Our Andalucian paradise

Historically speaking Scandinavians have not been known as the world’s most exciting gourmands. “But this has changed in the last couple of decades,” explains Fredrik Andersson, chef at Finca La Donaira, which is outside the village of El Gastor in Andalucía. Fredrik is part of the new gastronomic wave that favours simple dishes using only the very best organic ingredients. I travelled to La Donaira to talk with this down-to-earth cook who doesn’t like to call himself a master chef.
 

Fredrik Andersson (43) is originally from Stockholm, though he has lived outside of his birth country most of his adult life. During his diverse life, he has worked as a chef in several different countries, ran a biodynamic farm in France, and owned the restaurant Mistral in Stockholm. He was introduced to the owner of La Donaira, who persuaded him to become their chef. After 2.5 years at the boutique hotel, he cannot imagine a better place to work.
 

And why should he? Vogue Spain called Finca La Donaira one of Spain’s most charming hotels. But it is much more than rural charm – a luxurious boutique-type hotel with nine exclusive and unique rooms, a 1700 hectares nature-focused property with its own organic farm.
 

In addition to 82 thoroughbred Lusitano horses that can be ridden on the premises, it is also home to flocks of sheep, goats, rare cattle, hens, bees and wild birds, in addition to a couple of friendly mutts that always seem to be hanging around close to the kitchen. The farm is run in line with Rudolf Steiner’s biodynamic principles and produces about 95% of all that is consumed in-house, both by humans and animals. Last year this included 5.488 kg olives (462 litre extra virgin olive oil), 528 kg almonds, over 2000 kg Petit Verdot and Blaufränkisch wine grapes, and an astonishing 236 kg of their precious medicinal honey.

When did you decide to become a cook and how were you trained?

“I have always been interested in food. As an adult I have come to realize that my earliest childhood memories all seem to centre around food and meals. I knew that I wanted to be a cook before I became a teenager. However, I didn’t go to cooking school. When I was 18 years old and fed up of sitting in a classroom, I wrote to a dozen restaurants in Stockholm asking if I could work for them for free. The places weren’t exactly Fine Dining establishments, but they were restaurants that I thought were exciting and had cooks that I wanted to learn from. One of them said “Sure, come on over”, so I started and was later employed by them. Since that time, I went on and worked in other places. So you could say that I learned the trade the old way, as an apprentice”.

Who was your first real teacher?

“She was a chef called Karin Fransson, known for her Haut Cuisine at Borgholm Hotel on Öland, whom I worked with in my early twenties. What particularly touched me was how her food reflected her persona. She showed me that food could be much more than just about quality. Of course, the quality should be the highest possible, but she could put her personality into anything she cooked, which for me was a great experience”.
 

Do you have any other role models in the restaurant industry?

“Very many! There are a lot of incredibly clever people who work with food and who influence the development of our gastronomy. Two grand chefs in my books are Michel Bras and Alain Passard from France, who might be seen as the foundation of the natural cooking that we try to achieve here at La Donaira. I am also very fascinated by the Catalan cook Ferran Adrià from the restaurant Bulli”.
 

When can one call oneself a Master Chef? And what do you think of the Master Chefs on TV?

“First of all... one should probably never call oneself a master of anything. Personally, I think there are many fantastic cooks around, but very few are actual Master Chefs. To be that, you must have defined your very own style of cooking and developed a gastronomy wave that others follow. Therefore, one ought to be very careful before calling oneself a Master Chef. You have to be a culinary artist and someone that breaks boarders. There also has to be a noticeable before and after, gastronomically speaking, for a real Master Chef, like there was with René Redzepi at the restaurant Noma in Copenhagen. People in our trade do not consider all TV Master Chefs as such. There are a lot of decent and educative food programs now and of course creating interest for home-made food is a good thing, but there is a far divide between the real craft and pure entertainment.”
 

At La Donaira you make organic and biodynamic food.  Why? And has this always been your passion?

