One of the big changes is moving away from the old town is that I no longer have the central market next door. However, there is a smaller market about 15 minutes up the road, which in some ways I prefer. Partly because I had spread myself too thin at the old one, and found myself sneaking around between different butcher's stalls trying to convince them all that I was a regular customer who deserved the best treatment, like a 19th century French politician who has taken on more mistresses than he can handle. (And I will still be going back into town for Antonio's retinto beef. "Nobody beats my meat".)
I was worried that the olives in the new market would not be up to the ones MatÃas sells in the town centre, which unfailingly came with the comment "bien despachado" (a generous serving) and the advice to keep them in the fridge. Fortunately there is a good olive stall in the new market, too, and my favourites are these "verdiales gordas". I don't know why, but Spanish olives don't really seem to make it to the UK, where most olives are either Greek or Italian. I guess, also, that this kind of light treatment is less well-suited to transport and extended shelf-life.
