Part 9 (1/2)

[Sidenote: KILLING A PIG.]

The pigs during the greater part of the year are left to support nature as they can, and in gauntness resemble those greyhound-looking animals which pa.s.s for porkers in France. When the acorns are ripe and fall from the trees, the greedy animals are turned out in legions from the villages, which more correctly may be termed coalitions of pigsties.

They return from the woods at night, of their own accord, and without a swine's general. On entering the hamlet, all set off at a full gallop, like a legion possessed with devils, in a handicap for home, into which each single pig turns, never making a mistake. We have more than once been caught in one of these pig-deluges, and nearly carried away horse and all, as befell Don Quixote, when really swept away by the ”far-spread and grunting drove.” In his own home each truant is welcomed like a prodigal son or a domestic father. These pigs are the pets of the peasants; they are brought up with their children, and partake, as in Ireland, in the domestic discomforts of their cabins; they are universally respected, and justly, for it is this animal who pays the ”rint;” in fact, are the citizens, as at Sorrento, and Estremenian man is quite a secondary formation, and created to tend herds of these swine, who lead the happy life of former Toledan dignitaries, with the additional advantage of becoming more valuable when dead.

It is astonis.h.i.+ng how rapidly they thrive on their sweet food; indeed it is the whole duty of a good pig--animal propter convivia natum--to get as fat and as soon as he can, and then die for the good of his country.

It may be observed for the information of our farmers, that those pigs which are dedicated to St. Anthony, on whom a sow is in constant attendance, as a dove was on Venus, get the soonest fat; therefore in Spain young porkers are sprinkled with holy water on his day, but those of other saints are less propitious, for the killing takes place about the 10th and 11th of November, or, as Spaniards date it, _por el St.

Andres_, on the day of St. Andrew, or on that of St. Martin; hence the proverb ”every man and pig has his St. Martin or his fatal hour, _a cada puerco su San Martin_.”

The death of a fat pig is as great an event in Spanish families, who generally fatten up one, as the birth of a baby; nor can the fact be kept secret, so audible is his announcement. It is considered a delicate attention on the part of the proprietor to celebrate the auspicious event by sending a portion of the chitterlings to intimate friends. The Spaniard's proudest boast is that his blood is pure, that he is not descended from pork-eschewing Jew or Moor--a fact which the pig genus, could it reason, would deeply deplore. The Spaniard doubtless has been so great a consumer of pig, from grounds religious, as well as gastronomic. The eating or not eating the flesh of an animal deemed unclean by the impure infidel, became a test of orthodoxy, and at once of correct faith as well as of good taste; and good bacon, as has been just observed, is wedded to sound doctrine and St. Augustine. The Spanish name _Tocino_ is derived from the Arabic _Tachim_, which signifies fat.

[Sidenote: PORK OF MONTANCHES.]

The Spaniards however, although tremendous consumers of the pig, whether in the salted form or in the skin, have to the full the Oriental abhorrence to the unclean animal in the _abstract_. _Muy puerco_ is their last expression for all that is most dirty, nasty, or disgusting.

_Muy cochina_ never is forgiven, if applied to woman, as it is equivalent to the Italian _Vacca_, and to the canine feminine compliment bandied among our fair s.e.x at Billingsgate; nor does the epithet imply moral purity or chast.i.ty; indeed in Castilian euphuism the unclean animal was never to be named except in a periphrasis, or with an apology, which is a singular remnant of the Moorish influence on Spanish manners. _Haluf_ or swine is still the Moslem's most obnoxious term for the Christians, and is applied to this day by the ungrateful Algerines to their French bakers and benefactors, nay even to the ”_ill.u.s.tre Bugeaud_.”

The capital of the Estremenian pig-districts is _Montanches_--mons anguis--and doubtless the hilly spot where the Duke of Arcos fed and cured ”ces pet.i.ts jambons vermeils,” which the Duc de St. Simon ate and admired so much; ”ces jambons ont un parfum si admirable, un gout si releve et si vivifiant, qu'on en est surpris: il est impossible de rien manger si exquis.” His Grace of Arcos used to shut up the pigs in places abounding in vipers, on which they fattened. Neither the pigs, dukes, nor their toadeaters seem to have been poisoned by these exquisite vipers. According to Jonas Barrington, the finest Irish pigs were those that fed on dead rebels: one Papist porker, the Enniscorthy boar, was sent as a show, for having eaten a Protestant parson: he was put to death and dishonoured by not being made bacon of.

