Spanish Secrets: Flaming Waterfalls
The preparation of the Spanish desert Quemada is spectacular. But the taste? Read Craig Brigg's entertaining slice of Galician life and discover what it is like to sip a flaming waterfall.
When we first moved to Spain looking for a property to buy, we rented a house in Ferreira de Panton. A Spaniard we had met whilst living there called in last week, to take a glass of wine and ask if we would like to join him and his wife for a meal.
Their house is situated a short distance from Ferreira and is quite small and simple. It occupies an elevated position with magnificent panoramic views over the surrounding countryside and distant mountains.
He took great pride in showing us his small vineyard located in front of the house on a gentle slope, so gentle as not to require terracing, a common feature of hillside vineyards in the area.
After which it was off to his bodega (wine cellar) to get three or four bottles of his home made wine to accompany the meal. He handed Melanie and I the wine to carry, whilst he picked from his shelves a bottle of coffee liqueur and two one-litre bottles of aguardiente, the locally brewed fire water.
We climbed the stone steps from the bodega to the first floor, which is the living area of the house. His wife was in somewhat of a panic. Seemingly she had planned to serve us a tortilla (Spanish omelette) for dinner but couldn’t find her next door neighbour.
Melanie and I looked at each other in confusion, perhaps we had misunderstood, or maybe it had been lost in translation.
Our host seemed unperturbed, and went on to pour the wine into several assorted tumblers. The first sip is always the worst, but after a great deal of practice, we’ve learnt to disguise our grimace as a sort of smile and then nod appreciatively.
Some of the home brewed wine here is very palatable, but this was not one of them. Fortunately though, as the evening progresses the taste tends to become more palatable.
To our hostess's delight the next door neighbour had returned, and as two dozen freshly laid eggs were passed over the fence adjoining the two houses, it became clear why the neighbour was such an important part of our dinner.
Tonight’s menu was Spanish tortilla, which is a large thick potato omelette, mixed salad and fresh crusty bread. For desert we were being treated to a special Galician tradition, the Quemada!
After a delicious first course the preparations for the Quemada began. Firstly a large earthenware dish, similar in shape and size to a large fruit bowl, was placed in the centre of the table.
Into this our host poured the two one-litre bottles of agaurdiente he had earlier brought from his bodega, followed by fourteen tablespoons of sugar. Using a penknife taken from his pocket, he cut chunks of peel from two large lemons and added them to the brew. Finally he cut the lemons in half and squeezed the juice into the dish.
He stirred this extremely alcoholic punch with a stainless steel ladle for a few seconds, before turning the lights off, plunging us into darkness. A match was struck!
In the flickering light we could see our host holding a ladle full of the punch about two feet above the bowl. To our amazement he then ignited the liquid in the ladle.
Tipping the ladle slightly sent a flaming waterfall of alcohol cascading into the bowl which spontaneously ignited. For three or four minutes he repeatedly scooped the flaming liquid into the ladle, raising it high above the bowl before tipping it, creating a beautiful flaming waterfall of blue and green flames.
The flames were blown out and the liquid poured into glasses with our host's instructions to drink it while it was still hot.
The event was spectacular. The taste was not!
It was a cross between a mouthful of siphoned petrol and a medicinal lemon-flavoured cold remedy, the only compensation being, that after a second glass-full you really didn’t care what it tasted like.
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