The essence of the holidays is the celebration of loving relationships, especially within the family. It is the time for children with their joy and enthusiasm and their sense of wonder. What fun it is to be with them as they open their presents with such gusto! It is not the gifts so much as the gathering that remains in our memories with the happiness it engenders.

There is an added dimension for the Christian, and that is the belief that God came to live with us – as a child. The image of Mary and Jesus has deep emotional meaning beyond any theological interpretation. Moreover, it is the same bond of family that saturates the eight days of Chanukah, or, for that matter, any family gathering where love is shared. For at least in my understanding, our ability to love is a gift from God.

I have had the privilege of getting to know many families as I have traveled the byways of Spain, and over the years I have written down some impressions of the heart of these unique group of people we call Spaniards. I would like to share with you a little of what I have written about them, for in my heart I believe their way of life is a model as to how we all can live during the holidays and then beyond, as we seek to fan the flame of family love in our hearts:

What is at the heart of Spain? It is being together as a family, and the special way in which they cherish their children. This begins with the experience of young childhood where the little boy or girl is showered with love within the family, and treasured by the neighborhood. There is no fear of ‘spoiling’ the child.

The heart of Spain is fostered by daily encounters of affection expressed within the family and neighborhood. From a childhood immersed in seemingly unconditional love, comes an eagerness to engage in personal interchange, and a willingness to maintain these personal relationships through frequent contact. When one begins life with this kind of affirmation, it becomes second nature to engage friend and stranger alike with a kind of personal intimacy.

The companionship of their family soon extends to all those whom they touch. Spaniards refer to people by their given name; in greeting they embrace even the stranger; they acknowledge fellow diners; they sit shoulder to shoulder in the bullring. It is an intimacy that comes from treating one another as sacred, as people of worth.

Needless to say, mine is an idealized image; we are all flawed human beings affected by the vicissitudes of life. That being said, it is this foundation of caring through the communal experience that endows Spaniards with a certain dignity and grace, and a willingness to engage the world with hospitality. Theirs is not a closed society where the value of privacy is elevated; it has always been a way of life that is warm and welcoming…

Uncles and aunts, cousins and grandparents are next-door neighbors. They see each other several times a week while shopping at the local market or at their favorite tapas bar. Members of the family often operate local shops, work together in the fields, or man the fishing boats. These kinds of relationships stand the test of time, and mature throughout the years of one’s life. Even today, this is the customary way of life throughout much of Spain.

There is nothing that can assure our spiritual well being more than a loving, caring human presence. We can never replace the experience of hospitality conveyed face to face – and why should we? It is this duende – a difficult to define Spanish phrase that connotes emotion and authenticity – that is the heart of Spain. It is also her gift to the world.

I think many of you would enjoy getting to know some of my friends I write about – Lola, Fermín, Carmen, Miguel and Jorge. They are churning cheese, harvesting saffron, blending sherry, aging hams, making homemade soups. You can meet them in the pages of my book, The Heart of Spain: Families and Food. It is not a commercial venture so much as a way to spread the word about such a warm and caring culture.

¡Que viva la familia Española!

Feliz Navidad,

Don

If you ever get to visit the fascinating port of Cádiz that guards the Atlantic approach to the Mediterranean in Southern Andalucía, the first place to go is an astonishing public market, which features rows upon rows of fresh catches from the Atlantic Ocean.  You will see burly fishermen slicing enormous steaks of swordfish; other fishing families have artistically arranged their merluza so that the slender fish bare their needle sharp teeth while biting their own tails! The last time we were there, a young fisherman was entertaining passersby with lilting songs from the sea as he sliced fillets of tuna!

Get there early, as the people in the market start winding up things at about noon.  It is a memorable experience which will never be suggested in any travel book – even the beautiful town of Cádiz, on a peninsula surrounded by beaches, is hardly ever mentioned because it is a little off of the beaten path of tourism. There is an underground garage along the beach close to the cathedral, which is the perfect place to park your car, as the market is only a few yards walk through ancient cobblestone alleys.

Ruth, I and our boys lived in the neighboring port town called El Puerto de Santa Maria in the early 1970s, where I have fond memories of visiting our local municipal market every Saturday morning – hardly the scale of the Cádiz market, but equally friendly.  I enjoyed interacting with our honest neighbors who were standing in their stalls every day to offer us the best they could find.  I would see amazing freshly picked green vegetables right out of the garden; lots of local berries and fruit; wheels of local cheese; slabs of fresh locally sourced meat; and an astonishing display of the fruit of the sea – whether it be fish that swam in the ocean last night, or an array of shellfish and other sea creatures — many of which were still alive!

To this day, I remember the cheerful face of a woman whom I called the ‘spinach lady’ because her stall was always piled high with the most elaborate greens in town. Not far from her were amazing fruit stalls where the owners spent a long time each day meticulously building symmetrical pyramids of blood oranges and Clementinas.  One of my favorite scenes to watch was a farm lady who kept retrieving tiny snails who were wisely crawling away to freedom from her bowl.

One of those Saturdays I forgot my wallet.  I was embarrassed when I realized there was nothing in my pocket to pay the fisherman for a beautiful swordfish steak he had just carved for me.  He immediately sensed my distress and said, “Take the swordfish with you.  You can pay me when you return to the market some other day. By the way,” he continued as he reached in his pocket for a 1,000 peseta bill, “take this money so you can finish your shopping!”

Amazed at his generosity and trust, I finished my shopping errands without having to return home empty handed.  My trip included an obligatory stop at the churro lady’s stand, where she served me sizzling hot churros in a newspaper cone for 50 pesetas.

Of course, I am describing the joys of what we now call a farmers market in America, where the produce and meat we buy are from the real human beings whom we get to meet and know. We begin to appreciate the cycle of the seasons, as well as the crops and the farmers.  It is the natural way of preparing for meals, and that is the secret to the food we enjoy in Spain.  There we enjoy simplicity of flavors, fresh seasonal vegetables and fruits, and a reliance on generations old recipes, which conform to the seasonal cycle.

We have one time a year in America when we pause from our usual buying habits of packaged food from far away places, and follow the same seasonal approach as they do in Spain. That is on Thanksgiving Day, our traditional harvest meal.  The dinner has a special meaning in American folklore because it marks the time when the first grateful settlers gathered around a common table with some of their native neighbors, and thanked God for the harvest that saved them from famine.

Our traditional American menu that day is straightforward, in many ways following the simple, honest traditional cooking in Spain that lets the ingredients shine. The centerpiece is a large turkey, simply cooked and served, much as lamb or suckling pig is presented in Spain. The golden roasted turkey is surrounded with local squashes and potatoes.  In areas that are more rural, side dishes of pickles and preserves made in the kitchen earlier in the year may also be served. Cranberry sauce, made with cranberries grown on Cape Cod by the Pilgrims, is a standard garnish. Finally, we top off the meal with another American treat: pumpkin or apple pie. Every one of the ingredients on the table is available in the fall, harvest time, and is served in a straightforward manner, showcasing its natural flavors.

Our American Thanksgiving meal, with its focus on community, family and honest seasonal foods, reminds me of many meals that we enjoyed in Spain that featured local products and hospitable company gathered around a table.  It is a way of hospitality that extends to all social interactions, not only one ceremonial time of the year.

Sometimes when Ruth and I go to Spain, our neighbors here in Williamsburg will ask whether our trip is for business or pleasure, but that is an unanswerable question because it is not appropriate to categorize hospitality. For example, I have known one man for over ten years.  Our initial contact was at a trade fair where his company was seeking to export Jamón Ibérico.  Now, every time Ruth and I, or our sons, pass through Córdoba on our various trips, he will take us out to dinner with his wife and three boys. We will enjoy meats and vegetables from the local countryside with a businessman who welcomes us as if we are family.

The Spanish culture revolves around the community rather than the individual.  It is all about gathering around a table together and enjoying each other’s company, whether is for café con leche or a big paella.  The catalyst for this vital interchange is honest food – amazingly fresh, simply prepared.  In some ways, they try to capture the essential spirit of Thanksgiving Day every day of the year.

