New wines and new names all around

When we were at the village meal the other day the wine that came around the tables was from the local Culebrón bodega. It was different though; new wine varieties, new labels and a different, more modern, bottle design. Just to show how modern the white wine came in a blue bottle.

I only tried the two reds, the Shiraz and the Merlot, but I enjoyed them both.

The thing that caught my eye most though was that on the label, most of which was in English, the wine maker of the family, Roberto, had been renamed. Wines by Robert Brotons it said.

Foolishly, at the time, I forgot to take a picture of the wine which meant I had to pop back to the bodega the next weekend to buy a bottle for the pack shot. So, in the original picture, from the event, on the left, you can just see one of the new blue coloured wine bottles in amongst the sparkling Galician ciders and Catalan wines. Fear not - the orange stuff is Fanta.

The picture on the right is from the weekend after the meal.

Rice with rabbit and snails or rabbit stew?

The Junta Directiva

I haven't commented on the Neighbourhood Association meal for a couple of years so I will this time around. To be honest I could simply repeat most of the text on the link above down to the menu except that there were no lupin seeds this year. It's not quite true, there were a couple of things that I noticed as different.

I had an interesting conversation with the President of the Association, not in its content but in the fact that it took place at all. The last time we spoke for more than 30 seconds she commented that, unlike my wife, I couldn't speak Spanish and that I should be ashamed of myself. This time she was at pains to compliment me on the way that I expressed myself and was able to string an argument together (we were talking politics.) I liked that. I like compliments about my Spanish.

Another thing was that I needed to open a bottle of beer and I went in search of a bottle opener. The abnormal thing there was that I felt perfectly comfortable just searching through the detritus of the serving area till I found one. It may have taken six years or so but I realised that I didn't feel out of place or uncomfortable in just helping myself. Nobody jumped up from their seat to help the helpless and hopeless foreigner as has happened so many times before either. Maybe it's because when someone else had explained to me, in mime, how to use the press tap on a box of vermouth to pour it out I had said that I was English not stupid. Was I being assertive or just plain rude?

The AGM after the meal was the normal riot. As usual when things got heated the language changed to Valenciano. A bit of bad feeling about who should supply wine for the village events and a bit of argy bargy about whether the summer meal should be self or outside catered. The discussion about the stall at Villazgo was more relaxed though there were some barbed comments from the President about who had to put the work in each year. The discussion about a charabanc trip also had two definite camps, one for a cultural type outing (we've had trips to a musical in Madrid and to a an area with limestone caves and touristy villages) or whether it should be a mad night out in Benidorm. The compromise was to find out the best deals on both and then to see who would sign up for what.

Good fun as always.

Repeating history and a traditional snack

The Santa Catalina district of Pinoso is probably the most "Spanish" part of the town. To we Brits she's Saint Catherine, the one that the spinning fireworks are named for. Not surprisingly the neighbourhood that bears her name celebrates her feast day and, over the years, the festival has become quite a big event in the town.

The feast day proper centres on hogueras or bonfires that are set up on nearly every street corner. I've mentioned Sana Catalina in not one, or two but three blog entries over the past five years. We missed the bonfires this time because we were out of town.

A new departure for the fiesta this year is that there is a Mediaeval Market. We've just been up there to have a nose. It was pretty quiet to be honest. The stallholders were blaming the football and the cold in equal measure. I'm with the ones who thought it was too cold to venture out. The temperature difference between Culebrón, 600m above sea level, and coastal Cartagena is very noticeable. I think it's perishing.

There was a stall that caught my eye though. A beer stall. Yakka beers. There was just a drop of deja vu here because the last time we went to one of these markets was for the Romans and Carthaginians festival in Cartagena. There I bumped into a micro brewery beer called Icue. So, in the perishing cold and speaking abominable Spanish to the bearded, alternative lifestyle looking, stall holder I found out that there's now a microbrewery just down the road from us here in Culebrón. I tried the wheat beer (bit fruity for my taste) and brought home a bottle of stout.

The stout went very nicely with some local cheese that Maggie bought whilst I was sampling the beer but even more so with some Stilton that we picked up in a Pinoso supermarket today. That's the first time I've ever seen Stilton in Spain, the first Stilton I've tasted for over seven years. Stilton and stout. It sounds so Dickensian.

