The convoluted route towards an evolved omlette.

We happened upon Logroño by accident on our way north to catch the ferry from Bilbao in December 2016. The level of our ignorance about Spain was such that we were unaware that Rioja was an autonomous region and not merely a type of wine, and we had never heard of its small capital city - Logroño came as a delightful surprise.

Our second visit was unintended too. A delicious visit to Donastia in early October 2018 ended with a bump when an over-enthusiastic white van man clipped our wing mirror on the narrow road from Camping Igueldo. The nearest Fiat Commercial dealer who could fix the problem happened to be Logroño. This time we were well prepared to explore the delights of the pinchos bars around Calle Laurel. In particular I had noticed a place on our first visit that advertised an 'evolved omlette', it was an intruiging idea, especially as tortillas are taken very seriously in Spain, and when cooked well are truly delicious. How could they be evolved into something tastier?  Sadly on our first visit we had gone to Logroño at lunchtime, and the world's greatest and sole purveyor of the evolved omelette was an evening only enterprise. 

Second visit - we were well prepared. We headed into the town in the evening, had a great time sampling a range of interesting Riojas and delicious pinchos to accompany them.  The evolved omelette place was nowhere to be found, I declared it must have gone bust, only to discover it opposite the last bar we ate in, by that time we could not face another bite. Once again I vowed, next time we're Logroño....

... and we will be, the day after tomorrow. In between we continue our experiment travelling north up one of the lesser frequented 'A' roads in Spain. In fact the N330 on the whole was well designed, easy to drive and took us through some beautiful mountainous country. The landscape was spring-like, the sky clear blue, exactly what we vanderers vish for.

The only section that was at all tricky was 20kms south of Teruel where the road twists and turns through the upper valley of the Turia, following a series of limestone gorges with spectacular bright red rocks.

Tricky, not difficult nor dangerous, no more challenging than the road through the Wye valley near Tintern.

Beyond Teruel we joined A23 motorway that links Valencia and Zaragoza. The stereotypical view of inland Spain is of one big, hot, dusty plain, uniformly beige. As our journey over the past few days has shown, the reality is much more interesting and varied. Nevertheless, stereotypes always contain a modicum of truth; it's fair to say the route of the A23 conforms the the stereotype, and so tedious is the highway the authorities have plonked terrible modernist sculptures by the roadside in the vain hope of alleviating driver fatigue.

Thankfully we were not going the whole distance, pulling off for a stopover in the wine town of Cariñena. It's a workaday place but the parking spot by the sports hall is ok and the service point well maintained.

Next day, we took a shortcut towards Logroño down a 'yellow road' which avoided the busy motorway around Zaragoza. It was an attractive drive, past the small town of La Almunia de Doña Godina, then north, passing the snow dusted summits of Sierra del Moncayo. None this was planned and entirely the result of a sat-nav failure which for once worked in our favour.

The plan was to arrive in Logroño in the early afternoon so we could extend our pinchos snack fest across lunch and evening. We just about managed it, arriving in the Calle Laurel area about 2.15pm. Lunch service ends at three on the dot, so we only managed one pinchos at Bar Soriano

The place serves one speciality, mushrooms grilled in garlic oil, each with a small prawn, skewered into a slice of baguette, simple but surprisingly delicious.

By the time we finished the other bars were closing, but we did discover the whereabouts of 'Bar Evolved Omelette' and checked that it would be open on a Tuesday evening. Our plan for the afternoon stint was to finish with coffee and cake, but it was past three, the moment where most businesses in Spain shut up shop for a couple of hours. We found one open cafe eventually but only after consulting our helpful virtual assistants.

Apart from its Pinchos scene, Logroño is an interesting small city. The outskirts are a tad bland, but not unpleasant. The historical centre on the right bank of the Ebro contains mixture of attractive buildings from the 17th - 20th centuries.

We always seem to stumble across some minor Modernista masterpieces we had not noticed before - this time the facade of the market hall and the old fishmongers shop a couple of doors down (now a perfumery!).

It's not a stuffy place, and has quite a youthful vibe; and in Spain that usually results in some splendidly tasteless graffiti.

We returned to the van for a few hours until the second half of our pinchos fest kicked-off around 7.30pm.  Back across the big old bridge across the mighty Ebro, the bars were just reopening on Calle Laurel.

We discussed our plan of attack, we needed a snack strategy, it's no good going for something hearty straightaway - like patatas bravas, as that dulls the appetite for later; on the other hand, begin with a morsel and you end up drinking on an empty stomach and become befuddled. This pinchos malarky requires a considered approach.

Though some bars were still taking down their shutters when we arrived in Calle Laurel, we found one that advertised tortillas as a speciality. If our mission was to experience an evolved omelette then it was important to set the benchmark by eating an unevolved one at the outset.

It was delicious, the potatoes perfectly creamy and the omlette itself firm on the outside and squidgy in the middle. One regret, after a couple of mouthfuls I tucked into the chilli sauce that came with it, so fiery it overpowered the subtly seasoned omelette.

Where next? Some of the places we had earmarked in the afternoon still were closed. We headed for 'El soldado de Tudelilla' down a backstreet. Sarah and Rob had recommended the place as serving particularly delicious esalada tomate. They should be a good judge of these things as their approach to food is similar to Grace Dent's who described herself the other day  as a vegan flexitarian, in other words eating a plant based diet usually, but  embracing meat and dairy if eating out.

Our salads were conjured up in front of us, the woman making them balancing a plate on the tips of three fingers with her left hand while splashing lime-green olive oil over the lettuce with a flourish that could only be described as theatrical.

By now Calle Laurel was livening up, the bars filling with local pinchos aficionados. Time to try the evolved omelette. Whereas most pinchos bars are basic in the extreme,  simply a long counter where people stand or sit to eat, staffed by one or two people at most, 'D.O Laurel' has a bit of style, pitched at tourists as much as locals.

The wide screen TVs in every place so far had been beaming some execrable game-show to  disinterested customers. Here it was Atetico Madrid versus Liverpool on Sky. People were even watching the screen rather than concentrating on the food.

Gill chose the house special.  Of course I had to go for the evolved omelette, after all it had taken three attempts over as many years to get the opportunity. The verdict, it was weird. The classic tortilla de-constructed and served in a glass.

 It tasted like the original, but the texture was slightly slimy and the aftertaste cloying. To me this was no evolution, more an unfortunate transformation. 

No way could we end out pinchos quest on a low note. We found somewhere banging out classic patatas bravas by the bowlful. Impressively it was staffed by a one-woman phenomenon. The small bar was crowded but she managed single-handed to serve everyone food and  drink on demand, while holding three conversations simultaneously.

No messing about with the classics here, there is something deeply satisfying about a well cooked patatas bravas washed down with a robust Rioja. After two hours or so of unadulterated simple pleasure we headed back to the van.

We counted up the cost of our night on the town, less than €30 for both of us. Most remarkable of all,  we had been charged 80 cents for a glass of white Rioja that we had with our ensalada tomate. In the end my desire to experience the delights of an evolved omelette may have been misplaced, but to misquote the old adage about the road to ruin being paved by good intentions, my convoluted route to an evolved omlette may have been doomed to disappointment, but it was paved with unexpected delights.