[Sidenote: A MEAT OMELETTE.]

Naturalists have remarked that the rattlesnakes in America retire before their consuming enemy, the pig, who is thus the _gastador_ or pioneer of the new world's civilization, just as Pizarro, who was suckled by a sow, and tended swine in his youth, was its conqueror. Be that as it may, Montanches is ill.u.s.trious in pork, in which the burgesses go the whole hog, whether in the rich red sausage, the _chorizo_, or in the savoury piquant _embuchados_, which are akin to the _mortadelle_ of Bologna, only less hard, and usually boiled before eating, though good also raw; they consist of the choice bits of the pig seasoned with condiments, with which, as if by retribution, the paunch of the voracious animal is filled; the ruling pa.s.sion strong in death. We strongly recommend _Juan Valiente_, who recently was the alcalde of the town, to the lover of delicious hams; each _jamon_ averages about 12 lb.; they are sold at the rate of 7 _reales_, about 18_d._; for the _libra carnicera_, which weighs 32 of our ounces. The duties in England are now very trifling; we have for many years had an annual supply of these delicacies, through the favour of a kind friend at the _Puerto_. The fat of these _jamones_, whence our word ham and gammon, when they are boiled, looks like melted topazes, and the flavour defies language, although we have dined on one this very day, in order to secure accuracy and undeniable prose, like Lope de Vega, who, according to his biographer, Dr. Montalvan, never could write poetry unless inspired by a rasher; ”Toda es cosa vil,” said he, ”a donde falta un _pernil_” (in which word we recognize the precise _perna_, whereby Horace was restored):--

Therefore all writing is a sham, Where there is wanting Spanish ham.

Those of Gallicia and Catalonia are also celebrated, but are not to be compared for a moment with those of Montanches, which are fit to set before an emperor. Their only rivals are the sweet hams of the _Alpujarras_, which are made at _Trevelez_, a pig-hamlet situated under the snowy mountains on the opposite side of Granada, to which also we have made a pilgrimage. They are called _dulces_ or sweet, because scarcely any salt is used in the curing; the ham is placed in a weak pickle for eight days, and is then hung up in the snow; it can only be done at this place, where the exact temperature necessary is certain.

Those of our readers who are curious in Spanish eatables will find excellent garbanzos, chorizos, red pepper, chocolate and Valencian sweetmeats, &c. at Figul's, a most worthy Catalan, whose shop is at No.

10, Woburn Buildings, St. Paneras, London; the locality is scarcely less visited than Montanches, but the penny-post penetrates into this terra incognita.

[Sidenote: THE GUISADO.]

So much s.p.a.ce has been filled with these meritorious bacons and hams, that we must be brief with our remaining bill of fare. For a _pisto_ or meat omelette take eggs, which are to be got almost everywhere; see that they are fresh by being pellucid; beat these _huevos trasparentes_ well up; chop up onions and whatever savoury herbs you have with you; add small slices of any meat out of your hamper, cold turkey, ham, &c.; beat it all up together and fry it quickly. Most Spaniards have a peculiar knack in making these _tortillas_, _revueltas de huevos_, which to fastidious stomachs are, as in most parts of the Continent, a sure resource to fall back upon.

The _Guisado_, or stew, like the olla, can only be really done in a Spanish pipkin, and of those which we import, the Andalucian ones draw flavour out the best. This dish is always well done by every cook in every venta, barring that they are apt to put in bad oil, and too much garlic, pepper, and saffron. Superintend it, therefore, yourself, and take hare, partridge, rabbit, chicken, or whatever you may have foraged on the road; it is capital also with pheasant, as we proved only yesterday; cut it up, save the blood, the liver, and the giblets; do not wash the pieces, but dry them in a cloth; fry them with onions in a teacup of oil till browned; take an olla, put in these bits with the oil, equal portions of wine and water, but stock is better than water; claret answers well, Valdepenas better; add a bit of bacon, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, _pimientos_, a bunch of thyme or herbs; let it simmer, carefully skimming it; half an hour before serving add the giblets; when done, which can be tested by feeling with a fork, serve hot. The stew should be constantly stirred with a _wooden_ spoon, and grease, the ruin of all cookery, carefully skimmed off as it rises to the surface. When made with proper care and with a good salad, it forms a supper for a cardinal, or for Santiago himself.

[Sidenote: STARRED EGGS.]

