Losing myself in Madrid.
Returning to Spain at Long Last
For the last fifteen years or so I have made it my passion and part of my life’s work to travel to Spain annually. In 2025, I wasn’t so fortunate. Mainly because I was opening a new restaurant.
When the moment to return finally presented itself, I jumped at the opportunity. I had been approached to travel to Spain by a few different people for certain reasons. An internationally known restaurant and chef conference that is held in Madrid annually called Madrid Fusión was happening and I was invited to attend.
Additionally, there was also an inquiry from a group of people including a notable writer and former food critic that was interested in having me show him My Spain. We would start in Madrid and I would take the group where I felt they needed to go to paint the picture of what it means to eat and drink well in Spain.
I made the decision to go forward and do Madrid Fusion as well as curate and host this road trip through the jugular of the country that centered on my past, present and future relationships with Spanish food and cooking. If I played my cards right I could touch down for a few days and enjoy Madrid on my own before the group was in full effect.
January seemed the most suitable month to finally step away from the businesses. It’s usually the coldest and slowest time for restaurants. The holidays are over. Some people try to do dry January. I felt confident with operations continuing in my absence. All the right people were there to run the restaurants. I needed to take advantage of the moment. A trip was brewing.
A vacation is very different than a trip. A vacation to me, or from what I’ve learned from my wife who loves a vacation, is sitting on a quiet beach somewhere for five days roasting in the sun. Dozing off after a few micheladas and one too many mezcals. You can waddle back to your room or villa and sleep in the middle of the day. Eventually wake up and get dressed and hit the bar for a cocktail then go to an early dinner and be in bed by 10 PM. Repeat this procedure for four more days and maybe finish a book if you can focus, but that’s a vacation.
A trip is the opposite. A trip is a marathon. At least in my world. It’s non-stop and exhausting. Combine eating and drinking with heavy socializing and communicating and that already feels like a lot. Pile on short and long distance travel in quick Ubers across town and five hour van drives. Mix in the constant moments of translating languages andexplaining the hows and whys to people that are experiencing the who, what, and wheres for the first time. Then you are in for a trip. No way around it. There’s no time for rest. There might be an hour or two in the middle of the day for shuteye back in your hotel room but that can be dangerous. Half of the people I know that take that risk let their guard down. They don’t wake up for the night, which is the second part, the best part. They tap out. Subconsciously or not, they don’t want to commit to “the trip.”
I’ve made the mistake of sleeping through part two once or twice. I always regret it.
Clearly, I prefer the trip to the vacation.
When it comes to planning my trips, it is solely focused around restaurants and food. They are my trade. They are also my joy. Restaurant reservations must be made. Every moment in the day has to be plotted and planned. It is a lot more calculated than it seems. I always like to go to places where I know and am friends with the people that work there. It’s great to reconnect, to feel good in a room and go to the establishments that inspire me.
The other purpose, of course, is R&D. There is nothing more exciting than getting to try a restaurant that has been on your bucket list. For me, a small reason to go is to see how Bartolo and Ernesto’s measure up to the reference points in Madrid and beyond. Ninety nine percent of the time I’m very satisfied where we land. We do good work and to know that it is admired and recognized in Spain is a testament in itself. More interesting to me though, is going somewhere and seeing something new, whether that be an ingredient, a technique, or some element of design. Lastly, I love to enjoy restaurants Being in a warm and buzzing room with good wine, food, and stimulating conversation is what life is all about. It doesn’t really get better than moments like that. They seem fewer and far between. Especially in New York. Everything is rushed. It feels forced. Spain is not like that. They know how to do it better.
I had planned on leaving on a red-eye at the end of January. I’d fly out Sunday night and arrive Monday morning. There were murmurs about a national snowstorm hovering over half of the country and wreaking havoc on any air travel. I quickly made the decision to get out sooner. I, as well as my good friend and travel mate Brandt, took off on Saturday instead of Sunday. We barely beat the storm. What did we care, having one extra day in Spain?!!
After checking in at a lovely hotel in Plaza de España we met up with my friend Max Rosenberg. Max (@maxrosenberg1) is an American correspondent for Bon Appétit and Despaña. Lucky for him, he lives full time in Madrid. His wife is from Asturias and he likes vermut. We decided the only appropriate way to start our first day was to meet him at one of his favorite haunts around noon. El Greco is an iconic tavern/bar/watering hole. We met there to set the tone. Beers, vermut and potato chips. A few pintxos and we kept it moving. I wanted to go to El Doble. So that is what we did.
El Doble is one of if not the most famous cervecerías/marisquerías in town. A small bar that looks unassuming but has some of the freshest seafood served in the simplest ways. Baby eels, langoustines, Galician scallops in the shell…they’re all here. And the items can add up to a sizable meal. I ordered a round of the famous Doble, which is a large pour of draft beer. The owner Jesus says his beer is the coldest and freshest. Whatever he says is what goes. Locals, Chefs, celebrities, and athletes flock to El Doble the way they do to Rao’s in Harlem. After piles of Spanish potato salad studded with the finest bonito conserva and plates of calamari, the gates went down around 4 PM. We ended up hanging out a few hours more. Many beers and a bottle of champagne later we stumbled out. Fortunately, the sun was no longer there to remind us we had started drinking at 11 AM. We went directly to a great wine bar called La Canibal to take us into the late night.