“Indeed. It has always been my lifestyle when it comes to food. I started working exclusively organic about 15 years ago, but I didn’t physically reside where the things were grown. Here at La Donaira we work with a complete cycle. We follow the entire process and have a personal relationship with the produce as well as those tending to the crops and animals. The union with nature is strengthened and the possibilities are therefore completely unique.

Only a small percentage of our produce gets brought in from the outside. The only thing that doesn’t come from our farm, other than coffee, is fish and seafood. We pick up a bit of foie gras from a small producer in Extremadura, and some other types of wine than those we make ourselves.  Otherwise, all our vegetables, fruit, grains and meat are produced or raised right here. We sow the seeds from which we make the flour that we bake into our own bread. It is a continual process, like with our development of rare animal breeds. (Note: All the animals are free-roaming and organic, in addition to being local and are also often rare or threatened species.) Product development is just as big a part of the job as preparing the food. The quality potential is optimal. Here everything is brought in straight from the garden. There is no transportation. Everything is fresh – up to the minute fresh.  Such a system could not be reproduced if everything was to be brought in from the outside”.

 

What influences you as a cook and how would you describe your own style of cooking?

“More than my own style, I believe we are trying to find something that is unique to here – what can we physically produce with as natural and pure tastes as possible? The natural experience of being at La Donaira should be matched by the food we serve. Since La Donaira is located in Andalucía we base ourselves on Spanish cooking. All the same, we are an international setup. The kitchen-staff alone come from Austria, Spain, UK, Belgian Congo and Sweden.

About half of the 77 people who work here come from El Gastor. The local population appreciate and understand the value of the hotel to their community, as the employment opportunities in the village are very limited. Everything we do is a communal effort so that everybody can learn to appreciate the whole process. We strive to find the balance between the international and the unique things that this place has to offer locally. The most important thing for us is that it is a healthy and natural experience, and that our guests find that the food they are served at La Donaira cannot be eaten anywhere else”.

Scandinavians aren’t traditionally known as being gastronomes. How has this changed in recent years?

“There has been a mind-blowing development. Speaking on behalf of Sweden that I know best, the food quality has changed radically. The gastronomic elite in Scandinavia is definitively/undoubtedly world class. When the trend began to alter towards very high quality gastronomy some 20 years back, it took a while before this dribbled down from gourmet restaurants to simpler restaurants and later to food stores and finally to the individual consumer. I haven’t been home to Sweden for a few years, but what I experienced prior to moving was an enormous shift in everyday consumption, as well as access to better quality products/produce, and organic and locally grown food.

In Stockholm the farmers market has become a very established system. Several of my friends earn good salaries from producing and selling directly to consumers. Now during the Corona pandemic, the service has been converted to pick-up. The demand for local, healthy food is enormous – if they can supply 300 clients, their demand is from 3000. Education and interest in food has had a very positive impact generally. People care more, eat better and spend more on healthier food. This development has led to even more organic and locally grown food being produced to meet growing demand. Scandinavia has really taken the baton and led international developments here. So even though our food here at La Donaira is not accessible to all, there is an international movement that tries to support healthy local food. If anything, this might be the one positive thing coming out of this pandemic. People feel the need to take a step in the right direction, food and health-wise”.
 

What is your favourite dish?

“I am not sure if I have a personal favourite, but I have many vivid food memories particularly about my late grandmother who made fantastic food. Her meatballs are something I will always remember. And I love really well made bread. The bread culture is also something that has developed since I started making food. The interest for quality bread has truly returned. My mum grew up on a humble farm in Dalsland in western Sweden and my parents wanted to distance themselves from the poor conditions by going in the opposite direction. Their generation wanted everything to be quick and easy. Everything should be pre-packed. Now as they are growing old, they have gone back to their roots and can recognize the value of what they had in the past”.
 

How has La Donaira been affected by the Corona pandemic? Before the pandemic most of your guests were foreign. Who are your guests now?

“It has been a difficult time for everybody, but for us it has also been a great surprise. We never thought that Spaniards would become our guest base, but after the first lockdown, that is what happened. The response has been unbelievable. It is really quite exciting. People seek nature and come to us from all over Spain. But of course, we welcome any guests with open arms”.

