It took three chomps to work my way through the bread, each bite starting with a crunch that sent a spray of crackled crust onto the table and ending with some jaw-working chewing; finally, I reached the salty chorizo sausage that was inside. It would have been a surprise if it hadn’t been for the telltale red oil seeping through the white shell. These bollos required at least a bottle of sidra to aid in the consumption of the hulking mass. Indeed, sidra was the drink of choice for most people at this summer fiesta in a tiny, tucked-away pueblo in Asturias, northern Spain. One of the residents said that there are only about four people who still live there, but the party was filled with people from surrounding pueblos, many of which host their own summer fiestas.
The first step in drinking sidra is first learning how to pour it from the green bottles they come in. It is made from the apples grown in the region and isn’t very carbonated, so there is a special way of pouring small amounts from a height above your head so that it is perfectly aerated to down in one gulp. There is even a verb to describe this: escanciar. To master this art, some advise practicing with water, and while this is surely smarter, the increased stakes and alcohol-induced confidence make it more appealing to learn with real sidra at a Spanish party.
It was fun to observe Spaniards in their natural setting, eating and drinking together until late. Young children and grandparents alike kept the energy flowing well past midnight. These folks are the everyday, country Spaniards, the ones whose strongest connections are probably to this lush land and to each other. The elderly people sat at the long tables underneath a big tent, comfortably drinking and eating food they brought from home while the teenagers, awkward and still growing into their bodies, trotted between the main tent and their hangout spot behind the stage. A little girl led us in a dance circle and we could all tell that she’ll likely become the woman in the body-hugging gold dress and heels who shined on the dance floor. There was an overlooked carnival game truck and a huge inflatable play area that was run by a family who didn't appear to be from the area or partaking in the festivities. Even at the height of the party, I noticed the inequality among us.
After hours of dancing to loud music and songs that everyone seemed to know, there was one last finale at 1 am: baile de la escoba, or dance of the broom. It involved dancing couples passing a broom every three turns and trying not to be eliminated when left with the broom when the music stopped. It was a pleasure to witness Spaniards in some of their finest hours, full of food, drinks, music, and people.
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