The next day we went to Madrid Fusión. Like many other chef and restaurant conferences, it consists of two floors of a trade show. Everything from cookware, to charcuterie, to kitchen attire are on display for you to examine, sample, and exchange information about. Nothing new. It gets tedious and exhausting. There was a large auditorium you could enter to watch different chefs speaking throughout the day on a variety of topics. I was left fascinated and also bored. Much I’ve seen and heard before. The best part of the day was when Brandt and I were allowed into the Mahou beer garden. A little verdant utopia amongst the booths and stalls. After a few cold ones we taxi’d back to the hotel before dinner.
I had been told that Los 33 was the hardest reservation in town. Fortunately, I snagged a table with the help of the great Patricia Mateo, who resides in Madrid and is a fixture in the world of Spanish gastronomy. We arrived around 9 PM and ended up staying until 2 in the morning. The buzz was real as it certainly carried a specific “vibe.” The room was dark and smoky with melted candles and an open fire kitchen. Chef Oswaldo González greeted us upon our arrival and asked if he could cook for us so we put the meal in his hands. We were not disappointed. From his rendition of onion soup to the grilled steak, everything hit. We left full and satisfied. I can see why diners in Madrid are thirsty for something like Los 33.
The next morning, I got to sleep in for once. My internal clock typically wakes me up at 7 AM everyday. It’s hard to find decent coffee in Spain, unless you’re getting an espresso which is not what I like in the morning.There are, however, an abundance of Starbucks so I went to the closest one for a grande cold brew. Once my spirits were awakened, it was off to the next meal.
Brandt and I took a car across town to one of my favorite and most beloved restaurants in the world. It is called El Fogón de Trifón. For me, it is the quintessential Madrid taberna. The restaurant is run by Chef Trifon Jorge Esteban and his wife and two sons. Trifon is the most passionate and enthusiastic man I know about traditional Spanish gastronomy. He is a big inspiration. We jumped right in and ate all the things. Callos, Rabo de Toro, tableside kokotxas in pil pil sauce and the freshest white shrimp from Alicante were consumed. Four hours and two bottles of albariño later, lunch was complete. We sipped on gin and tonics and shot the shit with the family for another hour while they prepped albóndigas (meatballs) for dinner service. I looked at Brandt and knew it was time to leave our post. After a few warm hugs and “Te Amos” we said goodbye and walked back to the hotel.
Dinner was only three hours later. We discussed that we would keep it “light.” Somehow, it never ends up being that way. I have always been a fan of Chef Rafa Zafra and his Estimar restaurants. His dedication to sourcing only the most pristine seafood is a draw within itself. We were ready again to indulge. We started with the famous Estimar gilda with goose barnacles. We ended up eating a bundle of freshly steamed goose barnacles as well. There were razor clams, oysters and langoustines. We finished with a beautiful grilled Dover sole draped in a luscious sauce of its own juices. The fish was carved tableside with extraordinary technique by our server. For dessert we had tarta de queso and milhojas layered with ice cream. By now, we were pushing midnight. There was conversation had between us and our server about our upcoming roadtrip and where we had dined so far. They were impressed to say the least with the amount of eating we had done and apprehensive of the number of meals to come but we knew we were up to the challenge.
At 11 AM the next morning, I got the text from our joiners on the trip. Living legend and former food critic of New York Magazine, Adam Platt, and his close friend, Jim Berman, had beaten the storm and taken their own red eye. They had made it to Madrid. The next phase of the trip could begin. I picked them up in the lobby brighteyed and bushy tailed. I told them we were off to eat cochinillo. Our first lunch together was at El Pedrusco. The restaurant is one of many family owned businesses that I appreciate and commend. It is run by two brothers. One runs the front, while the other is the chef. Their family comes from Segovia and they specialize in traditional Castillian cuisine. The one element that sets them apart from a lot of other places is that their business inherited an horno de leña, an old world oven totally contradictory to current zoning and codes. This isn’t something you can find anymore, whether in New York or Madrid.
From the moment we set foot in the dining room, our joiners knew they were in the right company. We splurged on gin and tonics as always to start the meal. The Chef, Gonzalo, came out to greet me and asked if he could curate the meal for us. I obliged. Within minutes we were handed wooden planks of torreznos and a flight of stewed legumes. As more drinks flowed, we all got to know each other better and it felt like the lunch could have lasted long into the evening. We finished with the suckling pig like I promised. After many oohs and ahs there was still room for dessert and sherry. Brandt and I warned our new companions that it was going to be like this from here on out. I could tell they were a little frightened. We left around 5 and I told them dinner was at 9 PM.
Sacha is a favorite restaurant of mine and many others. It is perfect to me. I can say that over the years I have become close with the chef-owner, Sacha. I always feel welcome in his home. We were greeted immediately by the man himself and settled in for what would be a long night. I told Sacha I wanted him to do the hits plus anything else the group needed to try. We ate the tortilla vaga and hog’s ear carved tableside. I ran into other friends and colleagues enjoying themselves as we were still in the crux of Madrid Fusión. Most chefs make it a priority to visit this restaurant if they can.
When the meal ended, Jim and Adam had the brighter idea of taking a car back to the hotel while Brandt and myself passed around a bottle of mezcal with old and new friends. At some point we went home and before I knew it my morning alarm had gone off. It was time to get in the van. I asked if anyone had Pepto or Tums. Fortunately, Jim came prepared with a full medicine cabinet. My stomach settled a bit and we were off to Castilla y Leon. We had a lunch to get to.
What a day! And what a trip! Great to see you, Chef Ryan.
It's such a great recount of your time there. I look forward to meeting you at gala for Chef Pépin!