How is it to be working in the Garden of Eden?

“You are right, that’s how it is! I thoroughly enjoy all aspects of working here and cannot imagine a better working environment. It is a fantastic place with endless possibilities”.

For more information: Finca La Donaira

Las Vías Verdes is a network of Greenways that spreads all across the Iberian Peninsula. Since 1993 more than 3000 km of Spain’s abandoned train lines have been converted into these bicycle and pedestrian routes, as part of the European Greenway system. They can be used free of charge by cyclists, walkers, wheelchair users and horseback riders. My husband and I set out to try one of the 120 Spanish greenways.

Andalucía offers many exciting activities, but if you are looking for something suitable for the whole family, try a bike ride along one of the territory’s abandoned train lines. Due to the railway’s standard width, wide-angle turns and limited gradient, the route meanders in a leisurely manner across the undulating landscape without steep ascents or descents. The Vías are user-friendly and it is practically impossible to get lost. The signage is impeccable and includes the distance to the next station, traffic signs when you cross an occasional farm road, and signs pointing out upcoming sights. We also pass warning signs for the legendary Spanish Toros Bravos, but these imposing animals are thankfully behind fences.

Visitors can also find water, toilets and places to eat at some of the former stations along the way, as well as information panels, picnic areas and observation platforms. The goal of the Vías Verdes is to improve the range of non-motorized tourism, promote nature knowledge and healthier life styles, and contribute to district development and local employment.

Bike rental with full service

We have chosen the Vía Verde de la Sierra between Olvera and Puerto de Serrano in the province of Cádiz. On a sunny fall day, we drive to Olvera’s old train station to pick up our rental bikes. While the country’s shortest Vías are only a couple of kilometres long, the longest are well over 100 km and include overnight lodgings options. Our route is a perfect compromise at 36.5 km or a 73 km round trip. It is part of the southern Camino de Santiago de la Plata, and is said to be one of the prettiest and most awarded greenways in all of Europe.

According to its website, the bike rental office is open from 09.00 until 18.00. One obviously has to take this with a pinch of Spanish salt, as not a soul is around when we arrive. While waiting, we decide to grab a coffee at the station cafe, where they just have started bringing out the first tables. No rush, we have the day before us. 

The young man who serves us says that the station never actually opened as such, or trains ever used the line. The construction of the railway that was to connect the villages between Jerez de la Frontera and Almargen began in the 1920s, but the economic depression and the subsequent Spanish Civil War stopped the project before it opened - until now.

A couple of minutes later the fellow who rents the bikes is ready for business. The company has everything from terrain and tandem bikes, to bike seats and trailers for kids, and even a pedal powered 4-seater rickshaw. In addition, they also provide electrical bikes, but we feel that is a bit like cheating, particularly as in the morning we are still fresh and energetic. We have reserved a couple of terrain bikes online, that we get adjusted to our size. The bikes have decent disc brakes and disc gear and seem perfectly all right, except perhaps that the seat is a tad too hard for my behind. The renter assures us that we are in safe hands. If any problems should occur, we can call a number and they will come rushing with a spare tire or whatever might be needed. In a worst-case scenario, if we cannot handle biking any longer, they will probably even give us a ride back. He shows us a map of the route, highlighting that most bikers turn around half way, since the entire route takes well over 3.5 hours one way and much longer to return. As the route inclines slightly towards Puerto de Serrano, we will have more hills to climb on the way back, he explains, unfortunately to partially deaf ears.

The hour is nearly 10 by the time we set off, which means we have 8 hours before we have to return the bikes. Piffle, 73 km, of course we can manage that, I think. And this would not have been a problem had we been seasoned bikers, but the fact was that we had not sat on a bicycle since we left Canada almost 8 years ago…

On two wheels in La Sierra

“Ohhhh, how fabulous it is to be on a bike again!” I call out as soon as we set off. Everything goes smoothly and the road seems great. The first couple of kilometres are even paved, but after that it is primarily gravel and sand. We pedal along, me with a perma-grin from ear to ear, past a rolling landscape of farmer’s fields and olive groves, and I insist that we stop to take photos every few hundred yards. We arrive at the first of many tunnels and its perfect opera house echo prompts me to sing out loud. This is going like a dream!

