Traditional Food & Wine Tour

Explore Catalunya’s Small Villages excursion was so great—our guide so delightful, the group so tiny, the places we visited so charming—I immediately signed up for several more tours. So, very early this beautiful morning, we once again find ourselves in the lobby of the Explore Catalunya office for a small group tour—Viator’s Traditional Food and Wine Day Trip is on the menu.

Signing in, I discover that today the tour will consist of sixteen individuals—not six—and because of the size, we will be taking a small bus. The brochure said small, and it also said minivan. I resign myself into acceptance mode, rethinking the term “small”—sixteen must be small—six is tiny.

Sitting in the seats immediately in back of the driver, expansive windows all around, I happily realize sixteen is not a bad number.

Since it is more than an hour to our first destination, I decide to relax, enjoy the ride and the gorgeous scenery.  No longer on the fast and wide auto via, I can’t help but worry that many of the roads we travel on seem too steep and too narrow for our current mode of transportation. However, on the north side of the Montserrat mountains, the bus successfully lumbers forward, eventually stopping at a tiny town clinging to the hillside.

Catalan Tomato Bread

The first order of the day is breakfast. I just knew I shouldn’t have fixed those eggs—that bacon—this morning.

It is a DIY. We are taught how to make our own tomato bread with giant slices of grilled pan de molde, cut garlic, cut tomato, olive oil, and salt. Delicious. The homemade cheese with local honey is melt in your mouth good. The wine, at 10:30 in the morning a surprise—the delivery method a challenge.

I am not too terribly fond of the local boiled sausages—to my palate, they are bland, and I like spice. But maybe spice is not a good thing early in the morning before a day of working in the fields or tending livestock. I try to remember the purpose of our small feast—experiencing the Catalan way of life.

A Stop at a Former Benedectine Monastery

Back in the bus, we make our way through the Montserrat Mountains, taking a minuscule, paved—very worn, very rutted—road as we weave around the base of the magic spires.  The bus balks.  Many times. Stalling more than once.  We have a close-up view of the driver as she struggles, putting the vehicle in reverse—the precipitous edge breathtakingly close—trying to back up far enough and get a running start to complete the journey to the top of the hill.

Stopping, we visit a former Benedictine monastery. Today it is a mountain shelter—an example of early Romanesque architecture when the seemingly squat churches were built for protection. Shelter.  Prayer. Not soaring beauty.  Today, and perhaps always, it is a place of peace. I love its old stone and the beautiful mountain views.

Vinyanova – Lunch  in an Ancient Farmhouse

At 1 pm, we head for lunch—our third meal of the day—driving through groves of olive trees toward the foot of the south face of the mountain range. The antiquated farmhouse turned restaurant has been in the hands of the same family for almost 125 years. It was formerly owned by the Benedictine Monks, and was part of the lands of the Monastery of Montserrat.

Historical Note: Toward the middle of the nineteenth, Spain’s prime minister decreed the expropriation and privatization of monastic properties in Spain.  The government wished to use the land to encourage the enterprises of the small-land owning middle class since much of the land was thought of as underused by monastic orders. The government, which refused to compensate the church for the properties, saw this as a source of income. Ultimately, the desamortización led to the vacating of most of the ancient monasteries in Spain, which had been occupied by the various convent orders for centuries.  

The decision on where to seat sixteen people—inside or out—is a dilemma.  The views are beautiful, but the wind, cold. The clouds obliterate the sun. But, the views are beautiful, and the tables are set.

But First, A Tour of the Olive Press

While the staff resets the tables inside, we stroll through the kitchens on our way to a talk and tour of the ancient olive press. Along with information on olives, we are told that this restaurant attracts as many as 500 patrons on weekends.  I can understand why.  The olives, olive oil, and crusty bread set before us—all wonderful—is a meal in itself.

The First Course

While nibbling away on the bread and drinking the wine, we are given choices.  Too many choices.  For a first course, I ultimately decide on a salad.  The star of the dish is a delicious shredded duck confit served on a bed of bitter greens and surrounded by sliced tomatoes and supremed oranges. It seems an odd combination, but it works. Everyone raves.

“Michael, the tomatoes are peeled!” I am more than impressed. And I know the labor involved in supreming oranges. Love of the land—love of the food it produces—is tasted in every bite.

Entrees and Dessert

While Michael opts for pig trotters—he would—for the main course, I decide on the tender young lamb braised with potatoes in a rich broth. And then there is dessert.  The wonderful, colorful owner of the property has a hard time describing the desserts—a baked apple is a baked potato, and the light as air meringue topping the mango topped shortbread is called a pie.  We both order the pie. Delicious—not too sweet—not too filling—perfect.

Parés Baltà in the Penedés Region

On our way south of Barcelona to the scheduled wine tasting in the Penedés region, we all practice the number one Spanish sport—siesta. I’m not sure how I can drink more wine, but I’ll try.

Before our private tasting, we take a tour of the vineyards and cellars of Parés Baltà, a major cava producer of the region.  Our guide speaks perfect English explaining the organic process that is now and has always been part of the winery since its inception. Not believing in artificial fertilizer, when the grape harvest is complete, they let in the sheep—hundreds of sheep—who eat the weeds, strip the vines of leaves, fertilizing the soil as they go. Ingenious. I was wondering why there were no leaves on the vines in the middle of October.

We descend a myriad of narrow ancient steps deep into the earth until we reach the hand-dug cava caves. This cava cellar is ancient. Dark and dank and encrusted with mold and webs. I love it—feeling like I am in some secret place that no one else knows about—except for the other sixteen people down here with me.

Wine Tasting

The tasting part of our tour about to begin, we all sit patiently—sometimes silently—wondering where our tour guide has gone.  She reappears with local dried sausage and cheese. She disappears—again.  Then reappears with bottles of cava, pouring each one of us a full measure.  I may be in trouble if all of our tastings are this large. I know I’m in trouble when Michael pours his white wine tasting into my glass.

It is a straight tasting of the Grenache grape—white and red, from different vineyards with different climates and different soils.  The wine tasting is an interesting excursion of taste buds and subtle nuances. Then we are hit on the head with the second red—2πr.  I think it is quite delicious, so does everyone else. It is from the Priorat region of Spain, where the climate is one of the warmest driest areas in the country, and the soil is nutrient-poor, made up of partially-decomposed slate and quartz.  2πr—a case of adversity breeding success. To ship a case home, it will cost 200€, and then there is the cost of the wine. If I had a smiley face emoji available, I’d color it with lots and lots of tears.

Heading Back to Barcelona

Back on the bus, heading to Barcelona, we practice the Spanish sport of siesta one more time.  As we race toward the city, I open my eyes, really looking at my surroundings: the cars, the lights, the signs, the buildings, the sky. I remark to Michael, “We could be anywhere—except for the rolling hills. California on the 101. Austin on 1. Dallas. Boston. I’m not complaining; it is just strange to realize we are all so similar. One world, all of us just trying to make it through the day.” Embracing the day. Living our life. Loving our life.