Eating in Canarias, Part 2: Out on the Town

Bueno! Now that I’ve chronicled my adventures as a #home #chef (#homechef), it’s time for me to try to describe the experiences I’ve had dining in restaurants here on La Gomera. Though I transited through Tenerife, my experience on other islands is nil. However, this past weekend, I left La Gomera for the first time since early September to attend a meeting, and got to explore another chunk of basalt for a few days. I was very excited to go, but also felt like an octopus clinging to a rock with four tentacles. I was not entirely certain I wanted to leave!

In our pre-departure guidance and orientation, it was stressed over and over again that Spanish social culture revolves around food and drink. That we should never be afraid to apuntarse, AKA to join a group for coffee, dinner, or drinks. Of course, I’ve found this to be spot on, especially in this sleepy little town—time is spent with friends at cafés, restaurants, and bars. The typical American budgeting of only eating out once every week or two is totally incompatible here. Every Thursday evening, a group of at least 6 teachers goes out to eat and have a drink or two. This has been aptly dubbed juernes, which is the combination of jueves (Thursday) + viernes (Friday). Plans are always announced in the group chat, and everyone responds with either “me apunto” (I’m in) or “me quedo” (I’m staying home). I almost always apuntarme, and have kind of been throwing financial caution to the wind in favor of new experiences. I didn’t come to Spain to sit at home alone!

The typical dinner structure is as follows: Once everyone has arrived to the restaurant of choice (usually around 8:30 or 9 pm), one seasoned veteran orders for the table. They typically ask around prior to ordering, but people generally put their faith in this spokesperson and don’t even crack their menus. After ordering, we get bread and mojo to start. Mojo is a staple of Canarian cuisine, and typically comes in two different flavors: red and green. Mojo rojo is made from garlic, vinegar, and peppers, and usually has at least a little bit of a kick. Some restaurants have reputations for having very picante mojo rojo, and someone at the table always gives a warning if that’s the case. Mojo verde, on the other hand, is cilantro-based and mild. Though rojo comes close in some restaurants and has certain niches where it excels, I am a strong verde ally. Bowdoin people: this is a debate on par with that of Moulton versus Thorne.

Los dos mojos--image from spain.info/es

Though the food we order varies on location and attendees, we typically get one or two appetizer-ish dishes and two meat-based entrees. Dishes are placed strategically in the middle of tables, and everyone takes a small portion to try. I still have trouble with this when something is particularly delicious and I feel like I could easily eat the full plate myself (if not two), but I have come to appreciate the method for how many different things I’ve been able to try for the price of one meal. I also think it’s very interesting to watch people share food so regularly—in the US, there’s the classic “you HAVE to try a bite of this”, but that’s just one bite and then it’s back to your regularly scheduled eating. In Spain, I eyeball the dish, lock in on a target, serve myself an appropriate portion (making adjustments if I accidentally take too much), and only go back for more if I’m certain it would be fair. One thing that always makes me laugh is that it seems to be customary to leave one tiny portion on the group plate. I think it’s a symbol of politeness; a candle left in the window for anyone who might want more. But no one EVER eats it. It could be a single chunk of pork loin or steak, or one more spoonful of dessert. People gradually finish chewing, put their silverware down, and carry on conversation as the lone bite chills in the evening breeze (we always eat outside!). I have spent many an hour locked in a stare down with these sad remnants. I’m also apparently not very subtle—if there is significant food left over, it’s usually offered to me. My teacher friends have also learned to interpret my indirect American tap-dancing of “no, I’m good” to mean “yes, I will 100% eat the rest of that.” I feel so seen. 

Without further ado, it’s time for some food description. To start, I’ll detail one of the most typically Canarian meals I’ve had. It blessed my life about a month and a half ago, when my fellow teacher and friend Mariola invited me to go up into the interior of the island with her, her daughter, and her daughter’s friend for a day. We went to La Laguna Grande, which is not actually a big lagoon but instead just an open expanse of grass with no trees. A lot of people go there to hold barbecues and picnics, but one of the main draws is the restaurant. I knew I was in for something good because Mariola is one of my favorite people to dine with—as a native Gomeran, she knows exactly what to order, and also always advocates for ordering more food for our dinner groups just to be safe. 