After about 5 km, we zoom by the first abandoned station, waving to someone resting in the shade of the ruined building. The road leads on into a Mediterranean forest with gnarly oaks, tall poplars, pink oleander and wild olive trees.  There are relatively few people on the road today. Most of the ones we meet are older Spanish men who judging by their appearance must have partaken in many national bike races in their younger days. Since this is the day before a long weekend, we also meet a few families with children, and even an entire primary school class with their teacher.

At about the 16 km point, our surroundings change again, this time to barren rock. We are approaching the nature reserve by Zaframagón. The station here is now used as an information centre for the local vulture colony and there is also a feeding station nearby. As exciting as this sounds, we decide to move on and catch it on the way back.

 

Otherwise there are no lack of sights en route, and we cross four spectacular viaducts. These are bridges composed of arches that would have taken railways across valleys and riverbeds, with inclines which would otherwise have been too steep for locomotives to navigate.

In the following section, we bike through some of the route’s most impressive tunnels before arriving at the station near the village of Coripe. This is clearly the central hub of this Vía. People from nearby villages park their cars here and wander or bike a shorter route before enjoying a longer lunch at the station restaurant. It is almost crowded, so it is probably wise to avoid long weekends or puentes in Spanish.

Coripe is also the turnaround point for most of the cyclists who come from Olvera. Only the pros, the unknowing and those like us, the particularly stubborn, bike the whole way. But we have come this far, what is another 14.5 km? We take another slug from our water bottles and jump onto the bikes again.

 

Beautiful, mystical, dark tunnels

The most memorable and unique feature of the Vía Verde de la Sierra, at least for me, are the tunnels. This particular route has 30 of them – everything from elongated bridges to mountain passes that extend for more than a kilometre, where I get to test the echo with a selection of Edith Piaf and mock operas. The tunnels are also beautiful aesthetically speaking, with a classic 1920s hand chiselled look and archways that are repeated at regular intervals. Since no train has chugged through them, the walls aren’t covered in soot either. In addition, they are nice and cool on a sweltering day.

The first tunnels we go through are short enough for the daylight to more or less shine through. Later we come to longer tunnels, with are illuminated automatically as you enter, some fuelled by solar power, others by regular electricity. It is a tough adjustment on the eyes to come from the bright daylight into a relatively dark tunnel, lit or not. Luckily my sunglasses have a string around my neck so I can pop them off without having to get off the bike. My husband, who uses glasses, wishes he had one of those sunglass attachments that you can just flip up and down. Otherwise, contact lenses would probably be complicated, especially if the tunnels have a lot of dust in the air. And rest assured, this will happen.

In spite of the roads being closed off to vehicular traffic, you will always meet a couple of maintenance vehicles or a pickup from a nearby farm during a day on the Vía Verdes. Speaking from my own experience, this is guaranteed to happen when you are inside a tunnel. The good news is that you can see the car’s headlights from far away, and that vehicles according to the signs are only supposed to drive at a max 10 km/h. Since we do not know if the driver has indulged in an Anís or two for breakfast, we still stop and glue ourselves to the tunnel wall while waiting for the car to pass and the cloud of dust to dissipate.

It can however, get quite dark in between the lights in the tunnels. Light bulbs don’t last forever and not all are changed as soon as they expire. Neither Jaime nor myself thought about checking for lights and reflectors before leaving the station, something we now realize would have been a wise move. The road surface inside the tunnels is uneven at best. Some have a strip of asphalt, which may end at any point without warning. These can actually be more challenging than a gravel road, as you cannot always see the edge of the many potholes.

After a couple of precarious, half-blind tunnel crossings, I recall that I have a head lantern at the bottom of my pack. I fasten it around my upper arm, holding it in such a manner that the dancing beam occasionally hits the ground. It is not flood lighting, but at least it helps us see the largest holes before we hit them. And in such a way we manage to get safely through tunnel after tunnel.
 

