rice for paella is Calasparra. Not so: Calasparra refers to a specific area south of Valencia known for producing very high quality bomba rice. It is not a variety. There are many excellent bomba rices, some from Calasparra and others not. You can make a great paella with Calasparra, but there are many other great bomba rices as well. And when I say should be made, it is not because I have any interest in the authenticity debate; rather, it is simply because the qualities of bomba rice are such that any other variety is not nearly as well suited to producing a flavorful and satisfying dish. For many, of course, it doesn't end here, especially if we specify that what we are talking about is paella valenciana. Now it becomes about recipes. (Tempers flare, indignation explodes! Hide the children!) Suffice to say, the debate rages. Regarding what constitutes a traditional Valencian paella, there is sufficient consensus regarding some of the basics: definitely no fish or seafood; rabbit, yes; chicken, yes; garrofón (a particular variety of white bean), yes; ñora (a kind of dried red pepper) and tomato for the sofrito, yes; saffron, of course. And I stop there, because it starts to get tricky. Quickly. And imagine all the other debates: the kind of heat (you must have a wood fire!), the moment when the rice is added, the importance of the socarrat, etc. To give you a sense of how this question really gets some people going, I cite the example of British celebrity chef Jamie Oliver, who had the temerity last year to publish a paella recipe that included (horrors!) chorizo. Oliver was skewered (ha, ha, right?) on social media and the outrage was such that it became a story covered by major media outlets around the globe. (Just google "Jamie Oliver chorizo paella".)
     The venom directed at Oliver was intense. It comes mainly from paella "purists", but I believe what's really going on is symptomatic of the global phenomenon of identity anxiety. Around the globe many are feeling uncertain about their status within communities, about the role they play in connecting past to future. These conflicted feelings are real, but efforts to resolve them via food rants are doomed to fail. There is no such thing as "authentic" paella, a dish that has evolved very quickly in modern times. Those who strive to defend the traditional, Valencian paella do good, valuable work, but they are, to some degree, operating in a small bubble. Ultimately, trying to heal identity anxiety via paella vigilantism is comical. It is comical because most consumers don't care one bit what the protectors of the faith think. Further, serious cuisine has become a quintessentially globalized dynamic. No one needs to go to Valencia to have a fantastic paella. Place, perhaps sadly, perhaps even tragically, has become disconnected to paella.
     Nonetheless, the future of arroces is wonderful. While junk paella is spreading, high quality paellas are spreading just as quickly. Innovation is good. Chefs are coming up with surprising, and surprisingly fantastic, new flavors all the time. Much more knowledge about how to maximize flavors is available. For me, it's about the process, the enjoyment of the ritual. The aromas, the texture. Above all, without a doubt, it is about the tremendous satisfaction of sharing great food with friends and family. How I do paella... that's material for another post.

I Need a Break

Since November's election I have read many accounts of emotional and mental distress caused by the news. Many of these accounts, especially ones from public figures, I have dismissed as self-absorbed whining of the worst kind. But now perhaps I find myself in that place of anguish in which the mix of pessimism, worry, outrage, and general disbelief reach a dangerously high level. So, I am going to take a break from the news. (As Eric Cartman says, "Screw you guys, I'm going home.") Part of me wants to review some of the more horrific of Trump's latest utterances, but I resist. It's all been said. Besides, within twenty-four hours he'll say something even worse. I'll do what I can, and I'll be supportive of some of the important actions that are taking place to mitigate the worst effects of our current crisis. And I'll be back. But right now, I'm taking a break.


It's a beautiful morning in Malaga. The sun is shining, the sea is calm. The coffee was good. I've already worked two plus hours and it's still before 9 am. So maybe I'll go for a run along the beach. Clear my head. Feel the cool breeze. Disconnect! Maybe my brain will settle itself down sufficiently for some pondering of important questions: the parallels, for example, between baseball and baroque cathedrals (yes, really); the future of paella; the dilemmas of translating "yearning" to Spanish and "olvido" to English.