The Wedding of the Century
Where do I start - the 170 year old club where the reception was held, or the Galician bagpiper who led the guests into the chapel? Do I talk about the multi-course dinner with perfect wine pairings after I mention the seemingly endless parade of tapas served with chilled cava before dinner? What about the nights leading up to the wedding? How do I squeeze all that in? And the Orujo de Hierbas? And the full-sized disco in the basement? How do I break this event down into something the few people who read this blog can enjoy?
Let's start with the church:
Madrid is not known for its churches, but several lovely ones do exist and this is one of them. Right on Calle de Alcalá, with a bus stop out front, it is a workaday church that fills the urban neighborhood's spiritual needs. And on special occasions they light the interior and folks realize, "wow, this really is pretty."
This church made for the perfect setting for my cousin Miriam's wedding. She was born in Madird. She attended school nearby. She now lives a few blocks over, in a stylish apartment in the heart of the city, where she walks 20 minutes to her job as an attorney with an international firm. She is a Madrilena through and through, and a church elsewhere, even in a quieter part of town, would not have been right.
The groom, Marcos, is Galician, though he now lives in Barcelona. He is also an attorney, and he is charming and gregarious and the two seem so perfectly matched one pictures them in porcelain miniature, propped on the tops of cakes everywhere.
And yes, I did say he lives in Barcelona and she in Madrid. They see each other on weekends. It is not ideal, but it is the way it is, at least for now, and they make it work. The Spanish economy being what it is, these are not days in which one acts rashly with one's career decisions. This all makes me root for them even more.
Moving along, this is Oscar, the priest for this church. I didn't speak with him, but he appeared kind, and humble, and relaxed. Miriam told of getting to know him and his help in getting her qualifications in order to get married at this church. All of this was well and good, but probably not really blog-post worthy, until I saw his footwear...
Who wouldn't love a priest who sports stylish boots like those? At first I thought they were Timberlands, immediately picturing Oscar as an aficionado of late 90's hip hop, but found out they were an even cooler Spanish brand. In short, Oscar the priest is a bit of a hipster, my friends. He is a hipster for Jesus, and he is alright with me.
Somehow Marissa and I got seated in the very front row. We could see all of the action. We are both a bit sentimental and found ourselves misty-eyed through most of the proceedings. When Uncle Manuel spoke, I just about lost it completely. The always light-on-his-feet, able to converse on any topic with anyone, ultimate raconteur was, for the first time that I am aware of, quieted, if only for a moment, by the marriage of his daughter. He spoke well, and what he said was deeply touching, but his voice was just above a whisper and his tone was soft and gentle. It was a watershed moment, to be sure. At that point I almost began howling like an orphaned baby, but managed to hold it together.
The ceremony wrapped up, the groom kissed the bride, and cameras clicked back into action, capturing one of the most photogenic, picture-perfect wedding parties I have ever laid eyes on. Just look at the photograph above, for crying out loud, and tell me this wasn't the most perfect European wedding in history. The action was pretty short-lived, however, because mass was scheduled to begin in about 5 minutes. I told you, this is a working church in a very busy neighborhood. Souls needed nourishment, nuptials of the beautiful people notwithstanding.
So we spilled out of the church, adding a healthy dose of sparkle to the street and a nice show for the Saturday afternoon shoppers heading home from the Puerta del Sol and El Corte Inglés.
The early (and in Spain this was still very early, practically afternoon, really) evening air was warm and slightly breezy. Love - and a wee bit of arousal - was in the air. The Casino de Madrid was just a short walk up the gently sloping street, where an almost unimaginably luxurious wedding reception, dinner and party awaited us.
"Will and Kate who?" I asked. "Will and Kate who?"
The Reception
The Casino de Madrid was founded in 1836, and this specific building finished in 1910. From the great chandelier to the arched doorways, high ceilings and elegantly ornate walls, feelings of opulence, luxury, history and tradition permeate the place.
Following the wedding ceremony, I walked up from the church with my Uncle Manuel, listening intently as he described the history of the other lovely buildings (the roots of Spanish banking, mostly) that shared the street with this now private club. We were among the last to arrive and entered a party that had already blossomed. The large foyer was filled with a buzz of excitement while multicolored trays of cava rosado and other aperitivos floated amongst the throngs of pretty people like butterflies through spring flowers.
