Hearty Mountain Fare

I live my life on the ocean. From the galley of the yacht, I can see saltwater 365 days a year. Sunlight streams through the windows onto my workspace. As many dream of escaping to a beach for vacation, my mind wanders to the majesty of mountains. This week it became more than just a fantasy as Patrick and I headed north from Barcelona to the Pyrenees.

Our route wove us back and forth across the valley and into the foothills. I felt like I were back in Alberta, except where Canmore would be we passed old stone castles and Kananaskis held orchards full of cava grapes. Here, dairy cows roamed the fields. Large square cowbells hung from their necks, clanging to announce their location to shepherds as craggy as the hills around them. White-fleeced sheep filed across the road, bringing us to a stop to wait for their spindly legs to carry them out of the way. I yearned to stop and taste the cheese their alpine meadow milk produced. But we were on our way to Andorra, a country sandwiched between France and Spain. One of us went to snowboard, the other to taste the local cuisine.

Patrick became giddy as we ascended to where snow dusted the treetops. Like icing sugar out of a shaker, snow began to fall from the sky. Whiteness surrounded us. We could see no more than a car-length in front of us. I wrapped the puffball jacket, that I hadn't worn since my days in the Rockies, tighter around my body. This was a long way from the beach.

Patrick left me in town and headed to the slopes as I roamed the streets in search of a borda for lunch. It didn't take me long to find the home-style restaurant.

I picked a table by the fire to thaw from the alien temperature. A burly waiter with the look of a grizzly bear came for my order. "Una trinxat, por favor." I pointed to the menu to make sure he understood my Spanish. "y una escalibada."

"Si?" His bushy eyebrow raised in question. "Trinxat y escalibada?"

Although, I could barely understand his baritone speech, I could tell by his expression he was shocked by my order. I hesitated. I looked again at the menu. Yes, it was a potato pancake and roast vegetable stew that I ordered; that's what I wanted.

"Si."

"Vale." Okay, he shook his head and retreated into the kitchen.

I opened my book and dismissed his look of incredulousness as a translation problem. I read from the pages, "Trinxat was born out of isolaton, when heavy winter snows block the mountain roads for several months, Andorrians created meals out of whatever they had in their root cellars. Potatoes, cabbage, slabs of bacon..."

I looked out the window at the snow that continued to fall. Maybe we would end up isolated here as well. I relished the thought of being stranded. I would curl up with a book under a thick comforter. A fire would burn in the corner of our stone chalet. Lace patterned snowflakes would frost the glass of the wood-trimmed windows that looked out over snow-crusted mountains.

Lost in my daydream, I was startled by the waiters approach. In one hand, he carried a large white plate as big as the platters I served dinner for six on. In the other, he grasped the handle of a cast-iron cauldron.

My eyes grew wide. What was all this? There must have been four potatoes and half a cabbage used in the trinxat. I prayed that he was going to serve me just a slice of the dish and one ladle of the vegetables. But no, he set it all before me. Another man followed with a whole loaf of bread--like I needed more food.

I smiled weakly, finally understanding the look of bewilderment on his face earlier. This was a lot of food; stick to your ribs, fill-you-up food. I picked up my fork and began to work my way through the plates in front of me.

They were good. The potatoes were soft and filling. Within a few forkfuls, I was feeling satisfied; a few more and I wondered if I could finish just one of these dishes. I looked down. I still had three-quaters of the potatoes to go. Ugh! Just keep eating, just keep eating, ran through my mind. I picked up my fork and soldiered on.

I stumbled out of the borda in a coma-like state. My stomach bloated, pushing against the waistband of my snow pants. I had trouble lifting my legs to walk the short distance to where I was to meet Patrick.

He stumbled as well, but from a day of snowboarding. "That was great!" He removed his helmut and collapsed on a bench to loosen his boots. I collapsed beside him, undoing the button on my pants.

"I'm starving," he said. "Let's go for lunch!"



***This dish is much too heavy to serve in our perpetual summer on the yacht. Instead, I take the same recipe and make smaller, individual portions and top them with smoked salmon as an appetizer.***

Trinxat

3 pounds potatoes, peeled
1 green cabbage, sliced thinly
10 slices bacon, diced
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, chopped


Boil the potatoes in salted water until tender. In a separate pot, boil the cabbage in salted water until soft. Drain both and mash together. Saute the bacon until crisp, drain off fat and mix into the potatoes with sea salt. Taste for seasoning and adjust accordingly. Ina non-stick 9" frying pan, saute the garlic in olive oil until golden. Place the potato mixture in the pan and stir to distribute the garlic. Flatten the potatoes into a pancake and saute for 10 minutes over medium heat, shaking the pan occasionally to prevent sticking, until a golden crust develops. Remove from heat and place a plate over the frying pan. Invert the pan and the plate simultaneously to flip the trinxat onto the plate.


Serves 6

victoria allman