Elantxobe is actually pronounced “El Anchovy,” and that is one reason we are here. A few days ago Michael, better at understanding Basque pronunciation than I, and an ardent lover of anchovies, discovered this spot at the end of the road on the far north coast. “I want to go to that place, he said. Truth is, we don’t know if it really is named for the tiny fish we’ve been enjoying, fried and pickled and cured in olive oil and salt, but the story was too good, and we wanted one more hit of the sea before we head inland for the next two weeks.

Even better was to arrive and discover, while eating lunch at a dockside cafe, that a rowing regatta was to be held on day. Within an hour, vans pulling long boats in vivid colors began to snake down the side of the mountain towards the bay, and I realized this was the traditional rowing sport I’d learned about in the Basque culture museum in Gernika  the day before. Young men, mostly adolescents, seven to a boat, six rowing and one steering and yelling encouragment, represent all the towns around. We sat on a sea wall for several hours and watched.  Our hotel was up the hill, and our car even further out of town. Like a lot of these ancient fishing villages, streets are too narrow for cars…

In the small-personal-drama department, I lost half a contact at dinner one night about a week ago, and suspected that I had a piece of lens still stuck high behind my eyelid. Not enough irritation to bother me during the day, but at night I could tell something was wrong. Five days later, in Gernika, I found a sweet optician who agreed to take a professional peek. He found the half contact and fished it out. No charge of course, so, relieved and grateful, I bought some artificial tears and new clip-ons to replace the sunglasses I’d lost before we even reached Guayaquil. O vanity!

(This story reminds me when I first used contacts, many years ago, the brother of a friend asked as a joke if they ever got lost “back there behind the eyeball where you might have a whole collection of them.” Turned out to be nearly true.)       

OK. Back to Spanish cuisine! We always have to learn anew how to eat here, as our diet in Cañar is quite spare. So a large three-course lunch with a couple of glasses of 13%-alcohol red wine and rich dessert – and coffee! – always an event of our first giddy day – puts me out of commission for dinner at least, and sometimes for the next day, with insomnia and a headache to boot. Then we adjust… For me, no more red wine at lunch (Michael always drinks beer) but maybe just a glass of txocolí, a sparkling white wine of the region, and tapas instead of the full menú, which can start with paella and go on to steak and potatoes. Still, at the coast it’s hard to resist the amazing seafood, and before we know it, we’ve had another full-on feast for lunch…

A rainy day meal in Bermeo, the famous anchovies, deep fried with potatoes.  

And our lunch in Elantxobe –  langostinos a la plancha (grilled scampi) and a salad of fresh tuna and tomatoes with caramelized onions.

And to finish, a photo from Getaria, another Basque fishing town, where restaurants start cooking fish on grills in the streets about 6:00, and by dinnertime (8:00 PM, minimum) the entire town smells delicious…

 Now we are heading inland to the mountains, so get ready to hear about “potes” – bean stews…

Dear Friends:

Thanks for all the great comments on Michael’s banana cake story. I read them aloud to Mr. Luddite, which made him very happy.

On May 1 we are off to Spain for a month, and I will try to send a few blogs from there, using my iPad. We plan to start and end in San Sebastian, the Basque coastal city in the far north of Spain. With a rental car, we’ll travel slowly east and south, with no fixed itinerary, following guidebooks and the weather. We are really looking forward to a change of diet, so maybe I’ll practice my hand at some amateur food writing. Stay tuned!

May 3 Update: Well, we are here, but unless I can figure out how to upload photos onto the website using my iPad (ideas anyone?), I will have to take a break from my blog until June. The food in San Sebastian is wonderful, as reported, but it turns out I am not very good at remembering, or writing about, what we eat; it seems I can only record the visuals…

Our friend Doña Mila, who runs a store up on the Paseo de los Cañaris with her husband Manuel, is one of the sweetest women we know. We’ve been customers for years – mostly buying bananas, mineral water and beer – though they sell everything from shampoo to candy to stale bread to fresh chickens, which she chops up on a counter in the back. The store is deep and dark, and they never seem to turn on lights during the day, to save money, I suppose. Doña Mila (“me-la”) always gives us a hug when we come to Cañar in January, and when we leave in July. If it’s a holiday she often gives us warm tamales or, during Holy Week, a pot of fanesca, the elaborate, rich soup made of twelve ingredients (representing the 12 apostles, some say) made of grains, legumes, cereals, and dried salted fish called bacalao. (That’s Doña Mila on the right.)

