Summer in West Dolomites, the Italian Mountains – What to See, Eat & Do

Italy

It was Roy’s father who first sold me the idea of the Dolomites in June. It would be a summer. The sky would be a startling blue with fluffs of piercing white clouds. There would be the most stunning mountains in the world and don’t forget the alpine meadows. But I love the Italy of the coast and the languid blues of the sea. The Northernmost point we had ever gone was Lake Como. You can imagine that it took much coaxing, much back and forth, for me to settle on the idea. I would have to acclimatise to the mountains of the North and inevitably, their rich cuisine. But Roy reminded me, “It will be an adventure. A very different Italy.”

ALPE DI SIUSI

I have often heard that the food in the Dolomites is very different from the rest of Italy. It is entirely landlocked, sharing borders with Austria and Switzerland. Menus are in Italian, German and Ladin. In a way, it is a very un-Italian region with food that feels like a distant cousin of their neighbour Lombardy. Here, the alpine meadows shape the menu, as is the cuisine at Franz’s place Gostner Schwaige. Dora, who has been working here for decades, declares that he is the chef. She never allows anyone to over-order and with a reservation, she will seat you at the best table—right by the meadows. Franz’s dishes are his beautiful creations—a love letter to the Alpe—but it’s when Dora brings them to the table that they truly come alive, carried with pride and care. Carob-flour ravioli, folded in the shape of mezzelune half-moons, are dressed in tomatoes and pine pesto. Hay soup stewed in herbs and flowers. Goulash in red wine served with golden polenta. Then comes dessert, the hardest choice of all. While we manage to settle on scrambled pancakes and apple strudel, we could not decide between honey or cream. But of course, Dora has the best idea of all, “I’ll bring both!” While the charm of the Alpe di Siusi is the slow walk to everywhere and anywhere, the satisfyingly long lunches are what makes the walks worthwhile.

SECEDA

If Michelangelo had hidden one last masterpiece in the Alps, it would be Seceda. The peaks rise like great sand dunes turned to stone, shaped over centuries by the hands of time. If it is a clear day (which usually is in summer), you can see the far-off mountains gleam under Carrara-white snow caps. Even after a few rounds on the trek, every view would feel new. By mid-day, hikers would be stretched out like silver hairpins on the sunbeds at Baita Sofie Hütte for their hour of alpine sun followed by a lunch of speck and eggs and local Alto Adige wines. With the sun high up in the sky, it is easy to savour the slow stretch of time at a rifugio, the world below all forgotten.

ALBERGO STUA CATORES

It can be hard trying to find a restaurant here in this part of Italy. There are a million tourists and hardly any locals in sight. This is also hardly the place for the great Italian classics like tagliatelle al ragu or spaghetti alle vongole. But Stua Catores is exactly the kind of place that speaks to me: family-run, local cuisine and in the middle of nowhere. Decisions were made as quickly as the moment we walked in. They are known for their dumplings and pork knuckle, Mara told us, the daughter of owners Sigrid and Markus. Everything was no doubt wonderful and we were kept busy guessing the ingredients in the pork knuckle. In the end, Sigrid revealed one little detail but from the look in her eyes, there was clearly much more to it. Some things are meant to stay secret and the pork knuckle would remain a dish we would all travel for.

Food & Travel Guide to Ronda, Spain – What to See, Eat & Do

Spain

Not everyone is fond of lamb but when they do, they would fall for it, deeply. There is no in-between. When we were heading to Tambor del Llano, we had decided early on that we would have the lamb. It was a specialty there and we would understand later on why. For us, Ana was the heart of the finca. On the day we arrived, she showed us the secret to the lamb. Salt and generous pours of Spanish olive oil were key. The rest was the lamb itself and nothing more. It was a flavour that would gently tug on my tastebuds. I still remember that in the days following on, a group of men had a second round of the lamb before they left. That was how good it was.