Of course, we started off with bread and mojo, but soon after, I was introduced to one of the loves of my life: queso asado. Queso asado is basically a triangle of super fresh goat cheese that has been roasted/grilled to perfection, such that the exterior is browned and the whole thing is slightly smokey and really flavorful. It’s often topped with mojo or miel de palma (palm honey), which is a Canarias staple. Queso asado is typically just consumed straight up with a fork and knife, which always makes me feel like I’m getting away with something because Americans rarely consume large quantities of cheese without some sort of medium (fries, chips, crackers, etc). However, I’ve also had it in bites throughout a walnut and arugula salad dressed with miel de palma… Oh lord. 

You could play Canary Islands bingo with this picture: queso asado, almogrote, mojo verde y rojo, and a gofio treat all in one!

Our next dish was one that I can confidently say was one of the more peculiar things I’ve consumed: chicharrones con gofio. You’ve heard of pork cracklings—now, imagine them hidden under mounds of floury roasted grains mixed with a little sugar. When each forkful enters your mouth, you’re first almost choked by the gofio, which is the consistency of powdered sugar. It’s slightly sweet with a wholesome grainy undertone, and dissolves quickly. You then feel the heat of the pork crackling (insulated by the topping), and taste the rich and savory flavor set off by the touch of sweetness from the gofio. Though I wasn’t entirely sure if I really liked it or not, I could not stop eating it. My current preference for consuming gofio is in a dessert mousse, but people here use it to top soups, mix into smoothies, and hold together terrines. It’s nearly impossible to imagine until you’ve tried it. I ate a gofio-based cookie the other day, and the closest flavor I could think of was really good cereal milk. Below is a video courtesy of my friend Gara, who toured a gofio factory today and recorded the entire process!

                                                            

Chicharrones con gofio--image from La Abeja News

After drowning myself in pork fat and gofio, we moved on to the first main dish, which is rather universal but executed extremely well in Canarias: chicken breast in a mushroom sauce. Pechuga de pollo en salsa de champiñón. Oh man, do they know how to serve chicken here!! This is a staple at most restaurants, and it’s hard to go wrong ordering it. It typically comes with rice and some roasted/sauteéd vegetables, and always has potatoes on the side. You get your choice of fries or papas arrugadas, which is the typical Canarian preparation (wrinkled with salt). We usually opt for fries which we can drag through the remaining mushroom sauce, while arrugadas are best enjoyed with mojo or even almogrote (a pâté made from hard cheese, olive oil, peppers, and garlic).

A classic dinner plate--image from Pizzería da Luiggi on Tenerife

Following the chicken in quick succession was an enormous bowl of puchero, which is a traditional Canarian stew. The recipes seem to follow an “everything but the kitchen sink” policy, and every spoonful brought me something different. Chickpeas, pumpkin, squash, beef, chicken, pork, green beans, sweet and white potatoes, carrots, and more, with a corn cob to finish it all off. Everything was totally tender and harmonized perfectly. Since it was my first puchero, I was given the honor of eating the corn. One pot of this could probably feed me for a week! I want to attempt it soon, but I’m not sure I have a pot big enough. 

Image from hiperdino.es

To finish off our meal, we ordered leche asada covered in miel de palma. This dessert is very similar to flan, but slightly less uniformly dense, which allows the miel de palma to infuse it all with sweetness. As I mentioned earlier, another popular dessert is mousse, which comes in many different flavors—gofio, passionfruit, chocolate, and mango. It’s always a nice, (texturally) light way to assuage my sweet tooth… And I love seeing it on English translation menus. 

Image (and recipe!) at cookpad.com

tag yourself I'm cocolate Mouse

This post really ran away from me, but in the best kind of way. Of course, I’ve only described a portion of what I’ve experienced, and have so much more to tell! I am now being frequently fed by a Canarian mom, and let’s just say I reaaaaallllyyyyy need my ankle to heal so I can get back to running ASAP and counterbalance things a little bit. 

¡Buen provecho!