May you and your loved ones enjoy a loving Thanksgiving Day together, celebrating the hospitality of your family and friends.

Su amigo,

Don

Si alguna vez tienen la oportunidad de visitar la fascinante ciudad de Cádiz, puerto vigía en la confluencia del Océano Atlántico y el Mar Mediterráneo en el sur de Andalucía, mi primera recomendación es que visiten su impresionante mercado municipal. En él se extienden, hilera tras hilera, puestos de pescado fresco del Atlántico. Verán corpulentos pescadores rebanando ejemplares de pez espada; otras familias de pescadores disponiendo con esmerado arte su merluza para que exhiba los afilados dientes de aguja mientras se muerda la cola. La última vez que estuvimos allí, ¡un joven pescador entretenía a los viandantes con canciones marineras mientras fileteaba un atún!

Visítenlo temprano en la mañana, ya que los pescaderos comienzan a recoger sus puestos sobre las doce del mediodía. Es una experiencia memorable que nunca aparecerá como sugerencia en un libro de viajes – es más, Cádiz, bella península rodeada de playas, apenas si es mencionada en las guías puesto que se halla un poco apartada de las rutas turísticas. Paralelo a la playa y cercano a la catedral, hay un aparcamiento subterráneo: el lugar perfecto para aparcar el automóvil y caminar hasta el vecino mercado, a sólo unos metros de distancia a través de callejuelas empedradas.

Ruth, mis hijos y yo vivimos en la vecina localidad de El Puerto de Santa María a principios de los años setenta, lugar del que guardo entrañables recuerdos. Solíamos frecuentar el mercado municipal los sábados por la mañana, que aunque no del tamaño del de Cádiz, resultaba, sin embargo, igualmente cordial. Yo disfrutaba mezclándome entre nuestros leales vecinos que nos despachaban ofreciéndonos día a día la mejor calidad. Ante a mis ojos se desplegaba gran variedad de las más frescas verduras, bayas y frutas recién cortadas, ruedas de queso de la zona, carne fresca de los alrededores, y una increíble selección de pescado extraído sólo unas horas antes y de variedad de mariscos, moluscos y otras criaturas marinas- ¡muchas de las cuales seguían vivas!

Continúa viva en mi memoria la alegre mirada de aquella mujer a la que nos referíamos como “la señora de las espinacas” porque su puesto rebosaba de las verduras más diversas de El Puerto. No mucho más allá sorprendían las fruterías en las que en esmeradas pirámides simétricas se exponían naranjas de sangre y clementinas. Una de mis escenas favoritas era la de la campesina que pacientemente devolvía una y otra vez a su cuenco los caracoles que sabiamente se deslizaban hacia la libertad.

Uno de aquellos sábados dejé mi cartera olvidada en casa. Me sentí avergonzado al comprobar que no tenía con qué pagar el hermoso filete de pez espada que el pescadero acababa de cortarme. Inmediatamente se percató de mi malestar y me dijo:
-“Llévese el pescado. Ya me pagará cuando vuelva otro día. A propósito”- continuó mientras sacaba de su bolsillo un billete de 1.000 pesetas- “tome dinero para comprar lo que le haga falta hoy.”

Sorprendido por su generosidad y confianza terminé de hacer mis compras sin tener que regresar a casa con las manos vacías. Mi rutina incluía una parada obligatoria en el puesto donde la churrera me ofrecía un cucurucho de humeantes churros por 50 pesetas.

Sin duda lo que describo se asemeja a lo que hoy conocemos en América como mercados de granja, en los que compramos carne y otros productos a personas con las que llegamos a entablar una cordial relación. Aprendemos a apreciar el ciclo de las estaciones y los cultivos, así como a valorar a los granjeros. Es la forma más natural de preparar una comida, y ése es el secreto de la cocina que disfrutamos en España. Allí disfrutamos de la simplicidad de los sabores de las verduras y frutas frescas de la temporada y de la confianza que nos ofrece el ciclo de las estaciones.

En América tenemos una ocasión al año en la que hacemos una pausa en nuestros hábitos de compra de comida empaquetada y procedente de lugares lejanos, para seguir la tendencia de consumo de productos de temporada, tal como lo hacen en España. Se trata del día de Acción de Gracias, nuestra tradicional comida después de la cosecha. Este almuerzo posee especial significado dentro de la tradición americana puesto que marca el momento en el que, agradecidos, los primeros colonos se reunieron en torno a una mesa junto con sus vecinos nativos americanos para dar gracias a Dios por la cosecha que les libró de una hambruna.

El menú tradicional americano para este señalado día no es nada complicado, y en muchos aspectos sigue la línea de simplicidad de la cocina tradicional española que otorga relevancia a los ingredientes. El plato central es un gran pavo, cocinado de manera sencilla y servido de forma muy similar al cordero o cochinillo en España. El pavo, asado hasta dorarse, se rodea de calabaza, calabacines y patatas. En las zonas más rurales, se acompaña con pepinillos y otras conservas preparadas en la cocina meses antes. La salsa de arándanos, originariamente elaborada en Cape Cod por los colonos, es una guarnición muy común. Por último, coronamos la comida con otro exquisito plato americano: el pastel de calabaza o manzana. Cada uno de los ingredientes de este almuerzo está disponible en otoño, tiempo de cosecha, y se sirve de manera sencilla, respetando los sabores naturales.

Nuestro almuerzo de Acción de Gracias centrado en la comunidad, familia y alimentos del tiempo, me trae recuerdos de muchas otras comidas disfrutadas en España en agradable compañía alrededor de la mesa y en las que el plato principal se componía de productos de la zona. Para ellos la hospitalidad se extiende a todas las relaciones sociales. La comida no es únicamente una ceremoniosa ocasión al año.

A veces cuando Ruth y yo vamos a España, nuestros vecinos en Williamsburg nos preguntan si se trata de un viaje de negocios o de placer, pero para nosotros se trata de una pregunta sin respuesta puesto que no es posible categorizar la hospitalidad. Por ejemplo, hace ya más de diez años conocí a un hombre. Nuestro primer contacto fue en una feria comercial en la que su empresa buscaba exportar jamón ibérico. Ahora, cada vez que Ruth y yo o uno de nuestros hijos pasa por Córdoba en alguno de nuestros viajes, nos lleva a cenar con su esposa y sus tres hijos. Damos buena cuenta de carnes y verduras de la zona, disfrutamos junto a un hombre de negocios que nos acoge como si fuéramos de la familia.

La cultura española gira en torno a la comunidad más que al individuo. Se trata de reunirse alrededor de la mesa y disfrutar de la compañía mutua, bien para tomar un café con leche bien para degustar una gran paella. Los catalizadores de este intercambio vital son los alimentos genuinos-increíblemente frescos y preparados de una manera sencilla. De alguna forma, los españoles intentan capturar el espíritu en esencia del día de Acción de Gracias todos los días del año. Que Uds. y los suyos disfruten de un hogareño día de Acción de Gracias juntos, celebrando la hospitalidad de sus familiares y amigos.

Su amigo,

Don

Pork and ham are the foundation of Spain’s cuisine, and in many ways its culture. Visit any supermarket (worth its snout) and you will see dozens of jamones hanging from the rafters – and that means hoof and all. Anywhere you visit in this large country, whether it be in the mountains, on the high plains, or along the ocean, you will encounter the iconic ham of Spain. When I was a young man in the Navy with a small family living on a tight budget, I didn’t pay too much attention to the ham. But what a shame it was to be living in the heart of Spain oblivious of the food that is her essence.

Especially during the holidays, most households, whether wealthy or humble, will have a jamón on a stand prominently placed on the counter as a sign of hospitality. It is presented in a special wooden stand, with a very long, thin super sharp knife next to it – ready for any friend or family member to slice off a few thin slivers, to be eaten with cheese on a sandwich or with one of many tapas – or just by itself. It will take a few weeks for the whole leg of jamón, weighing 14 or 15 pounds, to be consumed.

