Founded in 1725, Restaurant Botin has been graciously welcoming hungry stomachs and curious minds into it’s richly decorated rooms and cozy caves for quite some time. Serving delectable dishes for almost 3 centuries, Botin has been marked down in the Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest restaurant in the world. With that being said, I was actually unaware of this hidden gem until just last Wednesday when my high school friend, Alana, proposed the idea in an e-mail. Since Wednesdays are usually our night off from practice it didn’t take me but a second to click reply and send my confirmation speeding along into the labariynth that is cyber space. Of course I didn’t actually take the time to investigate the restaurant that Alana had suggested.
My long strides carried me quickly and efficiently down the sidewalks of Madrid, but I felt as if I was walking in circles and I still hadn’t found the street sign that I was looking for. So, I initiated plan B which was to swallow my pride and start asking for directions. Every person I spoke with knew where this restaurant was located. Now, Madrid is an awfully big city with a plethora of side streets that criss-cross back and forth like the world’s most intricate pie crust. The fact that everyone knew of Botin’s existence should’ve told me that this restaurant was an outlier, deviating in extreme amounts from all the other restaurants in Madrid, yet I thought nothing of it.
Alana and I met outside Botin and walked in. We confirmed our reservation and were lead by our absolutely lovely waiter down some very old looking wooden stairs. We were then transplanted into a series of smaller rooms that looked more like lighted caves than dining rooms. A woman dressed in traditional black and white maid’s clothes appeared and took our coats. Smiling down at the two youngest faces in the whole restaurant, our waiter advised us on a bottle of wine. A warm basket of crusty bread was placed silently on our table and I finally gave myself the chance to sit back and admire my surroundings. My eyes took their time soaking everything in and the ends of my lips curled upwards in involuntary delight. Boutin was positively precious and I was just about to tell Alana as much when she unloaded her own stream of words first. “Leslie, this is the oldest restaurant in the world, it’s in the Guinness Book of World Records. Several of my co-workers have been telling me that I need to come here. The baby pig is supposed to be a specialty.” In that moment my mind went blank and my mouth fell open. The incredible accommodations, the lovely help, the smoothness to which Boutin was running, the people on the streets who had given me directions, it was all falling into place and making sense. I was about to enjoy a meal in the oldest restaurant recorded in history. I couldn’t even believe it. What a unique experience!
As you can imagine, we ordered the roast suckling pig along with baby squids in their own ink with rice. And for dessert we happily savored every last crumb of our chocolate tort. When the plates held no more food and the bill was paid, we set off to explore a bit more of the restaurant. Climbing up the stairs to the 3rd level we stepped into a room that was thick with the rich sounds of a mans singing voive. He stood at one end of the room in a blue, velvet jacket with matching trousers and yellow trim while two other men stood at his side, both playing string instruments. The first man continued singing in a strong, booming voice while the other two men plucked along at his side. Every employee that we encountered on our expedition greeted us with the utmost friendliness and we found that many of them had been working at Boutin for at least 15 years. Upon requesting a few pictures, one man guided us into the kitchen where the famous log fire was burning. We held large knives and ancient looking black, ceramic pots as we posed for the picture. The gracious people, the darling rooms and the succulent food moved Boutin into first place as my favorite restaurant. I highly recommend this place if you find yourself hungry and in Madrid, www.botin.es.
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| Alana and I in the kitchen! |
World Basketball Museum (Museo del Baloncesto Mundial) is another place I would recommend and is only 6 km outside of Madrid’s city center and is a mere 15 minute walk from my apartment. From the outside, this particular museum looks nothing like the flashy Weisman museum on the U of M campus or even the superb Science Museum in St. Paul. Instead, this museum is all white and in my opinion doesn’t really do a great job of screaming “Hey! Come on in and see how cool I am!” Nevertheless, we paid our dues to Mr. Naismith and saluted his larger than life photo as we walked in, free of charge. The museum turned out to be a wild surprise. Every painting, sculpture, game, jersey, book, poster, trophy, torch was a tribute to this wonderful game. The art work was new, bright, modern, creative and nothing short of AWESOME. Wire sculptures of players soaring through the air, bright paintings of 2 hands representing a time-out, and life sized cows painted with the next olympic year 2016, filled the room.