TAMBOR DEL LLANO

Our favourite place in all of Ronda is Tambor del Llano. Or rather, it’s Roy’s favourite place. Maybe because it was wild, perched right inside the national park. But mostly, it was comfortable. Mornings would start with hams and fresh cheeses while Cati kept our glasses filled with sun-kissed orange juice. There would be cakes baked with autumn fruit which would be saved for an afternoon nibble—something that was much appreciated after long drives through the park. But what Roy enjoyed the most were the gentle hikes to the vegetable garden or just the wandering, to soak it all in. From afar, we would see tiny white dots moving in the plains which we knew were the grazing sheep. Dinner was always a surprise. Corvina fish a la plancha. Baked apples served warm with yogurt. Pork cheeks braised very slowly in red wine. We would always order one of each, and finding that both were equally delicious, would find it impossible to choose which to dig our forks in.

RONDA

It can be hard to pry the city away from the region, especially when it has a bridge as grand as the Puente Nuevo overlooking the even grander El Tajo gorge. By the time we reached the city of Ronda, the tour buses had already let loose their crowds who filled the bars as soon as they opened. We passed the forever-queue at La Cana in favour of their more discreet neighbour Bodeguita El Coto. Unlike the gilded glamour of Granada’s bars, Ronda has maintained the casual dressed-down charm of theirs. The kind where waiters moved from table to table with effortless rigour. They never forgot a single order, nor the best drink on the wine list. On each wood-varnished surface was a earthenware of caracoles that had been boiled in tomato with slices of bread to dip the sauce with. Then, little plates of chicharrón, meatballs, potato cream and a bright tomato salad. The waiters were still moving to an endless tapas tune, never missing a beat in Ronda’s mid-afternoon.

ZAHARA DE LA SIERRA

Over the days, we had come to realise that Alvaro, part owner of Tambor del Llano, was almost always right. This was especially so when he casually slipped in a few recommendations. Just a few towns to visit. There was Ronda or the Setenil de las Bodegas. But first, the timing was just right to go to the Zahara de la Sierra. For a few days, this once sleepy town would come alive in red, green and yellow in honour of the San Simón y San Judas festival. Alvaro had promised us that it would be “very funny” and he was right. The locals, dressed as Jews, Christians and Moors, performed their battles in a theatrical fashion. It was all very pretend play. Some were captured in ropes. Many swords were drawn. There was music and there were skits. We ended up right at the top of the town where captives, hiding their laughter and feigning injury, were exchanged. But our attention was drawn away by the taverns where a whole leg of lamb was roasting on a spit until it had become a blushing shade of rose. It was exactly as Alvaro had promised: endless entertainment and a feast to be remembered for the ages.

RABBIT ARROZ

I have to tell you about the rabbit arroz in Grazalema, because it might be the best I’ve ever had. When we reached, the town was still. Too still. No voices in the streets. No football games in the square. It was as if the town was having a siesta and had forgotten to tell us. We slipped into two small shops just before the shutters came down for jars of wild game pate to take home. Then, the mystery was solved: everyone was at El Torreon. The bar downstairs was alive. We edged past the locals and their unhurried conversation to the restaurant, which was completely empty save for the waiter and a well-suited man guarding the jamon. The choice was easy. Rabbit arroz for two and wine. “Definitely the red.” The waiter did not hesitate. There was no discussion and we were thoroughly glad as we were famished. The rabbit was braised in peas, tomatoes and a sauce so soft and rich it was velvety. Long after the plates were cleared, I still remember this as the best rabbit dish I have ever had.

LA UMBRÍA IBÉRICO ECOLÓGICO

Sylvain is a man of many words, most of which are reserved for his favourite part of Spain. He spoke of Andalusia, of the region and most importantly, of Pruna where La Umbría Ibérico Ecológico lives and breathes. He admitted that it was a place that was not the most prosperous, but he was still fiercely proud of. The South, he said, is the food-producing region of Spain. It is essential. The heart of Spain where food begins. We followed him to the dehesa where the pigs wandered freely through the scent of earth and acorn leaves. Afterwards, he laid out chips homemade from Pruna, pickled green olives, phyllo pastries stuffed with meat and a pot of chickpeas, pumpkin and sausage stewed by the mother of Sylvain’s business partner, Antonio. There were cured hams, after which came a tray of jamon that melts like honey. It was not showy, but rich in every sense. “We want to keep it real,” Sylvain told us. And real it was.