It is an art to slice the ham paper thin, but it is a skill well worth learning. My grandson, named Sam, lived in Cádiz with his family for six months. Before long, he had mastered the craft although he was just 9 years old! He would proudly serve a plateful of the thin slices arranged like petals of a daisy as the rest of us were sitting on the patio enjoying the day with a glass of sherry in hand.

However, it is not just during the holidays that you will encounter ham and pork – it is all year-round. You will see tasty chunks of ham in your cocido or country stew, garlic soup, and sometimes in the tortilla Española potato omelet you are served – not to mention the sausages and chorizos unique to hundreds of villages and towns. You will find it as a tapa accompanying Manchego cheese and cracked olives, or served with seafood – the other staple of Spain.

Even among the remains of the cavemen of Altamira, the earliest settlers of Spain, archaeologists have found the bones of pigs, indicating that they were a source of food. The people of Spain consume more pork and ham per capita than any other people on the face of the earth. There are two reasons for this: first, the pig provides an extraordinary amount of nourishment with virtually no waste – it is a very efficient source of food, which has been used for millennia across the world.

The second is a historical reason. As most of you realize, the Christian Spaniards embarked on a 700 year-long struggle to reclaim their homeland from the invaders from Africa and the Middle East, chafing within a society dominated by Islam. They termed this counter-insurgence the Reconquista, or the Reconquest. An easy and certain way to distinguish themselves from their foes, the Muslims, was to make pork central to their diet. So for practical and cultural reasons, ham and pork became foundational.

As the knights reclaimed many villages and towns, they would entrust the reclaimed land to the local Christians, as a sort of grant, thereby assuring the territory would remain in friendly hands. In exchange for their loyalty the local people gained pastures and woodlands to husband. It was not the severe vassalage system of Europe across the Pyrenees. Some of the land was used to raise crops and some to graze sheep and pigs. In fact, much of the choice pastureland and forests of the dehesa, where the prized Ibérico pigs flourish, was originally designated for that purpose centuries ago.

The native pig of the Iberian Peninsula is called the cerdo Ibérico and it has roamed the Peninsula for hundreds and hundreds of years. In earlier times, it was viewed as nothing special; it was just the normal Spanish pig. In more recent times, after the horrendous years of deprivation caused by the Civil War and World War II and its aftermath, Spaniards began to distinguish some of the hams from others by brand names such as Cinco Jotas, Pata Negra and Joselito. On the other hand, they might identify the jamón by the location where it was cured, such as the hams of the former Moorish fortress of Teruel, or the mile high village of Trevélez in the snowcapped Sierra Nevadas of Granada.

About 30 years ago, there was a recognition by the government and producers that there should be a way to distinguish one ham from another – the kind of pig it came from and how long it was cured.

As you can see, if you have any knowledge of the production of American ham and pork, what we are describing in Spain is almost another type of meat. That is why I prefer to call American ham ‘ham,’ and Spanish ham ‘jamón,’ as an easy way to avoid confusion. When we think of a Christmas or Easter ham in North America, we probably think of thick slices of juicy meat, which has been roasted for several hours with cloves, and then perhaps glazed with brown sugar and pineapple! Moreover, when we think of a ham sandwich we usually go to the deli counter and have them thinly slice pieces from a giant roll of cooked ham. We put those between slices of white toast or rye bread spread with a little mayonnaise and perhaps spicy mustard — and there you have it.

Besides, if you know a little more about the production of ham in the U.S., you know that it is made moist by pumping it with water. We certainly would never dream of buying or serving it with the hoof on – heaven forbid!

I would like to guide you through the different variations of Spanish jamón and pork – in the most general sort of way. For more detail, I encourage you to visit jamon.com, our website dedicated to all things ham.

First, there are essentially two types of ham and pork available. One comes from the familiar white or pink pig, which is raised all over Europe and the U.S. In Spain, it becomes jamón Serrano, a dry-cured country ham, somewhat like Italian prosciutto, and unlike American country ham, in that it is neither smoked nor heavily salted.

The other kind, as I mentioned before, is the Ibérico. It comes from an ancient breed quite distinct from the pigs with which you and I are familiar. The sows bear small litters and the young pigs are raised for about two years before being slaughtered. The most highly prized pork comes from Ibérico pigs that feast on acorns from holm oak and cork trees (such as the kind that Ferdinand the Bull used to lounge under). The hams are hung to cure for up to four years, with the consequential loss of perhaps 40% of their weight. The result is a finely marbled ham called Jamón Ibérico de Bellota, which is 60% monounsaturated fat like olive oil: a sliver of which melts in your mouth at 70°F.

This is the Beluga caviar of hams, highly prized, and cured only in one part of Spain from a limited number of pigs. The exquisite flavor, the rarity of the animal, the many years it takes to breed in a free-range situation and the long curing time all contribute to its elite status in the ham world. Remember, this ham is enjoyed over a period of weeks – it is not that roasted glazed ham that you polish off in one Christmas meal!

Over the last few years the prime cuts of Ibérico, which used to be used exclusively for sausage making, have become popular as fresh cooked premium pork. The cuts have unusual names, but are all delicious: presa (shoulder steak), solomillo (tenderloin steak), secreto (skirt steak) and pluma (end loin). The pork is spectacularly different from the ‘other white meat’ marketed in the United States. With its dark color, it resembles a succulent filet mignon beefsteak.

There is also a world of delicious sausages made from Serrano and Ibérico pork, ranging in price from a few dollars for a typical chorizo to over a hundred dollars for the finest lomo Ibérico. Chorizo, lomo (pork loin), salchichón, sobrasada, fuet, butifarra, cular, longaniza – the list of great sausages from different parts of Spain speaks to the ubiquity of Spanish cured pork.

In Spain, the most popular cured sausage is called chorizo, kind of like pepperoni but seasoned with pungent pimentón smoked paprika. Salchichón, cured with black peppercorns, is somewhat similar to Italian salami. To continue the Italian parallels (which are only approximate), jamón Serrano is like prosciutto de Parma.

Spain’s history, tradition and geography are all intertwined with its iconic cured meats. To learn more, especially about jamón, please visit our sister website, jamon.com. I hope that any of you who have not yet tasted Spain’s ham and sausages will take the opportunity to enjoy this central part of her cuisine.

Su amigo,

Don

El cerdo y el jamón son la base de la cocina española, y en muchos aspectos de su cultura. Entren en cualquier supermercado español que se precie y encontrarán docenas de jamones colgados de las barras expositoras, con pezuña y todo. A cualquier parte del país que vayan, ya sea la montaña, la meseta o la costa, se toparán con el característico jamón español. Cuando yo era joven y estaba enrolado en la Armada, ya contaba con una pequeña familia que trataba de ajustarse a un escueto presupuesto y no le prestaba mucha atención al jamón. Pero qué lástima, estar viviendo en el corazón de España ajeno al plato que es esencia culinaria española.

Especialmente durante las fiestas, la mayoría de los hogares, ya sean acomodados o humildes, exhibirán sobre la mesa un jamón en su jamonero como seña de hospitalidad. El jamón se ajusta a un soporte especial hecho en madera que va acompañado de un larguísimo, delgado y afilado cuchillo y allí se ofrece para ser cortado en finas lonchas a cualquier amigo o familiar. Puede comerse con queso en un bocadillo o con algunas tapas, o también degustarse solo. Consumir la pata de jamón de unos 6 ó 7 Kgs. llevará unas cuantas semanas.

Resulta todo un arte cortar el jamón en lonchas finas como el papel, pero merece la pena aprender a hacerlo. Mi nieto, que se llama Sam, vivió en Cádiz con su familia durante seis meses. No pasó mucho tiempo antes de que adquiriera esta destreza aunque ¡sólo contaba con nueve años de edad! Orgulloso nos servía el plato lleno de finas lonchas dispuestas como si de pétalos de margarita se tratara mientras los demás en el jardín disfrutábamos del sol con una copa de jerez en la mano.