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| World Basketball Museum in Alcobendas |
A large room downstairs was filled with every basketball board game you can think of, several of which my brothers and I used to play together when we were just little tykes. In one corner was the video game NBA Jam. My teammates picked their players and as I watched Larry Bird and David Robinson run up and down the floor I couldn’t help but laugh when I heard the announcer exclaim “BOOM SHOCKA LOCKA!” Upstairs we found a room dedicated to the Spanish National team. The whole room was adorned in red and yellow. Pictures of Pau Gasol hung from the walls, one of which showed him without his shaggy mop or his grizzly beard! Then there was the room dedicated to each olympic games. Every olympic torch, except one, was displayed in a sparkling glass case. My favorite torch was that of the Australia games, painted with stripes of electric blue and silver. The last room we entered was the library, holding every basketball book you could imagine. There were several other rooms that we didn’t get a chance to see since we were running short on time, but there is not doubt in my mind that I will be visiting this museum a few more times before the end of May.
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| One of the many unique, basketball works of art. |
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| A room dedicated to the Spanish basketball team. |
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| Sarah enjoyed the old school basketball board games! |
Staying on the basketball side of things, we had a game this past Saturday. I played a lot of minutes, but can’t say that I am satisfied with my performance, however, we won and at the end of the day that is all that really matters. Saturday was also the day of my grandma’s funeral. As I was warming up for the game my coach called me over to the sideline where he proceeded to take a black ribbon out of his pocket. Then, he looped it underneath my jersey and tied it off at the top of my shoulder. He patted my arm and told me that our whole team would be wearing these ribbons in remembrance of my grandma. My eyes started to gloss over and I managed to squeak out a thank you before he pushed me gently back out onto the court to join my teammates. I am so fortunate to be playing for a team that truly cares about my well being.
Julie and Julia. Lastly, Sarah and I fulfilled our second Spanish recipe last night. Sarah had 2 friends in town for the day/night so we decided to cook them dinner. We made our famous American/Spanish empanada, Marta Cobian (one of our spanish roommates) made tortilla, and then Sarah and I tackled the task of making croquettes. The traditional ingredients in Spanish croquettes consist of ham or chicken, but we decided to add a bit more and do ham, cheese and spinach. The closest american food I can relate them to would be a mozzarella stick, but I think ours were a bit more healthy. We made a paste on the stove that consisted of a spoonful of oil, some flour, milk, ham, cheese and spinach. We let it sit in the fridge for a bit and then proceeded to roll it into balls, dunk them in egg yokes, roll them in bread crumbs and fry them in olive oil. Once again the two of us out did ourselves;) These crunchy outside, warm and gooey inside, balls of joy that sat on our plates proved to be yuuuuuuumyyy!
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| 2 Spaniards, 2 Canadians and 1 American. |
Leslie’s Loose Ends
Spanish people love english words that sound like the actual sound. For example, the words, knock and bark (like a dog).
I started teaching another english class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. So far there are 5 people in my class. They are beginning english speakers and are just a delight.
I had class with Roberto this morning and I was telling him about the upcoming holiday in the U.S, Thanksgiving. He looked at me and said “this holiday is very curious to me.” Ha, the way non-native english speakers phrase things sometimes just cracks me up. He went on to tell me how he had seen it in the movies several times and that I would have better luck buying parts of a bull in the super market than I would finding an actual turkey!
First and foremost, congrats to the girls for 2 fabulous performances in the Thanksgiving tourney this past weekend!!! And secondly, I wish you all a warm and aroma filled Thanksgiving full of stuffing, cranberries and pumpkin pie!! BUEN PROVECHO! Enjoy your meal!!
Besos,
Leslie
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