Postcard from Seville

In Seville, spring arrives with a sweet sigh. The city exhales azahar – orange blossom – from every courtyard, tree-lined street and verdant city square. Its scent is hauntingly familiar – like the steam that that rises from a hot pan of marmalade before it hits the sugar, reminiscent of short, grey February days cheered on by the hope of spring. 

The glossy-leaved Citrus aurantium trees are everywhere (Seville is said to have the most citrus trees of anywhere in the world – some 40,000). Despite their ubiquity they are not native to the region but were brought to Iberia by the Moors who ruled here from the 8th century. Its fruit may be too bitter to eat (marmalade aside) but its scent and beauty make up for that shortcoming.

There’s pleasure to be found in simply walking the city streets, letting that scent lead you as it mingles with aromas of roasting coffee, pre-siesta cigarettes and the waft of church incense. You walk, you breathe, you stop for a cold glass of fino sherry and you come to understand why every Seville café seems to taste of oranges even when there are none on the plate. Towards sunset, the aroma gains strength as the air cools: dusk’s perfume. The experience is not just olfactory but emotional, almost devotional.

Azahar season (late February to early April) coincides with preparations for Semana Santa (Holy Week) festivities leading up to Easter, and the sense of anticipation is palpable. On an evening walk in the Macarena district, we pass a jamón shop closing up for the night. Just before the owner locks the door, we catch a glimpse inside of a marble table on which legs of jamón have been laid out for carving with evident care. Beside them, a huge wooden crucifix of Jesus on the cross. A memento mori.

On that note, I can tell you that our visit was an all-too-brief one, but I nonetheless have enough recommendations for where to eat, drink and contemplate in the Andalucían capital for a life-affirming weekend.

Where to eat and drink

El Rinconcillo

This place was top of our list, and we were some of the first in the queue when it opened in the evening. Founded in 1670, it’s reputed to be the oldest bar in Seville, and history seeps from its every pore, from its mahogany bar to the ornately carved shelves that line its walls. “Move down, make space,” we were told (politely) by the waistcoated waiter as we took our place at the bar. Clocking my interest in sherry, he poured me a generous manzanilla pasada to go with our artichokes with jamón (above) and silky smooth ajo blanco.

Bar Restaurante Casa Román

Bang in the tourist heart of Santa Cruz, this place doesn’t quite qualify as a ‘hidden gem’, yet it does its best to hang onto its sense of old-school civility. Nothing is rushed. The chiaroscuro interior, with its dark-wood bar and hanging hams, is the tapas bar of the imagination. The cooking is good too: thick salmorejo topped with boiled egg and jamón and a proper bocadito pringá (below), with fall-apart tender, slow-cooked pork.

La Barra Cañabota

From the traditional to the modern. Michelin-starred Cañabota is a different kettle of delicious fish. Opened in 2016, it’s a stripped-back, white-tiled gastronomic tribute to locally caught Atlantic seafood. La Barra is its less-formal sibling. We didn’t book, alas, but we managed to get an improvised spot at the back to try a few dishes. The gildas were glorious and an imaginative take on croquetas (made with seaweed) had us vowing to come back. There’s always a next time…

Lama la Uva

Sherry may be the definitive drink in Andalucía but that’s not the full story. For that, you couldn’t do better than to visit this wine shop and bar specialising in lesser-known and experimental wines from the region. My request for a wine list was, “Just tell me what you like”. So I did, and I got to enjoy a locally made, skin-contact, amphora-aged white that I may not otherwise have chosen. This is the place to learn about what’s happening on Spain’s wine scene.

Mercado de la Encarnación 

When I visit a city, the first orienting stop is the main food market. You’re not likely to miss this one, as it’s part of the huge Las Setas de Sevilla development that thrusts its lacy aerial tendrils above the city centre. It’s air-conditioned, modern, squeaky clean and although it’s not day-out material like, say Borough Market, or as sociable as Cadiz’s Mercado Central, you will get an excellent idea of the local foods that will find their way to your plate – take a good look at the fish stalls.

And don’t miss…

You’d be a fool to miss the Real Alcázar and its gardens and the Cathedral and La Giralda but if you don’t fancy the crowds and queues, head north to the Basílica de la Macarena (below). Prepare to be awestruck as you go through the portico of this Baroque showpiece, completed in 1941 and erected to venerate the Virgen de la Esperanza Macarena. The ornate 17th-century statue of the Virgin of Hope takes pride of place. To visit the basilica is to glimpse the depth of faith and reverence at the heart of the Catholic religion, and the city itself.

Seville is a city that repays going off-piste and to do a bit of digging. The memory that will stay with me (along with the scent of orange blossom) is of the conventual sweets called yemas at Convento San Leandro. As in Portugal and Italy, nuns in Spain have a centuries-long history of making and selling sweets to the public, to help with the convent’s finances. They’re often made with egg yolks (the whites were traditionally used for fining wine) and sugar – lots of sugar.

Many convents have their own speciality, but the yemas (‘egg yolks’) made at San Leandro are unique. And you can’t just buy them in a shop. The nuns at San Leandro are cloistered, so to ensure there’s no face-to-face contact, the transaction is done through a wooden turntable called a torno, which you may struggle to locate in a small courtyard. Knock gently and the nun will ask for your order. Put your cash on the torno, give it a whirl – then wait patiently for the carefully wrapped sweets to miraculously appear.

Take your turn: this is how you buy yemas from the San Leandro Convent.

Tesco this isn’t. And knowing that, when you bite into that yema, you’re taking part in a food tradition that reaches back centuries tastes sweet – though possibly not as sweet as the yemas themselves.