Only lunch guests

The road continues along the beautiful riverbeds of the Guadalete and Guadalporcún and continues into rural farming districts with sheep and cattle, where we meet a couple of local gents who are enjoying the road on horseback.

Since the last tunnel is closed, we have to take a detour and are relieved when we roll in at the end station. It is just past one o’clock, so it has taken us just over three hours, in spite of my endless photo stops. We peak around the station building, which is supposed to be a restaurant, but see no other diners. A man comes outside and confirms that they are open. Could they bring a table outside and serve us some lunch, we ask, and even if the place seems rather abandoned, the dishes are brought out on the double. We enjoy a tasty meal including an entire grilled octopus leg, beautiful tapas dishes of baked eggplant and venison stew, plus a couple of bowls of their local olives, cured by the owner’s mother. The entire meal including beverages comes to just over 20 €. How can you beat that! I would have loved to bring back a large glass jar of the home-cured olives, but with the ride back in mind, I manage to restrain myself. For the same reason we do not order wine with the meal and decide to enjoy a dessert later en route.

Uphill return

By the time the meal is done and paid for, it is two o’clock. Have we already been here an hour? We only have four hours left now before the bike rental closes. Perhaps this is why we were recommended to turn back after half way? I remember the golden mountain rule from my youth in the Norwegian woods: There is no shame in turning around!  We don’t recognize the truth in this saying until we plop our sore behinds back on the bicycle seats and start pedalling. Ouch!

All those jolly little hills that I sang myself down on the way here, we now have to bike up. Thankfully, the road surface is as mentioned fairy flat, but even the gravel feels heavier to pedal through now in the afternoon. The Andalucian heat is also something one always should be aware of, even on a late fall day. When we took off it was a comfortable 13 degrees, but now the temperature has gradually crept up to close to 28 degrees in the sun. We begin to long for the balmy tunnels.

I have always been the first to preach about how important it is to bring enough water on nature excursions. Usually we bring a couple of litres each, plus a bottle of Aquarius with electrolytes as extra provision. This time we only brought our small water bottles, partly because we had read that one could buy water at several places along the way. Think again! Here we are far away from stores and restaurants with only measly mouthfulls of lukewarm water between us.

One ought to take certain precautions on the Vía Verde, as with any other Andalucian nature trip. Sufficient liquids are vital. Always bring more water than you believe you will need. You cannot plan to buy it on the way, as one never knows what one will encounter, and when and if places are open when they are supposed to be. Likewise, sun protection is a MUST all year – sunglasses, sunscreen and sunhat, unless you are wearing a bike helmet, which I would whole-heartedly recommend. If you use your own bike, remember your repair kit and make sure you have proper lights on your bike and even an extra flashlight.

Sheep, sheepdogs, but where is the shepherd?

After a while we get back into the rhythm of it and the kilometres fly by. We zoom through another tunnel and are back at the riverbed. There is a flock of sheep on the hillside. I am just about to stop and snap a picture, but get wary when I notice that some of the moving dots have rather long snouts. Then I hear the first barks. At this point I should add that I have an irrational fear of ownerless dogs off leash, ever since a German Shepherd attacked my stroller when I was a baby. Our local shepherd’s loyal sheepdog take care of over 100 sheep without uttering as much as a tiny woof, but these beasts are quite different.

As we get closer (there is no other way but forward…) I discover that there are more of them than I originally thought. I count four, eight, no, at least twelve big hounds, looking like crosses between all the scary guard dogs I have ever met. Some growl and one starts running after me, as if he can smell my fear. “Jaime!”, I squeak while wobbling on the cycle, the beast hot on my heels. “They aren’t dangerous. Just go on”, he calls out. Easy for him to say, as he is behind me… The mongrel is only interested in snapping at my foot, regardless of how much my husband whistles and yells. The tunnel ahead doesn’t seem to get any closer. Where is the darn shepherd?

I have more or less come to terms with sacrificing my left foot, but am not as keen on inheriting the rabies that I in my overdeveloped imagination seem to detect frothing at the mouth of the snarling beast.