No obstante, el jamón y el cerdo no son platos exclusivos para las festividades, es un plato para degustar todo el año. Los cocidos y guisos caseros incluyen deliciosos trozos de jamón, también las sopas de ajo y a veces la tortilla de patata española, y no hablemos ya de las tradicionales morcillas y chorizos típicos de cientos de aldeas y pueblos cada cual con sus particularidades en la elaboración. Se sirven como tapas acompañados de queso manchego y olivas partidas o junto con mariscos- la otra base culinaria española.

Incluso entre los restos de los cavernícolas de Altamira, los primeros pobladores de España, han llegado a encontrar los arqueólogos huesos de cerdo, indicativo de que este animal ya representaba una fuente de alimentación. Los españoles consumen más cerdo y jamón per cápita que ningún otro país del mundo. Existen dos razones para este hecho: primero, el cerdo proporciona una extraordinaria cantidad de alimento y prácticamente ningún despojo-es una fuente de alimento muy provechosa a la que se lleva recurriendo desde hace milenios por todo el mundo.

La segunda es una razón histórica. Como muchos de ustedes sabrán, los cristianos españoles se lanzaron a una lucha de 700 años para reclamar su patria a los invasores africanos y del Próximo Oriente, enfrentándose a una sociedad dominada por el Islam. Denominaron a este movimiento contra-insurgente la Reconquista. Una manera sencilla y clara de distinguirse de los enemigos, los musulmanes, era hacer del cerdo parte principal de su dieta. De este modo por razones tanto prácticas como culturales, el jamón y el cerdo se convirtieron en fundamento de su alimentación.

A la vez que los caballeros rescataban multitud de aldeas y ciudades, confiaban las tierras a los cristianos de la zona, a manera de merced, y asegurándose así que el territorio permaneciera en manos amigas. A cambio de su lealtad, los paisanos obtenían tierras de pastos y bosques de las que cuidar y obtener beneficios. No se trataba del severo sistema de vasallaje de la Europa al otro lado de los Pirineos. Parte de la tierra se utilizaba para cultivar y parte como pastizales para ovejas y cerdos. De hecho, muchos de los escogidos pastos y bosques de la dehesa en donde los preciados cerdos ibéricos se crían, fueron designados originariamente con ese propósito hace ya siglos.

El cerdo originario de la península Ibérica se llama cerdo ibérico que habita la península hace cientos y cientos de años. En principio no se tenía por algo muy especial; sólo era el cerdo español habitual. Ya más recientemente, tras horrendos años de privaciones causadas por la Guerra Civil y la Segunda Guerra Mundial (1936-1945) y sus secuelas, los españoles comenzaron a distinguir unos jamones de otros por sus marcas comerciales como Cinco Jotas, Pata Negra o Joselito. Por otro lado, podían identificar el jamón según el lugar en que hubiese sido curado, como los jamones del antiguo alcázar de Teruel o Trevélez, pueblo en las altas montañas de la Sierra Nevada en Granada.

Hace alrededor de unos treinta años se reconoció por parte tanto del estado como de los productores la necesidad de distinguir un jamón de otro- la raza de cerdo del que provenía y el periodo de curación: doce, dieciocho meses o tres años.

Como pueden ver, si tienen conocimientos sobre la producción del cerdo y el jamón americano ‘ham’, lo que describimos en España es prácticamente otra clase de carne. Es por ello que prefiero llamar ‘ham’ al jamón americano y ‘jamón’ al español como una sencilla manera de evitar confusiones. Cuando en Norte-América pensamos en un jamón ‘ham’ de Navidad o Pascua, ¡probablemente pensaremos en gruesas rodajas de suculenta carne asada con clavo durante unas cuantas horas y glaseada con azúcar moreno y piña! Lo que es más, cuando nos decidimos por un bocadillo de jamón ‘ham’, vamos a la charcutería y les pedimos que nos corten lonchas de un rollo enorme de carne de cerdo asado. Las ponemos entre dos tostadas de pan blanco o de cereales con mayonesa y mostaza picante y ¡listo!

Si, además, saben algo más de la producción de jamón ‘ham’ en Estados Unidos, sabrán que la jugosidad de la carne se obtiene inyectándole agua. ¡Nunca en la vida se nos ocurriría comprarlo o servirlo con la pezuña! ¡Dios nos libre!

Me gustaría orientarles sobre las diferentes variedades de jamón y cerdo español- de una manera general. Para más detalle, les animo a que visiten jamon.com, nuestro portal dedicado en exclusiva al jamón.

En primer lugar existen dos tipos de cerdo y jamón. Uno es el típico cerdo blanco o rosado, que se cría en toda Europa y Estados Unidos. En España este tipo produce el jamón Serrano, un jamón seco y curado, parecido al prosciutto italiano que, en oposición al americano, no está ni ahumado ni excesivamente salado.

El otro tipo, que ya mencioné anteriormente, es el Ibérico. Éste procede de una antigua raza bastante diferente de la que estamos acostumbrados a ver. Las hembras dan a luz a pequeñas camadas y los cerditos se crían unos dos años antes de ser sacrificados. La carne de cerdo más cara proviene de estos cerdos Ibéricos que se alimentan de bellotas de encina y alcornoques (el mismo tipo de árbol bajo el que Ferdinand el toro descansaba.) Los jamones se cuelgan para curarse hasta cuatro años, con la consecuente pérdida de alrededor del 40% de su peso. El resultado es un jamón finamente veteado llamado jamón Ibérico de Bellota, monoinsaturado en un 60% como el aceite de oliva: una fina loncha se derrite en la boca a 20°C.

Éste es el caviar Beluga del jamón, de alto precio, curado sólo en una zona de España y procedente sólo de un limitado número de cerdos. El exquisito sabor, lo poco común del animal, la cantidad de años que lleva criar en situación de semi-libertad y el largo proceso de curación contribuyen a su estatus de élite en el mundo del jamón. Recuerden, este jamón se disfruta a lo largo de semanas, ¡no se trata del jamón asado y glaseado con el que se acaba en un almuerzo de Navidad!

En los últimos años, los mejores cortes de Ibérico que solían destinarse exclusivamente a la producción de embutidos se han hecho famosos como carne de cerdo fresca de primera calidad. Los cortes tienen nombres peculiares pero son todos deliciosos: presa (filete de cabeza de lomo), solomillo (filete de lomo), secreto (filete de falda superior) y pluma (filete del lomo anterior). La carne de cerdo es espectacularmente distinta de otras ‘carnes blancas’ comercializadas en Estados Unidos. Por su color oscuro recuerda un suculento ‘filet mignon’ de vacuno.

Existe también un universo de deliciosos embutidos elaborados con cerdo Serrano e Ibérico, que varían en precios desde unos pocos dólares para un chorizo típico hasta cien por el más delicioso lomo Ibérico. El chorizo, lomo, salchichón, sobrasada, fuet, butifarra, cular, longaniza- la lista de excelentes embutidos de muy diversas partes de España habla de la ubicuidad del cerdo curado español.

En España, el embutido más popular es el chorizo, parecido al pepperoni pero condimentado con intenso pimentón- o paprika ahumada. El salchichón, curado con granos de pimienta negra nos recuerda en algo al salami italiano. Para continuar con paralelismos italianos (que son solamente aproximados) el jamón serrano se asemeja al prosciutto de Parma.

La historia de España, su tradición y geografía se entretejen en la elaboración de sus carnes curadas. Para conocer más, especialmente sobre el jamón, por favor, visiten nuestro portal asociado, jamon.com. Espero que aquéllos de entre ustedes que aún no hayan saboreado el jamón y los embutidos españoles se permitan en alguna ocasión el lujo de disfrutar de este elemento tan típico y central de la cocina española.

Su amigo,

Don

When our family founded La Tienda fifteen years ago, Ruth and I imagined we were putting together a cozy mom-and-pop business in our retirement so that we could work together with our sons while sharing our love for Spain. The first days of La Tienda began with our son Jonathan working in our basement every day, learning all about the new world of the Internet.

It was winter when we stacked our first inventory of jamón Serrano in our basement. I still recall loading a few hams at a time into my SUV, and driving to our local UPS package service for delivery to our customers. While waiting for the hams, our first customers requested other Spanish favorites, such as extra virgin olive oil, Manchego cheese, tins of bonito tuna, their favorite sauces and special paella rice. At our first ‘office’ over a dentist’s office, we stored all of these items on shelves we fashioned from 2×8 planks resting on cement blocks!

