The Valencian Fine Dining Experience

After the wonderful horchata experience, José took me around his city. We walked here and there, and I helplessly tried to keep up with my fabulous high wedges with pink roses. My "May" shoes. They really are comfortable, for the first hour or so, but after awhile, they do begin to hurt. But they are fabulous. And gorgeous. I particularly liked my outfit that day...a light pink beaded shirt, very fitted jeans that made my ass look pretty darn good, and my "May" shoes. Pretty, feminine, and classic. Okay I'm completely getting side-tracked here.


Back to the food. It was time to get some dinner. One small problem. It was a Sunday. Meaning, a lot of the restaurants were closed. So we walked around some more trying to find a restaurant that didn't include the words KFC or Burger King. Pain. Sharp pain in my feet. I sensed that my feet were bleeding. But I didn't let it bother me. I kept on walking. I don't think José knew how much it hurt. But then again, the secret is to never look like you're dying of pain. Or maybe he did know.

After walking for awhile, we finally came across the Blue Iguana. (Are you sure that's what the name of the restaurant is, José? I thought it had a different name.) We walked into the restaurant and sat down. I was beaming on the inside. Not only was I finally able to rest my feet, but we were in a fine dining restaurant. I have not been inside a restaurant like this in so long. The plan for the evening: eat like a king. Or in my case, a queen.

Bacalao con tomate: el entrante. Lightly fried pieces of Spanish salted cod. Lightly crispy on the outside, tender and flaky on the inside. The tomato sauce seemed more like a tomato paste. It was very dense and the flavor seemed to be quite concentrated. I found that these two elements complimented each other quite well. Hands down my favorite dish of the night.


Solomillo: or sirloin. El plato principal. And perhaps the most American thing that I've eaten on my trip to Spain. José was telling me that the sirloin was the most tender part of the beef. You are wrong! It's the tenderloin! El lomo! Le filet mignon! But I'm not going to lie. El solomillo was pretty damn tender. The sea salt made it even better. The french fries were also pretty good too.


Tarta de chocolate con dulce de leche: el postre. I can't even remember the how the cake tasted. All I know is that by this point, I was already drunk out of my wits. José and I finished an entire bottle of Ribera del Duero, a Spanish red wine, something that I have never ever done before. In fact, there were many things that I've never done before that I did on this trip. But any way, all I can remember is that it was quite good. It was so good, and I was so drunk, that it didn't even occur to me to take a picture.

My Valencian fine dining experience was excellent. I think I may have had my very first Spanish food baby that night. I was too drunk to remember its name, but it didn't matter. It was only the first of many. And there was no better way to end that night than to watch the tennis US Open final.