If Cities Could Speak

Cojonudos - honey-soaked pastry heaven The living room smelt of coffee and chinchón after lunch. I inhaled the smoky, aniseed-laced scent greedily. I didn’t partake in the drinking of the chinchón (an anise-based spirit from the Spanish town of the same name) and my post-lunch coffee was decaf, as I’m still breastfeeding. What I missed in terms of chupitos and caffeine, though, I made up for in food. In April last year my trip to Madrid was marked by pregnancy-related dietary restrictions and anxiety. This time, I could eat with carefree abandon…and I did.  On our first day we ate cojonudos from the local take-away shop - small, dense, honey-soaked pastries powdered with icing sugar that melts on your tongue. We ritualistically buy a box each time we’re here and I like eating them with a strong coffee to cut through the richness. For weekend breakfasts we had churros that were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside and fat, oily porras (the churro’s bigger cousin) dipped ...

We’ve been in Madrid for a couple of weeks now for a prolonged Easter visit. Besides the obvious (spending time with J’s family and feeling the sun’s dependable rays on my skin), the thing I relish most about coming here is the food.  This trip has been different in that I’m 19 weeks pregnant, which necessitates a more restrained relationship with food, what with all the NHS-recommended restrictions. Normally when I’m here I eat everything with joyful abandon, so it’s been hard having to second guess what’s on my plate and saying a temporary goodbye to certain food (for example, the slices of soft pale cheese that looked as if they would melt in your mouth that J’s grandparents put out as part of a pre-lunch spread).  Despite this, I have still managed to indulge on several occasions. We were only a few hours into our stay when I gleefully gobbled up my first  torrija  of the season, and I went on to eat at least three more throughout th...

  I ate my first torrija around six years ago in the kitchen of a house in Tooting where I rented a room. In those days I was sceptical about white bread and sugar, so I probably didn't relish this doughy treat as much as I could have, feelings of guilt polluting the pleasure of each sweet bite.  Now, I'm standing in the kitchen of a house in Madrid with my mother-in-law, sleeves rolled up and my relationship with food uncomplicated. It’s a hot Easter Friday and we’re making a fresh batch of torrijas to enjoy throughout the long weekend, as per tradition for this Spanish dessert. Whether you’re familiar with the name or not, you’ll almost certainly be familiar with the concept of torrijas. They’re Spain’s answer to French toast and are made by dipping sliced bread in sweet milk and eggs, before being fried in a deep pot of bubbling sunflower oil and sprinkled liberally with cinnamon-speckled sugar. There is something therapeutic about the repetition of it all, the dipping of e...

The sky is turning the shade of octopus ink by the time Vicente finishes running us through the idiosyncrasies of his army-green VW campervan. It is a T3 model - in other words old - and it will be our home for the next four days. Before we venture out into the Puerto del Rosario night, Vicente directs our gaze to the wall where a large white map of the island is pinned, strips of purple post-it notes stuck on various points to indicate desirable parking spots. I take three pictures of the map on my phone and we climb into the van. Jorge is driving; I am too nervous to go first and besides, he is more accustomed to driving on the right-hand side of the road.  It is a bumpy first ride (the darkness doesn't help) and we’re too flustered to venture far. We’re also hungry, the energy from our airport sandwiches dwindling. We park up on an empty road and venture into the city to find food. We’re not fussed about fine dining - the thought of securing a suitable place to park for the nigh...

Puerta del Sol December is here, Mariah’s on the radio and I’m watching the Grinch on repeat. The Christmas countdown has officially begun. Although this year the height of festive fun is a socially distanced mug of mulled wine on a freezing terrace, we can hopefully look forward to cosy Christmas markets and spending time with more than six people next winter. Maybe we can even dare to dream about hopping on a plane or train for next year’s festive getaways.  When you picture spending a long Christmassy weekend exploring another city, I’m willing to bet Madrid doesn’t immediately spring to mind. But having visited Spain’s capital during the festive season for the last three years, Madrid at Christmas holds a special place in my heart. If you’re in need of some festive daydreaming or if you’ve gorged on enough German gingerbread to last a lifetime, here are four ways to get your Christmas cheer on in Madrid.  1. Get your churros fix at San Ginés There’s something about the com...

  La Cabrera, Madrid After six months of lockdown life in our cosy East London flat, the thought of leaving the city, let alone the country, seemed inconceivable. But somehow, our bags were packed, the fridge was emptied, and Jorge and I were heading off to Spain for the month. Most of our time was spent in La Cabrera, a small town surrounded by mountains in the Sierra Norte de Madrid, with more fresh air than our lungs could handle after the traffic fumes of London. Being so close to the brown, bouldery mountains meant we were met with beautiful views upon opening the curtains each morning. It also meant we spent a lot of time in nature, hiking, walking and scrambling up rocks until our legs were sore.  We were staying close to the Pico de la Miel hiking trail, which gets its poetic name from the honey pot shaped peak. The climb up is steep but beautiful, and the views at the top are worth the exertion. We tackled the hike three days into our trip, which was a bold move consi...