A grand staircase wound up from the main floor. From there one could see the whole event, which really looked like several small parties all happening at once, as colleagues, cousins, siblings and spouses gathered in groups, sharing smiles and hugs and kisses on the cheek. Still more trays, loaded with tapas - Jamón ibérico, grilled shrimp, foie gras, caviar - wound their way through the crowd, dispensing perfect little mouthfulls to be washed down with yet more Spanish sparkling wine.
This went on for a couple of hours, while the wedding party finished their formal photography session. Then, it was time to be seated for dinner.
The dining room was a study in softness and sensuality. From the light green walls, upon which hung paintings of various nudes in idyllic settings, to the ornate ceiling and fantastic chandelier, to the crisp, white linens covering the tables and chairs, the feeling was completely old-school (as in 19th century) luxury.
We sat at the table next to the bride and groom's table (accompanied by the sister-of-the-bride, so, really, we were assigned a pretty important place in the room, if I may say so myself) and toasted each others good looks and good fortune. Thus began one of the most epic meals of my life.
I did not want to be "that guy", the one spending the entire party taking pictures of his own food. However, I had to take a picture of this. It was the first half of what we dubbed "deconstructed surf-and-turf" - a type of Spanish lobster called Bogavante, served atop a mushroom carpaccio and alongside a small coil of perfectly cooked pasta.
I love it when I get to eat something with flavors I don't recognize but instantly like. This dish was one of those and I found myself repeating "Wow, what is that?" over and over again. The earthiness of the mushroom, the taste of the sea, and whatever went into the heavenly sauce (I still don't know), accompanied by a fantastic Albariño (a delicious white wine from the groom's region, Galicia) matched up so surprisingly well I felt like I had just discovered something important, even if I hadn't really discovered anything and this dish had been prepared countless times before. For me, it was a discovery.
The "turf" - a beautiful steak in a rich sauce of port, honey, onions and chestnut - came next, paired with a bold Rioja. I ate the whole thing.
I am not usually a "surf-and-turfer," preferring to opt for either seafood or steak, eschewing the combo as just too much. But then I am not usually dining in an impossibly elegant 100 year-old royal casino, surrounded by hundreds of handsomely dressed people from all over the globe, including members of my own family as well as friends I had just made and really liked. If ever there was a time to enjoy both the surf and the turf, this was it.
The evening glided along effortlessly, as the bride mingled with the crowd, stopping at our table for a chat, and pictured here with cousins from her father's side.
The groom did his thing as well, stopping to share anecdotes and make sure we were all having a good time. Here the bride's uncle assures him that nothing could be more perfect.
But soon things did get more perfect, as dessert arrived...
La Pantera Rosa (the Pink Panther). That is the name of this confection, a combination of some type of formed cream, intensely flavorful caramel and crushed cookie. It looks like a collaboration by Dr. Seuss and Salvador Dali. It tasted fantastic, a set of careful contrasts: creamy and crunchy, sweet and tart, mild and bold. I ate all of it, too. Had coffee, as well. It was approaching midnight, and the night was young.
A meal like this cannot end at dessert and coffee. The whole thing must be tied up neatly with a digestivo. It just must. I had orujo de hierbas, a bright greenish-yellow liquor that delivers a cooling, herbal closing to any meal, and was the perfect close to this one.
The time had come to get up from the table and take the party to the next level. Actually, it was time to take it down a few levels, to the discotheque in the basement.
If the entire evening had been spent in the 19th century, the night was going to be spent in the 1970's, as the disco captured the Studio 54 vibe and preserved it in equal measure. I almost expected to run into Diana Ross or Truman Capote.
We danced. I think "Rock the Boat" was the highlight for Marissa and me. We left around 3:00 AM, and the place was still packed. The last guests (some of whom had been at our table at dinner) left at around 6:00 AM.
This was a night I will not soon forget. For several hours I stepped outside the realm of the everyday and entered a rare space where time stood still, luxury reigned, romance filled the air and laughter filled our hearts. I even danced pretty well. Yes, a night to remember indeed.
