Salón de Gourmets Madrid - Day 2
12-Apr-10 - A not-too-early start (10:30), and met (some of) my fellow travellers: Rupert Parker from London, Florence Hernández from Paris, Cristina de Hevia from the tourist board and Javier Ruiz-Ogarrio who was to shepherd us around. Another member was Alberto Schieppati from Milan, but he'd already left for the Salón, and we were to meet up later.
We started off with the touristy bit, and a visit to the Reina Sofia Museum which is a gallery devoted to 20th century art, as opposed to the Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza which both cover a wider spectrum, and is great if you happen to be, as I am, a fan of Picasso, the early surrealists and, especially, Dalí. We were hosted by Cristina and shown around by Susana Jarabo who is an expert on the subject. Unfortunately, although the corridors around the galleries are well-supplied with benches, the galleries themselves are not. If you're lucky the attendant may have left his/her chair for some administrative purpose and you can sit on it for the duration, but this is rare. I like going to art galleries, especially those which have benches in the middle from which you can admire the exhibits, but this does not have them. It does, however, have some spectacular works, not just in terms of painting and sculpture but also film: restored DVD versions of Un Chien Andalou and l'Age d'Or are on permanent loop in two of the galleries. And there's a whole gallery devoted to Picasso's Guernica (Gernika), a huge and emotional evisceration of the devastation suffered on April 26th 1937, when Hitler's Luftwaffe destroyed the city on the orders of General Franco. It's a disturbing experience.
I was fascinated to watch some of the school and student groups which were visiting the gallery. All ages were represented, and I saw the teacher of a group of a couple of dozen primary-school children desperately trying to count them as they milled around. Most beguiling of all was a crocodile of infant-school age children (say, 5-6 years old) dutifully following their teacher, each one hanging doggedly on to the pullover of the child in front. It's good to see children getting the opportunity to appreciate culture, but I did wonder, given the turbulent history of Spain from General Primo de Rivera in 1923 to the new constitution of 1978, whether 20th-century art is, perhaps a bit 'brutal' for young children to appreciate until they're old enough to understand the politics behind it.
Next stop was the CaixaForum and post-modern art on the Paseo del Prado, also on foot, but my creaking joints were such that I chickened out and hitched a lift in the minibus to the Cafeteria Siguero on the Plaza de la Lealtad for a cold beer. Next-door is the Hotel Ritz, where we were to have lunch.
The Ritz is, of course, the grandest hotel in Madrid and was designed from the ground up to be so. It has five red towers in the Michelin Guide and for a while it vied with the Hotel Villa Magna on the Paseo de Castellana to be the greatest hotel in town. Since then the Villa Magna has changed hands and now has to languish with 'only' five black towers, but the Ritz has had massive investment from the Orient Express Group, which bought it in 2003. I confess to a slight feeling of inadequacy as I was wearing a short-sleeved, open-neck shirt, and I've been thrown out of the Ritz in London (owned by a completely different group) for not wearing a jacket and tie (see post of 13-May-09). But this is Spain, and although the service staff wear morning tails in Ascot grey my (our) informal appearance was not remarked upon, and we were conducted to an elegantly-laid table for six on the terrace overlooking the Paseo del Prado. This is just about the most must-be-seen-to-be-there place in the city for celebs and the super-rich, etc., so as a result, until this occasion, I had not been seen there. Indeed, some years ago (before Orient Express days) I was on a press trip which involved a stay in Madrid and the then owners of the hotel expressed an interest in hosting a group of UK journalists, and offered a 50% discount on their usual rates. The organiser told me that, even at that price, it was still double the price of any other hotel in Madrid, so we stayed at the Meliá Princesa instead, which is jolly good but... Well, it's not the Ritz.
Anyway, the lunch was hosted by Encarnación Muñoz who manages the public relations department of the Ministry of Industry, Tourism and Trade and it was spectacularly well-organised. If you've read earlier posts on this blog you'll know that, as a food and drink journalist of umpty-nine years' standing, I am fascinated by all aspects of food and beverage service. The first manifestation came as I shoehorned the Tijuana Brass (Cockney rhyming slang for the uninitiated) into the cushioned wickerwork armchair: a waiter appeared with a chair from indoors and suggested that I might be more comfortable without the arms... Spanish anatomies tend to be slimmer in that department (especially, and very attractively, in the female of the species). Next up was the menu, which started with a fabulous mille-feuille with fresh white asparagus, and an excellent Albariño from Rías Baixas. The next three courses (count 'em!) however, involved shellfish and my allergy to creepy-crawlies from under the sea came to the fore. I was presented with a very pleasant but undistinguished lentil risotto as a substitute. Ironically, one of the few marine denizens I can enjoy, lobster, was featured in the main course but the chef had prepared a special plate for me... Without the lobster. That is real food-service, of course, which you expect from the Ritz.
By this time my aching limbs were asking for repose and, with the prospect of yet more walking during the afternoon and evening, I made my apologies and headed back to the Wellie for a very welcome siesta and, in the evening, a room-service steak and chips in front of the telly (yes, I know, boring boring boring but very good indeed). And the evening and the morning were the second day.