As La Tienda began to grow, our son Tim was able to join us full time. He brought invaluable experience about Internet commerce he had gained from three years running his own dot-com. The two brothers and I are still working together every day.

Today we have a climate controlled warehouse where all of the great products from Spain are kept in optimal condition. We send out hundreds of orders every day to homes across the country. The 2×8 shelves and the hams stashed in the garage are now an amusing memory.

How did this amazing story unfold?

I see two factors that closely intersect. First is that for years, I fostered our family’s appreciation of all aspects of the people and their way of life in all corners of Spain. Second, with the advent of the Internet, our deep knowledge and enthusiasm for Spain and her food could be widely shared.

Ruth and I have been involved in Spain and her culture for most of our married lives. It began when, as a newlywed Navy chaplain, I discovered the people of Spain on my first Med Cruise in 1965. Over the years Ruth and I, and later our family, have enjoyed meeting hundreds of farmers and craftsmen who take pride in making things the traditional way. What a joy it is to meet them personally, and to break bread together.

However, we have not just been travelers. Our youngest son, Christopher, was born in 1975 when we lived in El Puerto de Santa María, next to the naval base at Rota. At the time, his older brother Tim was attending El Centro Inglés, a Spanish/English primary school. Later Tim returned to Spain to spend a summer with a Spanish household in Sevilla. Their brother Jonathan spent two months between college semesters walking the 400-mile Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route – all the way from France, and returned there on his honeymoon. Chris returned to spend a summer in La Coruña.

Our enjoyment of Spain continues to grow. It is amazing to think that few people, even those who live in Spain, have visited more areas of Spain than we have. However, none of what we have accomplished could have happened without the advent of the computer and the emerging technology of the Internet.

In 1968, I had a frustrating experience, which drove home to me the value of the computer, which was just then coming on the scene. I was a young Navy chaplain stationed at the Coast Guard boot camp in Alameda, and needed to understand the emerging youth culture of the San Francisco Bay area. Therefore, I asked the recruits – what better resource – to provide a confidential account of their personal behavior and values.

It was invaluable material, but regrettably, there was no mainframe computer capable of analyzing the data. I had to wait for several years before I could deliver my stacks of keypunch IBM computer cards to UNIVAC, one of the first computers at Stanford University!

Entering the world of Internet commerce was a natural progression for our family. As Ruth and I raised our inquisitive boys, we always kept an eye on the computer culture. In 1984, we bought our sons, Tim, Jonathan and Chris, a Coleco ADAM Commander computer. It operated on a tape drive with 64K RAM, and had a dot matrix printer. It came along with a $500 college scholarship, which never came to fruition since the company was bankrupt within a couple of years.

Many of you may remember the early days of computers with dial-up connections, 8″, 5.5″ and 3″ floppy discs; freezing screens; annoying multiple crashes. It was the summer of 1995 when Microsoft launched Windows 95 and Internet Explorer to navigate the World Wide Web. In 1995, Amazon sold its first book on the ‘worldwide bookstore.’ A little over a year later, in 1996, our family launched LaTienda.com.

When we got together as a family to launch La Tienda, our eldest son Tim, who majored in Latin American Affairs, was employed by a classic ham company in Smithfield, Virginia. Our second son Jonathan was a sculptor fresh out of college, and their younger brother Chris was finishing his degree, with a minor in Spanish. All three of them graduated from The College of William & Mary.

Upon my retirement in 1988 we moved to Williamsburg, Virginia, perhaps the town with the most English ambiance in America. To make our new home our own, we embellished it with many fond mementos of Spain. Among our elaborate renovations, we decided to install classic Andalucian tiles in the bathrooms, kitchen, dining room and our fireplace surround.

As you might imagine, we found it a challenge to locate any authentic Alhambra design azulejos in the United States. When we finally did find a source, we filled our house with such beauty that we wanted to share our good fortune with others in America who had the same appreciation for Moorish tiles.

The challenge was that these Spain enthusiasts were not concentrated in any one area, but rather scattered over the continent. The timing was perfect: through the new technology known as ‘The Internet,’ we could get out the word to everyone instantly. LaTienda.com was born.

Jonathan taught himself web design, and arranged the display of Andalucian tiles in an attractive format for our LaTienda.com website. One day his brother Tim came home from his job at the country ham producer in Smithfield with a brilliant idea. It was prompted by the experience he had serving as an interpreter for a Spanish Serrano ham producer who was visiting the plant.

His idea was to have his brother post a picture of a jamón Serrano next to the rows of tiles, with a question: “If we could find these jamones would you want one?” What a question to ask a group of people who were predisposed to the Spanish culture! Within days we were receiving enthusiastic messages from across the country, and it became clear that azulejos may be one thing but jamón was quite another. We were on our way.

Next, we needed to encourage a Spanish producer to bring jamón Serrano to America. So we spent the next Christmas season over in Spain on a quest to identify a receptive company. It all worked out amazingly well, and by the end of 1997, LaTienda.com delivered the very first jamón Serrano to an Internet customer in America.

While our potential customers were eagerly awaiting news of jamón Serrano in America, they also asked if we could get their favorite Spanish products for them – ranging from Cola Cao and Nenuco, which brought back memories of their childhood, to aged Manchego cheese and bacalao salt cod. We have been adding products ever since – we are up to nearly 1,000 at last count. I have always kept our customers posted with a monthly newsletter – the predecessor of this note I am writing to you today!

Ruth and I are very grateful for our family, most of all. In addition, it is satisfying to see how our small dream has turned out to bring both joy to our customers and encouragement to several hundred families in Spain. We are also proud to have helped to introduce the idea of Spain to America along with other trailblazers such as chef José Andrés.

We are humbled that our small mom-and-pop business has grown into the largest purveyor of Spanish food in America. By staying true to our values, we strive to help preserve a way of life in Spain, which is unencumbered by the demands of the mass-market. We support our friends in Spain so that they may continue to make their traditional wholesome products. It continues to be a wonderful journey and we thank you for your support.

Su amigo,

Don

My wife Ruth and I have visited virtually every nook and cranny of Spain over the last 45 years, and many times our friends ask me what our favorite part of Spain is. Sunny Andalucía, noble Toledo or Galicia with its hearty fishermen braving the turbulent Atlantic Ocean – which is my favorite? It would be like asking me, which is my favorite son? I cannot answer that question because I love them all. In a different sense, I love all the parts of Spain.

One region which has a special place in my heart is Galicia, which in many ways embodies the soul of Spain. It is often overlooked by the impatient tourist since its northwest location is inconvenient for those who want to rocket through Spain in three or four days! Along with the lush pastures and formidable mountains that it shares with neighboring Asturias, its roots trace back to the Celtic people, the same people who also populated the British Isles. There is little to no Moorish or Mediterranean influence here. In their villages, people speak Gallego, their unique language or dialect that has evolved over centuries.

I call Galicia the soul of Spain because when we visit its major city, Santiago de Compostela, we rub shoulders with pilgrims who are completing their arduous walk along the Camino de Santiago. They are from all of Spain, and are accompanied by fellow pilgrims from all over the world.

Their destination is the 12th century cathedral that holds the earthly remains of Santiago – St. James, brother of Jesus, the patron saint of Spain (and whose scallop shell is central to our logo). I find it a profound experience every time I enter her walls. I do not presume to know the hearts of the others who arrive there. Most of them are on a spiritual journey of some sort, if not specifically with a Christian focus, they probably share the same personal goal of seeking inner peace through a quiet personal journey.

At various times, Ruth and I have lingered in the villages along the Camino with their monasteries and refugios, which for over 1,000 years have served humble people from all walks of life passing through. (One of our sons walked the entire route one summer.) For many years we have enjoyed leisure time in the amazing city of Santiago de Compostela: such a mixture of young and old, university students and seekers, and people who are there to immerse themselves in the ambiance of the country and especially the cuisine.