There is a bench in the front of the store, where it opens onto the street, just behind the ice cream cooler, where passersby can take a seat, buy a shot of Zhumir or soft drink, and shoot the breeze with Manuel. The couple live in the rooms above the store.

On 9/11, we were living a block away, on the Paseo de los Cañaris. Early that day, when Michael went to buy something, Manuel motioned for him to come into the back of their store, behind the counter and into a back room. A television with CNN en Español was broadcasting the twin towers in flames. Michael came home to tell me what he had seen, and in the course of the day he or I made trip after trip down the block to their store to stare at the same images on the screen. That was the day we became friends.

(When I complemented Manuel on his sombrero, he said, “Next time, bring me a hat from the U.S.!)

Mila and Manuel are mestizos, from the town center but originally poor, which makes them more like the country people, or the campesinos who make up the bulk of their customers, along with the indigenous folks who pass by on the way in and out of town. The distinction is important. Doña Mila told me that as a young married couple they rented a small store on the Paseo near the Pan American. Then a compadre offered to sell them land further along the Paseo to have their own place. As they prospered, they built the store and house and bought three hectarias (about seven acres) of land nearby to grow crops: potatoes, corn, peas, and a garden for the family.

For a long time Michael has wanted to do something to return their kindness, and the opportunity arose when Mila asked him to teach her how to make a torta de guineo, or banana cake. She offered to bring the ingredients, but wanted to have the baking session it at our house because, she said, we have the right type of cake pan. (I also suspect she wanted to see our kitchen.)  Mila brought a bag of bananas to add to our own. This pile costs about 50 cents in the Sunday market.

Michael checks his recipe, covered with oil and flour and stains and creases, from many years of banana cakes; they figured heavily in my first book when M. made a pastel de guineo for any occasion.

Michael and Mila are making two cakes today – one for her to take home and one for us and our weekend guests. At first all Mila wants to do is look around the kitchen and out the windows at the view, our back land, our garden and comment on everything. I hadn’t realized this is her first time in the kitchen. But Michael is intent on moving things along…and I hear him saying, a little urgently, “now you put three eggs in the blender…”

By the second cake, he’s got Mila attention, and she’s working:

Then it’s into the oven and wait an hour. Michael shows Mila how to check the temperature by sticking his hand in the oven. I make tea and ask Mila about her family:

They have three children. Their son, Fernando, an early migrant to the U.S., has been in el norte for twenty-five years. In that time he has returned to Cañar only three times. Doña Mila said he is married to an americana, has a American daughter, and is a US citizen.  They’ve never met their granddaughter because her mother is afraid to let her come visit. Mila and Manuel’s two married daughters live nearby, both proprietors of small shops selling school supplies and sundries.

OK, looks like at the first cake is about ready…

Mila’s cake it out and ready to take home. I ask for one last photo of the two bakers:

And for those of you who would like to try this at home:

Mike’s Famous Banana Cake

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a rectangular or springform loaf pan.

In a large bowl, mix well 1 ½  cups white flour and 1 heaping T of baking power.

In a blender: Lightly blend three whole eggs; Add 4 medium-sized bananas, broken up. Blend. Add 1/4 cup milk and ½ cup sugar. Blend. Add ½ t. ground nutmeg, ½ t. ground cinnamon, ½ t. salt and ½ cup good vegetable oil (preferably sunflower).

Blend everything well. Add liquid to the flour mixture and stir just enough to make smooth. Fold in 1/3 cup chopped walnuts, and 1/3 cup raisins  

Pour mixture into baking pan and bake for about 1 hour, checking with toothpick or straw. When it comes out clean, cake is ready. Keeps fresh for about one week.