Around Palma - 1968

Chapter 7

Palma de Mallorca was always a picturesque city having interesting shops, restaurants, galleries and a wealth of historic sites that could keep a visitor busy exploring for weeks. I was gradually introduced to her charms on my outings with Helen and her father, Mr. G.


The Cathedral of Palma was not then surrounded by the beautiful gardens and artificial lake of today. There was only waste ground bordered by neglected weeds which came to be used as a parking lot.

The year was 1968, when men sported Beatles-style hair and sideburns, while women wore beehives and bell bottomed trousers.

One of my favourite streets was Calle Jaime II, a narrow pedestrian street near the Ayuntamiento, the city hall, in Plaza Cort and not far from the Plaza Mayor, a large open public square encircled by buildings and outdoor cafes. This was a busy street which attracted locals and tourists alike, being a main artery leading up to the Plaza Mayor, the Calle Sindicato and eventually to the main food market, the Mercado Olivar. Here are some photos I took in 1968 around that area.
(Click on photos to enlarge.)


Perfumeria La Central was an old established firm selling perfumes and toiletries. It was then perhaps one of the first and most well-known perfume shop.




The above photo was taken in a little square near the entrance to Plaza Mayor. It was an ideal place to stop for a coffee and ensaimada while out shopping. Note the dress and hair styles of that time.


Another view of Calle Jaime II.



I was amazed at the ability of the bakery delivery boys to carry large wooden trays of baked goods on their heads as they transported them from the ovens to the bakery shops. Many of them rode bicycles, balancing the large trays on their heads.


In this photo one young man is delivering on foot, with the tray on his head. The photo was taken in the Calle San Bartolomé, near Plaza Cort, where I was in later years to live in a beautiful old townhouse.

But my story will continue with the next entry.

Continue on to Chapter 8......The Apartment

Go back to Chapter 6......The Ensaimada

The Ensaimada

Chapter 6

The ensaimada takes its name from the word saim, or lard in Mallorquin and Catalán, so it means larded. The first known mention of the ensaimada was in the 17th century although its origins are not clear. These light and sweet coiled buns, dusted with powdered sugar and measuring around 12.5 cm (5 inches) in diameter, are eaten for breakfast or as a midmorning snack.

Larger ensaimadas, around 24 cms across, are usually cut horizontally and filled with a sweet jam made from angel hair squash, whipped cream or even a creamy sobresada (mallorcan sausage) before being dusted with sugar and placed in their distinctive octagonal boxes. The boxes are a familiar sight in Palma’s Son San Juan airport, as visitors to the island carry them home, often several at a time, tied together with string. A newcomer to the island could wonder what was in those strange boxes.


In 2004, the Mallorcan ensaimada was given a protected denomination of origin or IGP status, Indicación Geográfica Protegida, awarded by the European Commission with the name Ensaimada De Mallorca to protect its distribution by unauthorized sources which did not comply with the strict artesanial production method.

Ensaimadas are not easy to make and require an experienced handling of the dough and two overnight fermentation periods. The ingredients are: flour, sugar, eggs, water, yeast and lard. Once the ingredients are mixed together, the dough is divided into soft balls and left to rise. Each one is later rolled out into a tongue shape, slathered with lard and carefully stretched into a thin layer of dough which is gathered into a sausage shape, coiled and left to rest for a minimum of 24 hours in the refrigerator.


Smearing the dough with lard.

The next day, after the dough has rested and fermented, it is uncoiled and stretched out again into a long sausage shape. The dough for the small buns is stretched to about 25 cm and for the large ones up to 2 meters in length.


Rolling the thin dough into a sausage shape.

These long sausages of dough are then coiled onto oiled baking sheets, with space between the coils, and are again refrigerated for a minimum of 12 hours by which time they have risen and the dough has filled the spaces. They are then baked, cooled and either sliced and filled or dusted with powdered sugar.


Coiling the dough for the final rise.

In the city of San Pedro, north of Buenos Aires, Argentina, the art of making the ensaimada was introduced in the last century by immigrants from Mallorca.
Here is a link to a video (commentary in Spanish) made in a San Pedro bakery, “La Ensaimada”, which demonstrates how ensaimadas are made.

There are also good photos on the link of illes balears qualitat, from where I have adapted their photos of making the ensaimada.

