Granada fit solidly into this model on a first wander through town. Menus all seemed to offer the standard array of dishes you'd find at any Spanish restaurant anywhere in the world; our first lunch of deeply average croquetas, fried squid and salad would have been just as good at our local La Tasca. I'd hoped for a unique melange of Arab and European similar to what you get in Sicilian cuisine, but on first glance the Islamic past's influence seemed limited to 27 Moroccan restaurants. I love Moroccan cuisine, but these are places run by immigrants who've parachuted in to take advantage of the cultural zeitgeist, not anything Granadan. The fusion is there, you just have to work hard to find it. There's a distinct willingness to mix sweet with savoury, a unique smoky bread, a love of flaky pastry, cinnamon popping up in unexpected places. And there are plenty of local specialties: goats' cheese (these mountains are made for it), the distinctive Jamón de Trevélez, blood sausage, a fondness for sherry. There are two routes to plug quickly into this food culture. Follow the recommendations of respected travel writers, or sign up for a food-focused tour with a local company.
The first (thank you, Conde Nast Traveller) gave us Mirador de Morayma for our most exquisitely atmospheric evening. With great food, too. Devour Tours mixed history with stops in three local bars before sitting down to dinner, all with expert commentary on the food and drink. Finally, to give some credit to Trip Advisor, by our last night we knew what we were looking for and used their revues to find our way to one of our best meals of the trip at La Vinoteca.
Mirador de Morayma
Hiking up to this spot on the crest of the Albaicin's hill may not work off all the calories you're bound to consume, but you'll certainly be ready for some sustenance. Your efforts will be rewarded with an exceptional view: the Alhambra spreads from one edge of your visual horizon to another, as if it were built as one enormous folly to enliven the terraced gardens here. The restaurant is located in what's known locally as a carmén, the term for an aristocratic home complete with gardens and orchards, all hidden behind the walls of a tight urban space. This house, legend has it, was the residence of the Princess Morayma during the captivity of her husband Boabdil, the last King of Granada. (And a short walk from her mother-in-law's place at the Palacio Dar-al-Horra, which I wrote about last time.) Both interior and garden have now been turned into a restaurant, and though there's a warren of interestingly decorated rooms inside (wooden beams, tiles, artwork), as soon as it's warm enough most punters spill outside onto three terraces of shady gardens. It's a lush space with patterned cobbles, gently-murmuring fountains, towering evergreens and rambling roses. As if trying to exorcise the Moors, the garden has its own chapel and an exquisite tile mural of St. Anthony beams down from the side of the house.
Morayma adds to its attractions with house wines produced on their country estate, though they were sadly out of the white that night. The waiter made an excellent pick from a list studded with interesting local options. He ended our evening with glasses of complimentary licor de hierba and a move to a recently-vacated table with a better view. We ended up in a corner loggia overlooking both the gardens and the Alhambra. Under the pergola below, a large gathering of locals sang traditional songs as a couple who were clearly the centre of celebrations did a bit of informal flamenco. Magic.
Devour Tours
They're my fantasy tour company: devoted to the intersection of food and history, offering tours to small groups led by expert guides. Guide Marta Sanchez joins the rarified ranks of Sicilian oenologist Valeria Carastro and Omani guardian angel Yousuf as a local able to take your whole experience to another level through knowledge, experience and a genuine love of their home town.
After a short stroll through the lower reaches of the Albaicin and a chat about the history of the place, we got down to serious business at La Bodeguilla de al Lado, a tiny place specialising in local wines with a proprietress who's acknowledged as one of the town's great experts on flamenco. No dancing here, but the decor is a temple to the art form. We matched a dry but lightly fruity Xate-O ... one of those grape varieties that never gets out of Spain ... to an aged goat’s milk cheese from Granada. (Goats are far more practical than cows in these mountains.) Though Lado is near the Cathedral, it's down an unremarkable side street a tourist would never bother to traverse.
We were in a higher-traffic area at Casa Julio, just off the Plaza Nueva. The bar was packed three deep; all that could fit in to the narrow room. The rest spill out into the pedestrian lane outside. A bit of a shame, as all those people obscure the gorgeous tile murals that cover the walls. Forget the sightseeing, however, and go for the atmosphere. Despite the touristy location, it's an obviously local crowd. Tourists are probably put off by the jam. But, as Marta advised, Granadans rarely stay at any place for longer than the space of one drink and tapa. Squeeze in, order, and space will come free. The specialty here is lightly battered and fried local hake. Despite my perception that this mountainous region was deep inland, it's a quick run to the sea less than 50 miles away. Natives talk about local seafood and discuss their favourite beaches. A cold, crisp cerveza (beer) was the logical match here.
The most bizarre introduction of the evening was El Tabernáculo. I thought I'd experienced every aspect of Southern European Catholicism: guilt, ecstasy, pathos, competitive placement at papal events. But I'd never put festive drinking on that list. This bar is a celebration of the fraternities that parade various religious statues during Holy Week. It's wallpapered with posters and holy cards of Jesus, Mary and the saints, hung with rosaries and medals, adorned with statues of penitentes (the pointy-hooded ceremonial participants who look like, but have nothing to do with, Ku Klux Clan members).They even play their distinctive parade music on a continuous loop. The religious atmosphere puts nobody off but the tourists; the place was packed and merry. Another new experience here was sweet artisan vermouth, which was not the stuff you drip out of a bottle to flavour a martini but its own distinct cocktail. Herby and slightly medicinal, it's probably a bit of an acquired taste but went perfectly with the grilled pork loin ‘Montadito’.
In addition to ending the evening with both brains and bellies full, we walked away with a list of Marta's fabulous recommendations for more to see, do and eat in Granada. Sadly, their was just one day left. This is really an ideal tour to do on your first night.
La Vinoteca
As the name implies, this place is serious about local wines. It looks like it's had a recent remodelling and is run by people who want to appeal to those serious about their food and wine but disenchanted by the fussiness of fine dining. The staff is young, devoted to their menu and more conversant about it in English than anywhere else we went. There's a dark, trendy front end dedicated to tapas and wine consumption, with restaurant rooms behind for those who want a full meal. The restaurant section had the occasional open table (we hadn't booked and got a good one by the window) but the tapas bar was heaving throughout.
A tempting menu made our choice hard, but the word solomillo stood out. I had brilliant memories of sirloin from past Spanish trips, but Piers had yet to try the classic cut here. Would it live up to the meat eater's expectations? Absolutely. Beautiful beef, simply and lightly grilled (you never have to ask for rare here) with a few potatoes and a wedge of grilled red pepper. This is nowhere-to-hide cooking, entirely dependant of the quality of the ingredients and the fire, and they had both sorted here. The waiter knew his wine list well and introduced us to several of his favourites before we ended the evening with a surprise. The Spanish do baked cheesecake. None of this fluffy, gelatinous, flavour-free set stuff so common across Europe but proper, weighty, taste the cheese, baked cake. Here served as four small squares with different fruit toppings. I was happy.And sad. Because that was my last meal in Granada, and after three days I felt that I had just begun to experience a distinctive regional cuisine. But it was time to go. Cordoba was calling.
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