There is no place in Spain where one can find fresher fish and seafood. For those who are unable to linger in this magical place, there is a famous Galician canning tradition where fishermen painstakingly put in tins the most precious treasures from the sea so you can take a little of Galicia home with you. You can tuck in your suitcase tins of tiny clams called berberechos, sea urchins, and perhaps the most special of all, percebes – little barnacle type creatures which are chipped off rocks by men who brave the pounding surf of the Costa del Muerte, the site of many shipwrecks through the centuries.

Galicia is about the only place you can sample percebes the day they are harvested. Other less exotic favorites of mine are scallops prepared as Coquille San Jacques (French for Santiago), or a bowl full of steaming mussels fresh from the nearby Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes I just like to make a snack of just a loaf of the local bread, Pan Gallego.

One of the most enjoyable times Ruth and I have had in Galicia is the time we left Santiago for a week and meandered by car along the rugged coastline and tranquil rias (fjords) to drop into the many little fishing villages. Even though it was February, the weather was mild and the landscape was dotted with acacia trees in full bloom. It was extra special for me because I remember, as a little boy, going to the huge flower show in Boston in January, and being overwhelmed by rooms full of transplanted acacia trees with their fragrant boughs of yellow blossoms. They were imported to assure those of us at the show that the gloomy winter days we were enduring would be over and springtime would be coming soon.

On our way back from the northern shore we drove through the interior of Galicia, which is lush and green with rolling hills dotted with cows. Some compare the terrain to Ireland. Most memorable was the town of Lugo named after the Celtic god of light which was conquered by the Romans in 13 BC. It is encircled by a 1700-year-old Roman wall with 71 towers.

We always stop at the municipal market to get the pulse of the city. The Lugo market was a cornucopia of fresh vegetables and greens, and shellfish so fresh some of them were still crawling around. Close to the cheese lady who had a wonderful collection of fresh tetilla and other local cheeses was the baker who was offering what I think is the greatest bread in the world, Pan Gallego: crusty, sturdy and full of ‘nooks and crannies.’

But most of all I remember how personable and warm were the people serving us standing behind the stalls. It was not the same kind of effusive greeting we experienced from the people of Mediterranean descent whom you would encounter in Andalucía. Their welcome in Galicia is typically Celtic, drawn from a society that has bagpipes and wooden shoes, and whose traditional dances are similar to those in Ireland or Brittany. In fact, several of the members of the popular Riverdance group are natives of Galicia.

Other favorite parts of Spain? Where do I begin? I could tell you about the rugged Pyrenees and Picos de Europa where remote valleys contain monasteries with precious frescos. Then I could recount our family living among the bowers of bougainvillea and oranges near the sherry bodegas of Andalucía with its rich blend of Christian and Moorish culture. I cannot think of a more cordial group of people.

Or I could recount my impressions of the majestic city of Toledo, an astonishing amalgam of medieval cultures. Santa Maria la Blanca, formerly a synagogue, is a Christian church built by Muslim architects. Nowhere in the world is my favorite painter, El Greco, more present than in Toledo. Within the 13th century cathedral is an intimate window into the mystical painter’s soul: his portraits of the 12 apostles – lined up along the high walls of the sacristy!

But this is for another day as I have a lifetime of rich memories of Spain. But none is more vivid than Galicia, the earthy region of fishermen and host to pilgrims from around the world. I never tire of returning.

Su amigo,

Don

Mi esposa Ruth y yo hemos explorado prácticamente hasta los más recónditos lugares de la geografía española en los últimos cuarenta y cinco años, y muchas veces mis amigos me preguntan cuál de ellos es mi rincón favorito. La soleada Andalucía, el noble Toledo o la Galicia de valerosos pescadores que desafían el turbulento Océano Atlántico- ¿cuál es mi preferido? Sería como preguntarme quién de mis hijos es el predilecto. No sé responder a esa pregunta porque los amo a todos ellos. De una manera distinta también amo todos los rincones de España.

Galicia es una región que en mi corazón ocupa un lugar especial, y que a mi entender, representa en muchos aspectos el alma de España. A menudo es dejada a un lado por los impacientes turistas porque su localización al noroeste de la península es algo recóndita para aquellos que ¡desean hacer una visita relámpago a España en tres o cuatro días! Además de densos pastos y formidables montañas que comparte con la vecina Asturias, sus raíces se remontan a los celtas, el mismo pueblo que también habitara las islas británicas. Existe poca o ninguna influencia tanto musulmana como mediterránea en estas tierras. En sus aldeas, la gente habla gallego, su particular lengua o dialecto que ha ido evolucionado a través de los siglos.

Me refiero a Galicia como el alma de España porque cuando visitamos su capital, Santiago de Compostela, nos rozamos hombro con hombro con peregrinos en la recta final de su ardua marcha por el Camino de Santiago. Proceden de todos los puntos de España, y en su caminar les acompañan hermanos peregrinos de los cinco continentes.

Su lugar de destino es la catedral del siglo XII que conserva los restos mortales de Santiago, Hermano de Jesús, santo patrón de España (y cuya concha es parte principal de nuestro logotipo). Hallarme entre sus muros resulta para mí una profunda experiencia. No pretendo conocer el corazón de los demás que llegan hasta allí. La mayoría hace un recorrido espiritual, cada uno a su modo, no necesariamente de fondo cristiano, pero probablemente sí comparten las mismas metas personales en la búsqueda de la paz interior a través de un callado viaje personal.

En diferentes ocasiones, Ruth y yo nos hemos deleitado en las aldeas del Camino con sus monasterios y refugios, que durante más de mil años han cobijado en su peregrinar a gente humilde de todos los estilos de vida. (Uno de nuestros hijos completó toda la ruta un verano). Durante muchos años hemos disfrutado nuestros momentos de ocio en la increíble ciudad de Santiago de Compostela: una combinación de jóvenes y mayores, de universitarios y de los que allí buscan algo y de personas que simplemente se encuentra allí para sumergirse en el ambiente de la región y especialmente de su gastronomía.

No existe en España otro lugar mejor para encontrar pescado y marisco fresco. Para aquellos que no puedan disfrutar relajándose por este lugar mágico, existe una famosa tradición gallega de conservas por la que los pescadores envasan con esmero los más preciosos tesoros de la mar, de este modo el visitante puede llevarse consigo una parte de Galicia. Le puede hacer un sitio en su maleta a estas conservas de berberechos, pequeños moluscos, y por qué no de percebes, lo más especial de todos. Son pequeñas criaturas arrancadas de las rocas por hombres que valientemente desafían el fuerte oleaje de la Costa de la Muerte, lugar de innumerables naufragios a lo largo de los siglos.

Galicia es uno de los pocos lugares en los que podrá saborear estos percebes el mismo día de su recogida. Otro excelente aunque no tan exótico bocado son las vieras preparadas como Coquille San Jacques (traducción francesa de Santiago), o un buen cuenco de mejillones recién extraídos del Atlántico al vapor. Aunque a veces simplemente me decanto por dar buena cuenta de una barra de pan gallego.

Una de las ocasiones que Ruth y yo más hemos disfrutado en Galicia fue aquella en la que dejamos Santiago durante una semana. Vagamos en nuestro automóvil por la escarpada costa de las tranquilas rías y curioseamos en las numerosas aldeas de pescadores. Aunque era el mes de febrero, el tiempo era agradable y el paisaje estaba salpicado de acacias en flor. Aquello me resultó muy especial al traerme a la memoria las Muestras Florales de enero del Boston de mi niñez con sus enormes flores y las impresionantes salas repletas de acacias trasplantadas con sus fragantes ramos de flores amarillos. Las importaban para reafirmarnos a los asistentes que los oscuros días de invierno que soportábamos llegarían a su fin y que la primavera pronto haría acto de presencia.

De regreso de la costa norte, condujimos por el interior de Galicia, que es frondosa y verde y de suaves colinas salpicadas de vacas. Algunos comparan el terreno con el de Irlanda. Uno de los lugares para el recuerdo fue Lugo, llamado así por el dios celta de la luz y que fue conquistado por los romanos en el año 13 a.C. Está rodeado de una muralla romana de mil setecientos años y que consta de setenta y una torres.

