I couldn’t believe my eyes. Plate after plate of food was
coming to my group’s table. Big halos of light, flaky bread and triangles of manchego cheese. Bowls of bright green
Spanish olives mixed with translucent cocktail onions and tiny pickles. Fried
eggs and potatoes, rich pulled meat, fried eggplant rounds, grilled asparagus
stalks. I had never seen so much food in one place, not even at a full-blown
Chinese dinner. I took a little bit of everything; it was all delicious, all
wonderfully flavorful.
 |
| My host mom's version of ensalada mixta. |
But
the thing I came back for the most seconds of wasn’t the potatoes or the
olives. It was the ensalada mixta.
This term, as I learned over the course of my trip, is a catchphrase for
basically any kind of cold salad. The one at La Taberna Toscana was made of
sliced tomatoes and white onions, soaked in olive oil and white wine vinegar. A
simple dish, but one that made my tastebuds dance. The blend of the tomatoes’
sweetness and the onions’ tang was just perfect. I must’ve eaten five helpings
of that little salad.
I
had several more encounters with ensalada
mixta during my five weeks in Spain. There were many variations, ranging
from basic lettuce-and-tomato dishes to full-blown concoctions of corn, tuna,
and fine Spanish olives. But, every single one was delightfully, beautifully
simple. Usually an ensalada mixta had
no more than six ingredients, and I didn’t encounter salad dressing once in
those five weeks. “Dressing” consisted of olive oil, white wine vinegar, and
salt. And to make it even better, every vegetable used was as fresh as if it
had just been picked from someone’s garden that day.
I have good memories of many Spanish dishes, of varying levels of
complexity. But ensalada mixta is one
I remember most fondly. They are modest dishes, but behind that unassuming
nature hides an explosion of flavors and freshness. Ensalada mixta is living proof that sometimes, the simplest things
can bring the greatest delights.
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