Another excellent but very difficult dish is the _pollo con arroz_, or the chicken and rice. It is eaten in perfection in Valencia, and therefore is often called _Pollo Valenciano_. Cut a good fowl into pieces, wipe it clean, but do not put it into water; take a saucepan, put in a wine-gla.s.s of fine oil, heat the oil well, put in a bit of bread; let it fry, stirring it about with a _wooden_ spoon; when the bread is browned take it out and throw it away: put in two cloves of garlic, taking care that it does not burn, as, if it does, it will turn bitter; stir the garlic till it is fried; put in the chicken, keep stirring it about while it fries, then put in a little salt and stir again; whenever a sound of cracking is heard, stir it again; when the chicken is well browned or gilded, _dorado_, which will take from five to ten minutes, _stirring constantly_, put in chopped onions, three or four chopped red or green chilis, and stir about; if once the contents catch the pan, the dish is spoiled; then add tomatas, divided into quarters, and parsley; take two teacupsful of rice, mix all well up together; add _hot_ stock enough to cover the whole over; let it boil _once_, and then set it aside to simmer until the rice becomes tender and done. The great art consists in having the rice turned out granulated and separate, not in a pudding state, which is sure to be the case if a cover be ever put over the dish, which condenses the steam.

It may be objected, that these dishes, if so curious in the cooking, are not likely to be well done in the rude kitchens of a _venta_; but practice makes perfect, and the whole mind and intellect of the artist is concentrated on one object, and not frittered away by a multiplicity of dishes, the rock on which many cooks founder, where more dinners are sacrificed to the eye and ostentation. One dish and one thing at a time is the golden rule of Bacon; many are the anxious moments that we have spent over the rim of a Spanish pipkin, watching, life set on the cast, the wizen she-mummy, whose mind, body, and spoon were absorbed in a single mess: Well, my mother, _que tal_? what sort of a stew is it? Let me smell and taste the _salsa_. Good, good; it promises much. _Vamos, Senora_--go on, my lady, thy spoon once more--how, indeed, can oil, wine, and nutritive juices amalgamate without frequent stirring? Well, very well it is. Now again, daughter of my soul, thy fork. _Asi, asi_; thus, thus. _Per Bacco_, by Bacchus, tender it is--may heaven repay thee! Indeed, from this tenderness of the meat arises ease of digestion; here, pot and fire do half the work of the poor stomach, which too often in inns elsewhere is overtaxed, like its owner, and condemned to hard labour and a brickbat beefsteak.

[Sidenote: SALAD.]

Poached eggs are at all events within the grasp of the meanest culinary capacity. They are called _Huevos estrellados_, starred eggs. When fat bacon is wedded to them, the dish is called _Huevos con magras_; not that _magras_ here means thin as to condition, but rather as to slicing; and these slices, again, are positively thick ones when compared to those triumphs of close shaving which are carved at Vauxhall. To make this dish, with or without the bacon, take eggs; the contents of the sh.e.l.l are to be emptied into a pan filled with hot oil or lard, _manteca de puerco_, pig's b.u.t.ter: it must be remembered, although Strabo mentions as a singular fact that the Iberians made use of b.u.t.ter instead of oil, that now it is just the reverse; a century ago b.u.t.ter was only sold by the apothecaries, as a sort of ointment, and it used to be iniquitous. Spaniards generally used either Irish or Flemish salted b.u.t.ter, and from long habit thought fresh b.u.t.ter quite insipid; indeed, they have no objection to its being a trifle or so rancid, just as some aldermen like high venison. In the present age of progress the Queen Christina has a fancy dairy at Madrid, where she makes a few pounds of fresh b.u.t.ter, of which a small portion is or was sold, at five s.h.i.+llings the pound, to foreign amba.s.sadors for their breakfast. Recently more attention has been paid to the dairy in the Swiss-like provinces of the north-west. The Spaniards, like the heroes in the Iliad, seldom boil their food (eggs excepted), at least not in water; for frying, after all, is but boiling in oil.

Travellers should be cautioned against the captivating name of _manteca Valenciana_. This Valencian b.u.t.ter is composed (for the cow has nothing to do with it) of equal portions of garlic and hogs' lard pounded together in a mortar; it is then spread on bread, just as we do a.r.s.enic to destroy vermin. It, however, agrees well with the peasants, as does the soup of their neighbours the Catalans, which is made of bread and garlic in equal portions fried in oil and diluted with hot water. This mess is called _sopa de gato_, probably from making cats, not Catalans, sick.

[Sidenote: GAZPACHO.]