It tasted yummy.

Pinoseros on the dole

Not my usual sort of post but the local on line newspaper - El Eco de Pinoso - reported that there are 860 people out of work in Pinoso at the moment.

How many people live in Pinoso is a moot point but the official statistical office says it's 7909. So 10.87% of the total population is out of work.

Take away the number of people below 16 (1397) and the number above 65 (1325) and the working age population  is 5187. That would bring the jobless percentage up to 16.58%

By way of explanation

I feel a bit of a fraud.

After Life in Culebrón was mentioned on the UCL Helpdesk blog I feel that I should try to add some new and vibrant entries. My problem is that I work. Working makes it more difficult to find the time to write. An even bigger problem though is that I work in Cartagena. So most of the things that happen to me and around me take place there on the simple principle of just two rest days to every five working days.

Of course what I write about Cartagena is equally witty, amusing, erudite and incisive - or so my mum says - but I would fall well below even my own lax standards to suggest that you clicked on the Life in Cartagena link.

Far too blatant a bit of self promotion even for me.

Poppies in Pinoso

I've mentioned being in the 6th Elland (St Pauls) cubs before. I didn't last long, Sergeant Bilko was on telly at the same time as the weekly meeting and Phil Silvers won out over Bagheera and Akela. Nonetheless, I was involved in a couple of events with the cubs and I well remember the Remembrance Day parade to the Cenotaph in Hullen Edge Park where my family were sure to point out the name of John Haig, my great uncle killed in the First World War.

Remembrance day was a big event in the 60s. As I got older it seemed to lose importance but now, looking in from the outside in as it were, there seems to have been a genuine resurgence of interest and support.

As we were driving back to Culebrón on Friday evening there was a report on the public radio about the poppy and the acts of remembrance in the UK. They said that the day was to commemorate the fallen of the Great War, the First World War.

In Pinoso this morning the local branch of the Royal British Legion had organised a parade and church service with a fund raising meal still to come. It was quite an impressive sight. Dark clothing, lots of medals, regimental berets and nearly everyone, Spanish onlookers and the town band included, sporting poppies.

I was chatting with Clive outside the church when Evaristo, El Abuelo, came over to say hello. He too thought that the event was to commemorate the end of the First World War but Clive put him right in a very gentle and informative way telling him about the act itself and the work of the Legion. I suspect it was not the first time that Clive had had a similar conversation.

In Flanders' Field the poppies blow

between the crosses, row on row

In Flanders' Field - John McCrae, 1915

Going to Eduardo's

There's not a lot in Culebrón apart from houses. We have a post box, a winery and Eduardo's. Eduardo's is the local restaurant.

Eduardo's restaurant is quite a strange place. Big. A huge barn of a building. There are seldom many diners. Often, as we pass by there's just Eduardo's van outside. No sign of customers.

I like Eduardo's. We can walk there. I can drink wine without fear of killing people on the way home. The food is traditional, not very special and cheap. Maggie doesn't like Eduardo's at all, she thinks the food is poor and she doesn't think it's cheap. It was she who suggested we went there today. Surprisingly there were nine other diners.

Getting food at Eduardo's is not straightforward. There is no advertised set meal and there's no written menu to choose from. We have to ask. Eduardo mumbles. Nowadays we have some idea of the range on offer but always, if there are other customers, Maggie looks across and asks why it is that we weren't offered whatever it is that they are eating.

We chose a bottle of red wine and a big bottle of water to drink. For food we started with toast, toasted over the open fire, served with white dripping and pink dripping. A cholesterol bomb. Sometimes there is ali oli for the toast but not today. Next a plate of crisps and almonds. Then a very basic salad of lettuce tomato and olives though we were offered a bit of tinned mackerel to go on top which we declined. We asked for fried cheese, and got it though the usual tomato jam accompaniment  had been substituted by bitter orange marmalade. Main course was the traditional, to these parts, rice, rabbit and snail paella. I'd fancied a rabbit stew but Maggie looked askance at the proffered choices of lamb or chicken and so I joined her in the paella. Nowhere will cook a paella for fewer than two people. We both had pudding and I had a coffee though Maggie didn't. We both had a shot of something to finish. I thought it was the local mistela though Maggie said it was something horrid that tasted only of sugar. Total price 24€ or 12€ each.