24 hours in Santa Pau

The food scene is not exactly erupting in rural Santa Pau, a small Catalan village in a national park dotted by dormant volcanoes. But you will not go hungry (as long as the resupply route to Olot is open).

Breakfast: Can Menció, opened in the historic Plaça Major in 1940 beside the only hostal in town, serves up fresh bread, bags of raw Fesols de Santa Pau (the ubiquitous locally grown white beans) and a wine selection about as long as the village census roll. (Rooms just €45; breakfast downstairs cheap, but not included.)




Lunch: Fresh La Fageda yogurt, from the cooperative inside the volcanic reserve. (I'd say more, but we did not stop for a visit to the plant, and the Web site is all in Catalan.)

Dinner: Can Rafelic, where the locally raised, roasted meat is remarkable, even though the only real dinnertime competition comes from the frozen pizza and prosciutto-and-tomato sandwiches at the local pub.

Braai rules

I am beginning to take this personally. First, my Greek South African-born friend Tanya (in photo below, at left) invited me over for a "peasant stew," telling me that the lamb and orzo medley, however delicious it may taste, is a strictly plebeian platter. Then last night, just as I arrived back at Tanya's, I was instructed not to remove my coat but rather to proceed directly to the balcony to help Tanya's brother, George, keep an eye on the Boerewors, South African sausage served on rolls and favored by drunk clubgoers after last call.


As if that was not enough of an indignity, Tanya also served chakalaka, a vegetarian chili that, she explained, is a staple for impoverished Johannesburg gold miners.

Tanya is just lucky that all this low-class cuisine is so highly tasty, otherwise I'd have to start boycotting these dinners, lest I end up complimenting an entree only to have Tanya explain, "This is what we feed our cattle."






Sides included Iwisa-brand, mielie-meal pap (the word actually means "gruel," and I'm not making this up); a South African beef jerky known as biltong; potato salad; dried mango; and for dessert, milk tart.

I could tell you more about cooking up Boerewors (hint: for Tanya, the process starts by getting The South African Food Shop to FedEx enormous coils of raw meat), but according to this hilarious instructional video that George passed along, it seems like you have to earn entrance into the Boerewors fraternity in a process that resembles a cross between Freemasonry initiation and an episode of Top Chef.

Please pass the Colonel Mustard

I'm hardly a Super Bowl traditionalist. (I only learned who was playing on Friday on line at the Safeway on Columbia Road when I asked the woman in front of me whether she considered a jar of cocktail onions a key part of her pre-storm food supplies.) Still, I was surprised to hear that my friend Rob Margetta, of Congressional Quarterly fame, was planning to make tacos for his Super Bowl party, provided he could hire a "dog sled team" to transport him from Alexandria. From a native of Fall River, Mass., I would've expected fried chicken, cold cuts and sour cream and onion dip.




The menu sounded similarly atypical at Julia Schiff's Super Bowl gathering in Adam's Morgan, highlighted by homemade pork and beansprout Thai egg rolls, made by Art Jirut, whose love for Kuan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy and Compassion, means she just-says-no to beef.


In a nod to more standard Super Bowl fare, however, Art also whipped up (in addition to a pistachio cake) a pot of turkey chili with scallions, kidney beans and Fritos. The hostess, meanwhile, balled some peanut butter and dipped it delicately in chocolate, and also sprinkled Americana throughout her sitting room, including a hard cover copy of David McCullough's 1776, published volumes of her father's photographs of Cincinnati and even a DVD of the 1985 movie Clue, an American classic even if Wadsworth does have a British accent.

UPDATE: My old roommate, Brian Chelcun, reminded me that the peanut butter treats are called "buckeyes," an Ohio specialty apparently designed to resemble the nut of an Ohio Buckeye tree.