Continue on to Chapter 7......Around Palma 1968

Go back to Chapter 5......Son Armadams & The Colmado

Son Armadams & The Colmado

Chapter 5

I had been invited to stay with Mr. G. and his daughter Helen until I was settled in my new environment. They lived in an apartment in the Calle Don Álvaro de Bazán, in the residential area of Son Armadams where there were tree lined streets and a view of nearby Bellver Castle, and not too far a walk up to El Terreno. El Terreno was formerly an out of town country area where wealthy families kept their weekend residences. But the city built up around it and what was formerly a zone of restful retreat became a popular centre for night life.


After unpacking I fell into bed for a very long sleep.

Next morning Helen took me for a walk to the neighbourhood corner store, near the Calle Andrea Doria where local women were congregating to do their morning shopping. These small grocery stores, called colmados, were usually run by the owners who served their customers one at a time. As the women had to stand in line waiting their turn, they inevitably started chatting so the ritual of meeting in the colmado was a pleasant start to a day for many. Several women were wearing what appeared to be quilted ankle-length housecoats, something that struck me as out of place while in the street or shopping. When I asked Helen she explained that the women often wore these housecoats over their clothes on chilly mornings when stepping outside for a brief trip to a nearby shop.


I noticed some people were carrying large mesh-covered bottles with a pressure spout. These were the bottles of sifón or soda water which I would see often from then on. They were a common sight on most dinner tables, as soda was used to dilute wine and as a drink for children when mixed with fruit juice or even a splash of wine. It was also a popular instant spot remover for spilled food stains at the table. It was not uncommon to see someone hastily take a white cloth napkin, give it a squirt of sifón and then rub a spot on their clothing. The empty bottles could be exchanged for full ones at a cost of only a few pesetas. I seem to remember seeing these bottles on restaurant tables in old Life magazine photographs of the European rich and famous.


At another corner of the colmado I could see large bottles of cologne used to refill al granel small plastic spray bottles which one could also bring from home.
Several favourites of that era were Lavanda Puig, Clair Matin, Denenes. These were the fresh scents of Spanish schoolchildren I was to learn. I soon noticed that mothers would splash their children with one of these fragrances, and comb it into their sons' hair before sending them out the door to kindergarten or school. Those fresh citrus and lavender scents were to become part of my favourite memories of those early years in Spain. Who could forget how a laughing group of small children rushing to school invariably left behind them trailing wafts of lemons, lavender and orange blossoms.


Another refilled item was the wine bottle. For two pesetas we could exchange an empty bottle of red table wine for a full one. Here also were the long crusty barras of bread, similar to the French baguette, which were included in morning shopping. Helen chose a couple of round powdery spiral pastries and told me I was in for a breakfast treat when we got back to the apartment. I was to be introduced to the Mallorcan ensaimada...the star of Mallorcan pastries which, so I'm told, has never been equaled when made in any other location...not even in the other Balearic Islands. They say it's the air and water of Mallorca which contributes to its success. But I know that from then on I was a devotee of this buttery, powdery and light as air breakfast delicacy which, together with a cafe con leche, made a perfect start to any day.

Continue on to Chapter 6......The Ensaimada

Go back to Chapter 4......Plaza de la Reina

Plaza de la Reina

Chapter 4

The Bar Reina was situated in Plaza de la Reina and faced a large roundabout with a central fountain and the magnificent Palacio de la Almudaina, a former Arab citadel built over Roman ruins in 1281, which was later used as the summer residence of King Jaime II, and in present days as a museum and venue for state events. The outdoor seating of the cafe bar consisted of several small round tables and metal chairs perched on the sidewalk against the exterior wall of the building. There was not much room for pedestrians to pass but it seemed as though they took this for granted, maneuvering their way quite naturally past pavement obstacles.


The plaza bustled with streams of heavy green buses which spewed black exhaust fumes while heaving their way to the bus stops lining the plaza. Some of them sported the word Campari painted in bright letters along their sides, while the front panels indicated strange names such as C'an Pastilla, Illetas and El Arenal. It was all so totally foreign and exciting for me. Even the people looked quite different. I had never seen such a colourful mixture of faces and races bustling together. Dark Mediterrean skins and black hair contrasted with pale nordic blondes who were part of the newly arriving groups of tourists from Northern Europe. To the left was a long and beautiful promenade shaded by giant plane trees, the Paseo del Borne, bordered on either side by narrow lanes of traffic.



