Iberia: Reminders that Power Can Vanish and What Turns Out to Be Important is How You Can Live Today

After 14 days of touring the Iberian peninsula, it occurs to me that I might want one day to return in another lifetime as the valued black pig, the “pata negra.” Only I’d designate it “jubilada,” for the Spanish word “retired,” hopefully making it safe from slaughter.

The Alcazar in Segovia, Spain; Roger Wallstadt, Wikipedia

That idea may have only started off as a joke I made to my fellow travelers but I came to realize during my journey to the backroad inns of Portugal and southern Spain that the pig and the way it is treated is emblematic of what these Iberian folk value. They take the small pleasures in life seriously, such as the nutty taste of a well-satisfied pig that has been allowed to roam freely as it munches itself into a fatty richness.

An attitude replicated in the way I saw Iberians approach their days. Work, yes, but time also for morning coffee with friends and then afternoon siestas in a day that stretches well into the late night, try dinner at 10 p.m. The entire day is used, not just focused on work.

It also occurred to me that perhaps that laid-back approach owes something to the area’s rich history. The people are surrounded by remnants of a succession of cultures ranging all the way back to prehistoric to Roman, Visigoth and Moorish, to the kings and queens whose rule dominated Europe as they sent out Portuguese and Spanish explorers, to 20th century despots and finally present day governments. All reminders that power can vanish and what turns out to be important is how you can live today.

The “pata negra,” whose name reflects their black hooves, thrive in an area that stretches from eastern Portugal for thousands of acres of rolling pastureland dotted by oak trees into southwest Spain’s Extremadura and Andalucia regions. Most of it is devoted to raising happy pigs and cattle.

The area was surprisingly empty of humans, given the peninsula’s long history. The pigs, believed to be a cross between a wild boar and animals first brought to the area by the Phoenicians, are prized for their rich marbling, a function of that seasonal diet of fat acorns. Some of them three times the size of any acorn I’d ever seen.

Juan Pedro Alvarez Vacas, the energetic and enthusiastic Spanish guide on my Overseas Adventure Travel** trip, said that food and freedom for the animals were the main reasons Spain had such good beef and pork.

In every restaurant, we found evidence of the pork harvest, the prized leg of the “Pata Negra,” hanging above the bar from its black hoof as it air cured. A tiny plastic cup was attached at the bottom to catch any dripping fat during the process which can take years. The Iberian ham is thinly sliced on a special apparatus, resulting in wafer-thin portions that highlight the reddish color and fat marbling.

Our group was first introduced to the famous specialty — I saw legs of Iberian jamon costing over 500 dollars — at a midmorning breakfast. Slices of bread were topped with olive oil, followed by pureed tomatoes and the ham. I never ate anything so tasty in my life, the combination of the intensely nutty flavor reminiscent of acorns along with the melt in your mouth texture.

Further dipping was allowed in olive oil dribbled into saucers. Juan Pedro said the Spanish require there always be a source for dipping. At one point, he even led us to a restaurant that featured freshly deep-fried churros which we dipped into cups of warm thick chocolate.

Bulls, too, enjoy pampered existences. We visited the ranch owned by matador Rafael Tejada outside Ronda, where he breeds fighters for the ring. Only the bulls he deems best suited get to lead the privileged life on his ranch, allowed much like Ferdinand the bull to roam the oak tree studded acreage where black pigs also play. Until the day they must show up in the bullring. A minute number of bulls win pardons, we learned, if they show noble courage during the fight. One such bull already had a grandson who had also won a pardon.

We asked Tejada, now 45, what were his thoughts when he stepped into the ring. He joked, “What am I doing here?” But, he said, he had no plans to retire soon. None of the bulls raised on his ranch is used in his own bullfights.

The beef I enjoyed during the trip, presumably failed fighters, was succulent, tender and juicy. Unlike any I’d had before. I had an aversion to US beef but here I ate it all.

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Iberia: Reminders that Power Can Vanish and What Turns Out to Be Important is How You Can Live Today

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