“Just step on it, we will soon be in the tunnel,” encourages Jaime. I weaver along towards the opening with a palpitating heart, while the angry hound hisses at my front tire. Jaime uses all his canine discipline tricks to no avail, while the shepherd is likely to be found at the closest bar. If I just had a pepper spray, I think, not that I can stop and get it out of my backpack anyhow. Just as I am about to give up all hope, another dog comes to my rescue. When the nasty mongrel tries to bite my leg off, the other dog jumps in and tries to pull the snarling dog away. Phew! Finally, we enter the safe darkness of the tunnel. Thank goodness, I didn’t become lunch for a pack of mad dogs today, after all…

The drama is over, but we still have 25 km left to ride. My hands are aching after having been clamped onto the handlebars, but they are nothing compared to my butt. Even if one never forgets how to ride a bicycle, the gluteal muscles will. As I can no longer manage to sit without being in total agony, I stand and pedal for the remaining kilometres, while occasionally resting my extended lateral rump on the seat when I can just cruise along.

Don’t misunderstand me. It is a stunning bike route, just that after 60 km with a ball breaking seat, direct sunlight and limited water, I begin to think like Ferdinand the bull, and look for a nice olive tree where we can lay down and take a long siesta. Or call the bike rental agency. That is just a thought of course, because upon my life, we will not give up. We pass the nature reserve with the vultures again that, not unexpectedly, is now closed. No water for sale either and the next station is a ruin.

Just half a dozen tunnels and a few more hills and we will be there. We see the old fort over the village of Pruna, and at long last roll in at the Olvera station. It is now 5 pm, so we made it in record time, certainly for us who haven’t ridden for nearly a decade. We return the bikes, ready to collapse in a chair at the station restaurant and order copious amounts of liquids and food to follow. But that is not possible. They close at 17.00. After a bit of friendly negotiating, they reluctantly agree to let us have a couple of bottles of water and sit at the last remaining table that they still have not stored away.

Happily home, a couple of days later we again manage to sit on our tender rears and only remember the jolly part of the ride on the Vías Verdes.

For more information: Via Verdes

We live in strange and uncertain times. There are days when I prefer not to watch the news, as whole countries go back into lockdown, economies plunge, the USA segregates into Republicans and Democrats, and record numbers of CoVid cases are counted.

It is easy to get a bit down by it all, but since nothing else can be done, let’s try to spin the negatives into new positives. Every prohibition defines some kinds of permission.

Instead of focusing on all the restrictions that we are living under, why not seek the possibilities within these limitations?

Compared to the seven weeks this spring when we couldn’t leave our homes and were limited to walking rounds on the terrace or trailing between the living room and the kitchen, we have considerably more freedom now.

Of course we have to wear masks, but at least we can go outside. So let’s be grateful for what we have and what we actually can do, and enjoy that we can prance around semi-freely, even if it only is in our own neighbourhood.

If you live in a town that is closed off, use this as an opportunity to explore your local surroundings. My husband and I often enjoy being tourists in our own town. We search for streets, alleys, and paths that we have never walked before.

There is always something new to discover, even if you just go in the opposite direction on the same old street.

When we see things from a new angle, a whole new world can open up before us.

Every season brings changes, which are also visible in the cityscapes.

With November comes darker nights, but also golden undertones and surprising patches of green.



Both in Scandinavia and North America where I used to live, this was a month we generally dreaded and wanted to get over with as soon as possible. It was dark, cold, wet and miserable. Most of all, it was colourless. In Andalucía, it seems that the colour spectrum of the seasons is reversed.

Summer usually arrives by May, when the landscape begins to dry out about the same time as the first spring buds open in the north. Similarly, when all gets grey and dark in the Northern hemisphere, life comes back to the Spanish south. After 6 months of practically no rain, the first November showers transform the Andalucian plains into a sea of iridescent green.

The fall is generally a dramatic time of the year. It is therefore, a perfect time to explore nature, with all it’s range of emotions and disguises.



And when the wind warnings and sheets of rain keep you inside, light a fire, make a cup of tea, read a book, or go on an inward voyage to places where the only restriction is your imagination.