Mr. G. explained that after dining it was customary to have either a small black espresso coffee un cafe solo or the same with a dash of hot milk, un cafe cortado (cortado meaning cut). I agreed to have the cafe cortado which was his choice. As were many people at the time, I was a smoker and had come equipped with a carton of my Canadian Craven A cigarettes. Mr. G. also shared the habit and pulled from his pocket a green and white package of Spanish cigarettes. He suggested I try one of his, which was made from the black tobacco grown in the Canary Islands. The brand was Record and they cost only about 4 pesetas for a package of twenty. I lit one and immediately was able to identify that unusual acrid scent I had noticed permeating the airport and streets of Palma. It was the scent of black tobacco, the same smell as the French cigarettes, Gauloise, which I had noticed at times in Canada when French Canadians had been smoking them.

The coffee arrived, served by our waiter who was typically dressed in black trousers, and a neatly ironed white shirt. He carried a small white towel over his arm as he served the two small coffees from a round metal tray. This was the traditional garb of the Spanish waiter. It was meticulously fresh and smart looking and was so in even the most modest cafe bars. As I inhaled the strong scent of the fresh coffee I looked down at my tiny cup and was surprised to see it was made of glass and had no handle. And there was sugar in the form of a long rectangular cube wrapped in paper. How to pick up the glass? I observed Mr. G. as he showed me the way to gingerly pick up the tiny cup with thumb and index finger while using the little finger to brace the underside of the cup. A sip from the cup and then back down to the saucer. This had to be done quickly before the burning sensation was felt in the fingers. A quick shake of the hand to indicate that the glass was really hot and then another inhalation of strong black tobacco. So this was Palma. And I was fascinated!

Continue on to Chapter 5......Son Armadams & The Colmado

Go back to Chapter 3......The Viking

The Viking

Chapter 3

The Viking restaurant was a very small establishment in the Calle de los Apuntadores. After walking a short distance in the bright Mallorcan sun Mr. G. and I entered a narrow doorway and stepped down into cool darkness. To the right was a small curved bar which stopped at the kitchen door and to the left a long seat built against a wall which accommodated several tables. The place was packed with what I could make out were mainly English-speaking patrons.

In the centre of the long seat sat Helen, Mr.G.'s daughter, who quickly moved over to make room for me beside her. Although I had not met her before, she made me feel quite welcome. She and I had at one time lived in the same part of the world so we began to chat with ease. She asked about my trip and my first impressions of Mallorca. So far it was all wonderful. How could it be otherwise...I'd had my first plane ride and had just landed in Europe.

When the menus arrived I opened mine to see an appetizing assortment of British food prepared by Anne, the owner. She was known for her roast beef and salad platter, as well as her curries, trifles and chicken supreme among other dishes. Although my appetite was still on Vancouver time and I didn't feel very hungry, I chose the chicken supreme. It was wonderful. A chicken breast perched on a bed of mashed potatoes, covered with cream and fresh mushrooms, sprinkled with finely chopped parsley. The sauce was rich and contained cognac and chicken broth as well as cream.

This is my representation of the dish, although not as nice looking as Anne's which was served on a wide white plate adorned with small blue flowers around the edge.

As we sat talking I couldn't get over the strange new sensation of jet lag. Here it was the middle of the day, and I felt partially bright and awake but with flashes of weariness that didn't seem to fit the hour.


Mr. G. said it was often the custom there to have after dinner coffee in a coffee bar rather than in the restaurant where one had just dined. So we left The Viking and climbed the few stairs back up into the Calle de los Apuntadores, where I became aware of strange and unfamiliar smells. The air seemed to be heavy with a strong cooking odour which I later learned was that of food frying in olive oil. It combined with the scent of black tobacco, another new fragrance that was pungent and not altogether unpleasant. Then we were back in Plaza de la Reina, a crowded intersection filled with exhaust fumes, people of many races, bright colours and new sounds. We were heading for the Bar Reina.



Continue on to Chapter 4......Plaza de la Reina

Go back to Chapter 2......Palma de Mallorca