We started off with the touristy bit, and a visit to the Reina Sofia Museum which is a gallery devoted to 20th century art, as opposed to the Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza which both cover a wider spectrum, and is great if you happen to be, as I am, a fan of Picasso, the early surrealists and, especially, Dalí. We were hosted by Cristina and shown around by Susana Jarabo who is an expert on the subject. Unfortunately, although the corridors around the galleries are well-supplied with benches, the galleries themselves are not. If you're lucky the attendant may have left his/her chair for some administrative purpose and you can sit on it for the duration, but this is rare. I like going to art galleries, especially those which have benches in the middle from which you can admire the exhibits, but this does not have them. It does, however, have some spectacular works, not just in terms of painting and sculpture but also film: restored DVD versions of Un Chien Andalou and l'Age d'Or are on permanent loop in two of the galleries. And there's a whole gallery devoted to Picasso's Guernica (Gernika), a huge and emotional evisceration of the devastation suffered on April 26th 1937, when Hitler's Luftwaffe destroyed the city on the orders of General Franco. It's a disturbing experience.
I was fascinated to watch some of the school and student groups which were visiting the gallery. All ages were represented, and I saw the teacher of a group of a couple of dozen primary-school children desperately trying to count them as they milled around. Most beguiling of all was a crocodile of infant-school age children (say, 5-6 years old) dutifully following their teacher, each one hanging doggedly on to the pullover of the child in front. It's good to see children getting the opportunity to appreciate culture, but I did wonder, given the turbulent history of Spain from General Primo de Rivera in 1923 to the new constitution of 1978, whether 20th-century art is, perhaps a bit 'brutal' for young children to appreciate until they're old enough to understand the politics behind it.
Next stop was the CaixaForum and post-modern art on the Paseo del Prado, also on foot, but my creaking joints were such that I chickened out and hitched a lift in the minibus to the Cafeteria Siguero on the Plaza de la Lealtad for a cold beer. Next-door is the Hotel Ritz, where we were to have lunch.
The Ritz is, of course, the grandest hotel in Madrid and was designed from the ground up to be so. It has five red towers in the Michelin Guide and for a while it vied with the Hotel Villa Magna on the Paseo de Castellana to be the greatest hotel in town. Since then the Villa Magna has changed hands and now has to languish with 'only' five black towers, but the Ritz has had massive investment from the Orient Express Group, which bought it in 2003. I confess to a slight feeling of inadequacy as I was wearing a short-sleeved, open-neck shirt, and I've been thrown out of the Ritz in London (owned by a completely different group) for not wearing a jacket and tie (see post of 13-May-09). But this is Spain, and although the service staff wear morning tails in Ascot grey my (our) informal appearance was not remarked upon, and we were conducted to an elegantly-laid table for six on the terrace overlooking the Paseo del Prado. This is just about the most must-be-seen-to-be-there place in the city for celebs and the super-rich, etc., so as a result, until this occasion, I had not been seen there. Indeed, some years ago (before Orient Express days) I was on a press trip which involved a stay in Madrid and the then owners of the hotel expressed an interest in hosting a group of UK journalists, and offered a 50% discount on their usual rates. The organiser told me that, even at that price, it was still double the price of any other hotel in Madrid, so we stayed at the Meliá Princesa instead, which is jolly good but... Well, it's not the Ritz.
Anyway, the lunch was hosted by Encarnación Muñoz who manages the public relations department of the Ministry of Industry, Tourism and Trade and it was spectacularly well-organised. If you've read earlier posts on this blog you'll know that, as a food and drink journalist of umpty-nine years' standing, I am fascinated by all aspects of food and beverage service. The first manifestation came as I shoehorned the Tijuana Brass (Cockney rhyming slang for the uninitiated) into the cushioned wickerwork armchair: a waiter appeared with a chair from indoors and suggested that I might be more comfortable without the arms... Spanish anatomies tend to be slimmer in that department (especially, and very attractively, in the female of the species). Next up was the menu, which started with a fabulous mille-feuille with fresh white asparagus, and an excellent Albariño from Rías Baixas. The next three courses (count 'em!) however, involved shellfish and my allergy to creepy-crawlies from under the sea came to the fore. I was presented with a very pleasant but undistinguished lentil risotto as a substitute. Ironically, one of the few marine denizens I can enjoy, lobster, was featured in the main course but the chef had prepared a special plate for me... Without the lobster. That is real food-service, of course, which you expect from the Ritz.
The Terrace at the Ritz - although this is a night-time shot. Pic.: The Ritz
By this time my aching limbs were asking for repose and, with the prospect of yet more walking during the afternoon and evening, I made my apologies and headed back to the Wellie for a very welcome siesta and, in the evening, a room-service steak and chips in front of the telly (yes, I know, boring boring boring but very good indeed). And the evening and the morning were the second day.
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posted by John Radford at
06:02
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