For an islet known to offer hospitality to 2,000 visitors a day during the summer months, things are different just beyond the high season’s fringe in Tabarca, Spain. We were two of about 30 ferry passengers reaching port as another tour boat dropped off a few more. Despite perfectly sunny, warm weather, not many sightseers opted to take the one-hour crossing from Alicante to this quiet fishing village in November.
Having done a bit of homework on the little island that is easily visible from our apartment balcony, we weren’t expecting much. Reserving two or three hours for lunch, four hours ashore seemed like plenty of time to check out what Tabarca might have to offer. Surprisingly, it was far more charming than expected, with just enough historical sites mixed in with old residential streets to look like the quintessential Spanish town.
Protected as a marine reserve, a small harbor of crystal clear, turquoise water played host to the odd mix of old fishing and sailing boats. Local history suggests that Romans first inhabited it in the 6th century, but as is the case with much of Spain’s story, Tabarca traded hands more than once among various conquistadors. Parts of the stone fortification built during the late 1700’s are still in place around the town, as is the Tower of San Jose, a pyramidal-shaped watchtower strategically placed in the middle of the island.
In the center of town, the St. Peter & St. Paul church built in 1779 was a striking example of simplicity – just one center nave with high painted windows. After a 1 ½-hour hike around town and beyond to the look-out buildings, our timing was perfect. We were ready to experience the other reason people visit Tabarca: fresh seafood.
Thanks to our friend, chef María José San Román, a VIP reservation was arranged at the only game in town, Mar Azul. One of the best restaurants on the island, we were lucky that it was still operating for the few tourists straggling in to spend a few hours on the tiny island.
Arnau Zoher Bouayed, maitre of Mar Azul, was a gracious and generous host whose first recommendation was his namesake Caldereta Arnau – a stew loaded with lobster and potatoes in rich seafood broth redolent of pimentón and gambas. He suggested that this would be a big enough meal to forego much before it, but thought perhaps we should sample “just a few” dishes to get started. Por supuesto! And so began our multi-course seaside seafood adventure.
No self-respecting restaurant in Spain begins with an empty table. As our first courses were prepared, Arnau brought a couple of frosty cañas, some roasted Marcona almonds, grilled bread and two sauces – fresh tomato and frothy, light allioli – that Jorge could have considered lunch alone.
My favorite of the day was the next plate. To paraphrase Renee Zellweger’s most overused line, Arnau had me at “pulpo”. Wood-fire grilled, slathered in garlicky olive oil with a sprinkle of lemon, it was tender, crunchy and a little chewy all at once. Next visit, I intend to ask for a giant platter of this stuff. Skip the starters, skip the finish, and spend the afternoon overindulging in octopus.
But Arnau was not done. Next, he shared a tasty plate of sepia estilo mar azul, lighted battered and deep-fried cuttlefish topped with tomato marmalade and a tiny fried sunny-side up egg. Just the thing to whet our appetite for the main event.
Served in two casseroles, one for the stew, one for the accompanying rice, Arnau’s caldereta was a dish worthy of its reputation. And while little cañas may have started the meal, Arnau insisted on a refreshing Rueda white wine for our main course. Being obliging guests, who were we to question his offer?
After a platter of desserts including a little cake he called “a piece of heaven” and a hot shot of cortado, we were ready for the boat ride home. Next spring, when the island wakes up again from a long winter slumber, I suspect we will be back.
