I’d wanted to hit Asturias ever since my first year in Madrid, when their tourism board ran a months-long campaign in the Sol metro that I had to pass through each weekday on my way north. The 2012 December puente brought the time, the cash, the company. Behold: Oviedo calves at Christmastime.
The Asturian capital is stately and gray under December skies.
The area is known for taking delight in gastronomic excess; embutidos, quesos, and sidra abound.
No car at my disposal this time around, so mountains and surrounding expansive country must wait.
Coastal Gijón is easily accessible by bus, and brought the promise of eating odd bits from the sea. If the last bus back had left just a moment later, I might have fit in a third plate of oricios.
For the curious: they’re briny, the velvet of the bright orange roe interrupted here and there by a stray gritty crunch from the spines. They remind me of how one’s lips taste after an hour spent diving. Lovely, and wonderful in canned form as well.