Siempre nos detenemos en el mercado municipal para tomarle el pulso a la ciudad. El mercado de Lugo era como el cuerno de la abundancia, repleto de verduras y vegetales y de crustáceos tan frescos que algunos aún se arrastraban de aquí para allá. Junto a la quesera que tenía una maravillosa colección de queso de tetilla y otros quesos de la zona estaba el panadero que ofrecía el que, según mi opinión, es el mejor pan del mundo, el pan gallego: crujiente, consistente y esponjado.

Pero lo que más profundamente quedó grabado en mi mente fue la cercanía y calidez de la gente que nos atendía en los puestos. No era el mismo tipo de saludo efusivo que nos ofrece el pueblo de ascendencia mediterránea que se puede encontrar en Andalucía. La bienvenida en Galicia es típicamente celta, una sociedad de gaitas y zuecos y cuyas danzas tradicionales son similares a las de Irlanda o Gran Bretaña. De hecho, varios de los componentes del popular grupo Riverdance son nacidos en Galicia.

¿Otros lugares preferidos de España? ¿Por dónde empezar? Les podría contar sobre los escarpados Pirineos y Picos de Europa en los que aislados valles cobijan monasterios con frescos preciosos. También les podría contar de nuestra estancia familiar entre flores de buganvilla y naranjos cercanos a las bodegas del vino de Jerez en Andalucía con su rica mezcla de culturas cristiana y musulmana. No conozco gente más cordial.

Por otro lado están mis impresiones de la majestuosa ciudad de Toledo, una despampanante amalgama de culturas medievales. Santa María la Blanca, antiguamente sinagoga, es una iglesia cristiana construida por arquitectos musulmanes. En ninguna otra parte del mundo se halla mi pintor favorito más presente que en Toledo. Entre los muros de la catedral del siglo XIII se halla una íntima ventana al alma del místico artista: los retratos de los doce apóstoles- dispuestos uno junto al otro sobre los muros de la sacristía.

Pero esto lo dejaremos para otro momento, puesto que conservo toda una vida de abundantes recuerdos de España. Ninguno tan vívido como el de Galicia, la sencilla región de pescadores y albergue de peregrinos de todo el mundo. Nunca me canso de regresar.

Su amigo,

Don

We have a young houseguest, Ibon, who is a 16 year old student from the Basque Country. So this year the Fourth of July was an extra special day for us because of his visit. During his brief stay with us, he hopes to brush up on his English (he already speaks Basque, Spanish and French!) and get the flavor of American life. His parents, Sebastian and Mila are friends of ours who provide La Tienda with some of our finest Bonito del Norte tuna.

Ibon arrived in the last days of June, so Independence Day was his first exposure to true Americana. The Fourth of July is the most American celebration of them all – complete with parades, speeches, fireworks and hamburgers and hot dogs on the patio grill. It also marks the midway point of the Major League Baseball season, ‘America’s pastime.’

As you can imagine, our hometown Williamsburg, the historic city of the American Revolution, made every effort to celebrate its heritage. The Capitol and the Governor’s Palace were the center of the political and social life of Virginia for most of the 18th century. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were students at the College of William & Mary. Patrick Henry, while serving in the legislature, launched impassioned patriotic speeches from this city.

Like most of the towns in the United States on the Fourth of July, Williamsburg was dressed up in red, white and blue: buntings, t-shirts, bands, balloons and of course the ‘Stars and Stripes.’ The American flag, affectionately called ‘Old Glory,’ was everywhere, lining the streets and buildings of Williamsburg.

The Fifes and Drums Corps proudly marched down Duke of Gloucester Street in their 18th century apparel. It is composed of boys and girls who begin their education in military music at age 10 and practice weekly for the next eight years, until after they have graduated from high school. Alongside them was the Color Guard from the local naval base. Local leaders made patriotic speeches and the celebration was crowned by a fireworks display of epic proportions, which drew thousands of people from hundreds of miles away.

Because Ibon was with us, my wife and I had a chance to experience the celebration through the eyes of a person from quite a different culture. Of course, Ibon has enjoyed fireworks and parades before, since they are a part of ferias at Ibon’s home in the Basque Country. What he saw as unique to our celebration was the presence of so many American flags. They were everywhere.

I think he is right. I do not remember the national Spanish flag as the centerpiece of a national event in Spain, much less displayed in front of private homes as it is in the United States. When the national ensign appears at a public celebration, it is paired with the flag of the autonomous region. The flag of Castilla-León with its checkerboard of rampant lions and solid castles; the deep red flag of Pais Vasco with its intersecting green and white crosses, or the proud flag of Asturias with the fabled cross of Covadonga emblazoned on a sky blue field are of equal or primary importance to the local people.

There are two national observances in Spain which I think might be roughly equivalent to the American Fourth of July. One is the Feast of Santiago, the patron saint of Spain, celebrated on July 25th; the other is El Dia de Hispanidad with the primary site of celebration at the Basilica of Nuestra Señora del Pilar in Zaragoza. Both celebrations are anchored on the sites of saints who, in effect, become the national heroes.

Many years ago, my wife and I were in Santiago de Compostela for the Patronal Feast of Santiago (Saint James). Because July 25th fell on a Sunday, the year was the culmination of a Holy Year. We traveled to this hallowed Galician city to meet our son Jonathan, who was just arriving from a two-month walk from France across Spain along the Camino de Santiago – a route along which hundreds of thousands of pilgrims have traveled over the ages. All the pilgrims have a cockle shell on their walking staff, hat or shirt as a symbol of St. James. It is the same shell that we chose for the logo of LaTienda.com.

The three of us were standing shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other people in the Plaza de Obradoiro in front of the Cathedral. King Juan Carlos and Queen Sofía were there along with dozens of cardinals and noted dignitaries. Our attention was focused on a remarkable ‘light show’ which depicted the sacking of the city by the marauding Moorish warriors of Al-Mansur: bigger than life figures on horseback flashed across the facade of the cathedral. Clearly the common denominator on that national holiday was the pilgrimage tradition of the Camino, and the commemoration of the 700 century struggle of the Christians to rid the peninsula of foreign forces from Africa and as far away as Damascus. The national flag was almost an afterthought.

On another occasion, Ruth and I witnessed the celebration of Dia de la Hispanidad in Zaragoza. Although it was a national holiday and all government buildings were closed, the focus was on the Virgin of Nuestra Señora del Pilar. All week long there was a stream of villagers from Aragón and beyond headed to the basilica. Along the way, some were dancing the jota and other local dances. Their destination was the Basilica of Our Lady of Pilar where they contributed armfuls of fresh flowers to the mounting pyramid of bouquets lain at the feet of the Virgin. The King of Spain attended, as in Santiago, but again, the focus was not on the national identity represented by the monarch or the flag, it was rather on the age-old religious tradition passed on over a millennium.

This is quite a different setting than our national day in America. Other than among indigenous people, we cannot draw upon thousands of years of tradition as the Spanish can. We have nothing like a friend of mine in Spain whose family first settled in his hometown more than 800 years ago! What we Americans hold in common is that we are all from somewhere else. Within my conservative little city live neighbors of many traditions: Chinese, English, Spanish, Greek, Vietnamese, Korean, Romanian, Indian and more. Our forbearers came here because they wanted to make a better life, seeking the freedom to shed the past and start anew.

Essentially, on the Fourth of July we Americans celebrate an ideal expressed on our national seal: ‘E Pluribus Unum’ – out of many, one. Our experiment in democracy has been lived out over just a relatively few centuries – and for some of us it is just a few years since we came to these shores. This is why our ‘Star Spangled Banner’ is of singular importance to us – with fifty stars on a field of blue and the thirteen stripes of the founding states.

The people of Spain and the United States have been molded by radically different experiences, and these are reflected in the form of our national celebrations. Nevertheless, we are no different when we marvel at the fireworks with our grandchildren. We are all one in our desire to love and be loved, to build solid families and prepare a good future for our children. Ruth and I are enriched every time we return to Spain and enjoy the hospitality of the many traditional families who provide to La Tienda the work of their hands. Moreover, we hope our young house guest from Spain will gain from his experience of living among Americans for a few weeks, sharing our daily life.