BODEGA GARCIA HIDALGO

Our best meal had to be at Bodega Garcia Hidalgo. There was much wining and dining, courtesy of Miguel and Maribel. It started with a tour of the cellars. For a few moments when the rain let up, we stole out of the cellar to see the vineyards in full autumn bloom, hoping that the weather would not find out. Then Maribel brought us to the dining room all set with little bowls of cream, pate and red pepper and green tomato jams. From her oven came the most sensible thing next: a loaf of bread. Then one by one, she began the parade: a frittata, tomato salad (sliced from the largest she had ever grown in her garden), ham and cheese, paella, cheesecake discreetly topped with dark chocolate sauce. Miguel never stopped pouring our glasses. We left feeling somewhat tipsy from the long, generous lunch.

Food & Travel Guide to Costa del Sol, Spain – What to See, Eat & Do

Spain

There’s something special about the Spanish autumn – the sun is perpetually shining and the sky stays a soft powder blue. We enjoyed a dinner of grilled swordfish at Puerto Blanquillo sitting outside, which feels rare for autumn. When we went back to the apartment, it was 7.30 pm and the sun was still glowing tints of red and orange. The sunset was the latest we had ever seen at this time of the year, as if summer was still lingering in the air. But there were no crowds, just Malagueños walking their dogs or having a tapa with their vermouth. There’s just something about the Spanish coast in October that feels right.

NERJA

When I look back now, my photos of the Costa del Sol in November are snapshots of a Spanish summer holiday. But mostly, they’re memories of Nerja. We would walk along the promenade facing Playa el Salón and Playa la Caletilla, at a place pompously named the Balcony of Europe. There would be a band singing to the tunes of a Spanish guitar and the sea would be that perfect Mediterranean blue.

On our very first visit to Nerja, we did something that was unthinkably touristic – we ordered churros at a cafeteria thinking it would come with chocolate sauce. And when it didn’t, we ordered chocolate and were served the drink. It was only our third day in Spain and there were still rules we were trying to get our heads around. With a little luck, we managed to have churros on our second visit, this time at a churros cafe with proper chocolate sauce.

PESCADERIA EL ARTESANO

There’s a little seafood shop on Calle La Cruz in Nerja, barely 10 seats if you count the stools pressed up against the wall. There would be the freshest catch – large clams bundled up in nets, blushing prawns and slippery squids – all displayed on the ice bed in front of the counter. Juan would grill or fry whatever the sea decides to offer that day. One day, we would have little shrimps seasoned with rock salt and another, it would be a whole grilled turbot. Lola would bring us tinto de verano and with each glass, a small plate of crisp boquerones fritos would appear. There is always a queue especially close to 1 pm and everyone would hold a glass of wine as they wait in the balmy autumn. As for Roy and me, we would feel extremely lucky that we somehow reached just a little earlier than everyone else.

FRIGILIANA

In the subsequent days, we could not resist a trip down to Nerja or Frigiliana. Nerja was lively and sunlit but Frigiliana drew us back with its quiet charm and green terraces spilling softly down the hillsides. There was no end to the whitewashed houses that were so typically Andalusian. We would somehow find ourselves there just as the warmth of dusk wrap around us before dinner. It felt like a mandatory stop for us to savour the town in the beautiful light.

LA TRAYA

As a Cantonese, I have a certain fondness for rice. At one time, Roy confessed to me that he missed pasta, which was perfectly natural for a man who enjoys his bowl of noodles. But Spain suited me; I was content as long as there was rice. It’s no secret that the Spaniards love their rice. One night, my longing found its answer in a calderoso at La Traya. It was a bar that transformed into a restaurant late at night. There would be tablecloths and baskets of freshly baked bread. The señor brought forth a black pot steaming with rice luxuriating in an aromatic broth swimming with lobster, mussels, prawns and squid. We dipped in, spoonful after spoonful, until we were full and the only sensible thing left was to carry the rest back to our apartment.

LAS BARCAS

On the way to Ronda, we made a detour to the coast for chiringuito. That was how we found ourselves sifting through a flea market for woven basket bags and glossy ceramics. Lunch happened by the sea at Las Barcas where the waiter brought over vinegared anchovies and grilled sardines. Alas, there was no chiringuito because of the breeze. Later at Marbella, a quick glance turned into an hour – seduced by linen shirts fluttering in Yachtpur. I was eager to put everything on this day, mostly for practicality (they were all somewhat on the way to Ronda). I have to admit that we had overstretched our time and we were only on our way to the mountains close to evening. Thank goodness for the late sunset hour.