Su amigo,

Don

Tenemos un joven invitado en casa procedente del País Vasco. Se llama Ibon y tiene dieciséis años. Por este motivo el pasado Cuatro de Julio fue una celebración extraordinaria para nosotros. Durante su breve estancia con nosotros Ibon desea mejorar su inglés (¡ya habla vasco, español y francés!) y experimentar algo de la forma de vida americana. Sus padres, Sebastián y Mila son amigos nuestros y suministran la más alta calidad de Bonito del Norte a La Tienda.

Ibon llegó el último día de junio, así que el día de la Independencia fue su primera vivencia de celebración a la americana. El Cuatro de Julio es la fiesta americana por excelencia, colmada de cabalgatas, discursos, fuegos artificiales y hamburguesas y perritos calientes en la parrilla del patio de casa. Marca el punto intermedio en la temporada de la liga principal de béisbol, una pasión americana.

Como pueden imaginarse, nuestra ciudad Williamsburg, la histórica ciudad de la Revolución Americana, puso gran empeño en las celebraciones que conmemoran su historia. El Capitolio y el Palacio del Gobernador fueron el centro de la vida política y social de la Virginia del siglo XVIII. George Washington y Thomas Jefferson se formaron en la universidad de William & Mary y Patrick Henry durante su legislatura lanzó apasionadas y patrióticas arengas desde esta ciudad.

Como muchas otras ciudades de Estados Unidos durante la celebración del Cuatro de Julio, Williamsburg se vio envuelta en los colores rojo, blanco y azul: banderines, camisetas, bandas, globos y cómo no las “Barras y Estrellas”. La bandera americana, con afecto llamada la “Vieja Gloria” colgaba por todas partes, engalanando las calles y edificios de Williamsburg.

La Banda de Flautines y Tambores marchó con orgullo por la calle del Duque de Gloucester ataviada con ropas del siglo XVIII. Está compuesto por los alumnos noveles de la escuela de música militar de diez años de edad que practican semanalmente durante ocho años hasta que se gradúan en la Escuela Secundaria. Junto a ellos desfiló la Guardia de Color de la base naval de la zona. Los dirigentes locales pronunciaron discursos patrióticos y la celebración fue rematada por una fiesta de fuegos artificiales de grandiosas proporciones que atrajo a curiosos en 150 kilómetros a la redonda.

Puesto que Ibon se encontraba con nosotros, mi esposa y yo tuvimos la oportunidad de vivir la celebración a través de los ojos de un extranjero. Por supuesto, Ibon ya había visto cabalgatas y fuegos artificiales anteriormente, son parte de las celebraciones en la feria de su pueblo en el País Vasco. Lo que le llamó la atención como algo especial de nuestra fiesta fue ver tantas banderas americanas. Las había por todos lados.

Creo que tiene razón. No recuerdo haber visto la bandera nacional española como centro de las celebraciones nacionales en España, y mucho menos colgando delante de las casas particulares como ocurre en Estados Unidos. Cuando la enseña nacional aparece en una celebración lo hace junto con la bandera de la región autónoma. La bandera de Castilla-León cuyo paño divido en cuatro muestra leones rampantes y sólidos castillos; la bandera del País Vasco de fondo rojo oscuro con dos cruces sobrepuestas en verde y blanco o la orgullosa bandera de Asturias con la aclamada Cruz de Covadonga sobre fondo azul son de tanta relevancia o más para sus ciudadanos.

Existen en España dos festividades que a grosso modo se me antojan equivalentes a la fiesta americana del Cuatro de Julio. Una de ellas es la festividad de Santiago, patrón de España, que se conmemora el 25 de julio; la otra es el Día de la Hispanidad, celebrada con mayor intensidad en la Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar en Zaragoza. Ambas festividades están ligadas a lugares de santos, que, de hecho, se convirtieron en héroes nacionales.

Hace ya muchos años mi esposa y yo estuvimos en Santiago de Compostela para las Fiestas Patronales de Santiago. Puesto que el 25 de julio cayó ese año en domingo se celebró como la culminación de un Año Santo. Nos desplazamos a esta ciudad santa gallega para encontrarnos con nuestro hijo Jonathan, que acababa de finalizar un peregrinaje a pie que duró dos meses desde Francia y atravesando España por el Camino de Santiago-una ruta que cientos de miles de peregrinos han recorrido a lo largo de diferentes épocas.

Nos encontrábamos los tres parados codo con codo entre miles de personas en la Plaza del Obradoiro delante de la Catedral. El rey Juan Carlos y la reina Sofía se encontraban también allí junto a docenas de cardenales y otros relevantes dignatarios. Nuestra atención estaba fijada en un impresionante “espectáculo de luces” que representaba el saqueo de la ciudad por los guerreros musulmanes de Almanzor: figuras de tamaño superior al real cabalgaban velozmente de un lado a otro de la fachada de la catedral. Obviamente el denominador común de esa festividad nacional era la tradición peregrina del Camino y la conmemoración de los setecientos años de lucha de los cristianos para librar a la península de los ejércitos extranjeros venidos desde África y de lejanos lugares como Damasco. La idea de una bandera nacional vino casi como algo de último momento.

En otra ocasión Ruth y yo fuimos testigos de la celebración del Día de la Hispanidad en Zaragoza. Aunque se trataba de una fiesta nacional y todos los edificios públicos estaban cerrados, las miradas se centraban en la Virgen de Nuestra Señora del Pilar. A lo largo de toda la semana multitud de paisanos de Aragón y otras comunidades se desplazaban hasta la basílica. Por el camino algunos bailaban la jota y otras danzas regionales. Su destino era la Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar en donde depositaban enormes ramos de flores frescas sobre la gran pirámide de flores que se amontonaba a los pies de la Virgen. El rey de España asistió, al igual que en Santiago, pero de nuevo el centro de atención no fue la identidad nacional representada por el monarca o la bandera, sino la tradición religiosa heredada hace más de mil años.

Es un marco totalmente distinto al de nuestro día nacional en América. No podemos conmemorar tradiciones milenarias más allá de las indígenas como hacen los españoles. No tenemos nada parecido a mi amigo español ¡cuya familia se instaló en su ciudad hace más de ochocientos años! Lo que los americanos tenemos en común es que todos provenimos de algún otro lugar. Dentro de mi pequeña y conservadora ciudad viven vecinos de tradiciones muy variopintas: china, inglesa, española, griega, vietnamita, coreana, rumana, india, etc. Nuestros antepasados vinieron hasta aquí anhelando una vida mejor y buscando libertad para poder dejar atrás el pasado y comenzar una nueva vida.

En el fondo lo que los americanos celebramos el Cuatro de Julio es el ideal expresado en nuestro sello nacional: E Pluribus Unum – De muchos, uno. Nuestro experimento de la democracia ha sobrevivido sólo unos cuantos siglos – y para algunos de nosotros sólo han pasado unos cuantos años desde que llegamos a estas costas. Es por ello que nuestra bandera tachonada de estrellas es tan importante para nosotros –cincuenta estrellas en fondo azul y trece barras de las colonias fundadoras.

Las gentes de España y los Estados Unidos han sido moldeadas por experiencias radicalmente diferentes, y esto se refleja en nuestras celebraciones nacionales. No obstante, no somos tan distintos al maravillarnos ante unos fuegos artificiales junto a nuestros nietos. Todos somos iguales en nuestro deseo de amar y ser amados, formar una sólida familia y labrar un buen futuro para nuestros hijos. Ruth y yo nos enriquecemos cada vez que volvemos a España y disfrutamos de la hospitalidad de las muchas familias tradicionales que suministran productos a La Tienda con la labor de sus manos. Por otra parte, esperamos que nuestro joven invitado de España saque provecho de unas cuantas semanas de vivencias entre americanos compartiendo nuestra vida cotidiana.

Su amigo,

Don