Magdalenas — Spanish Tea Cakes

Today is the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene.  And rather than do Madeleines again, Emilia and I decided to make Magdalenas.  Magdalenas are essentially the Spanish version of the Madeleine, and they are marvelous with a cup of tea.  Or a cup of coffee, if you prefer.  Whatever suits your fancy, really.  I think when Emilia wakes up from her nap, she will have hers with a bit of Perrier.  Oh, and some whipped cream and berries — as she will likely feel jipped that her 'tuptate' does not have any frosting on it. 

Before Emilia was born, Michael and I took a trip to Spain.  (I can safely say that Spain is my most favorite place in the world. Our old cabin in California would likely be my second.  Haworth, England, my third.  Anyway, I digress...)  While in Sevilla we hopped into this marvelous café/bakery/coffee shop every morning for our breakfast and for many of our late afternoon snacks, called Horno de San Buenaventura.  The café was always jam-packed, and you would have to move wicked-fast if you wanted a seat — either at the bar (our preference) or at a small table.  You could order café con leche any time of day along with whatever else floated your boat — Michael was rather taken with the enormous Zumex machine they had that squeezed fresh orange juice for you on the spot.  As for me, I was astounded that the same two men manned the enormous espresso machine for literally about fifteen hours a day.

As we sat in there one afternoon having our millionth café con leche, my eyes pored over the glass cases filled with breads and pastries and such.  That was when I saw them: trays full of Magdalenas.  They were small and individually wrapped in white wax paper.  And I immediately bought six.  (What?  Did I not just say they were small?  Or relatively small, anyway.)  I couldn't help myself.  I've had a thing for Madeleines for years — and a thing for Mary Magdalene for many more.  And I am not ashamed to say that six was not enough — I've often regretted not filling my entire suitcase up with them when we left**.  Oh, and a few more bottles of that Carmelo Rodero rioja wine we had at Gonzales's in Madrid.  And maybe one of those Iberico Jamon legs (which is apparently illegal to transport, but so is wine, come to think of it) and some Manchego (probably illegal now, too.)  Perhaps some of that jam as well.  (Why, oh, why did I give all that jam away as gifts??)

But that is what I love so much about Spain.  I love food and I love the pace of good food.  It is fine to be rushing about to your heart's content.  But when it comes to food — don't bother me with other things.  Let's just sit and relax and people watch.  And maybe discuss which would be better for our retirement one day — Sevilla or Madrid.  Everyone says Barcelona is so wonderful, and I fully believe it. Maybe we'll see it on our next trip.  As for me, I think I am in love with Andalusia.

As for this recipe for Magdalenas: it calls for olive oil (although the person I've borrowed it from swaps it out for margarine.  I gladly swapped it back.) Anyway, I used half regular olive oil and half meyer lemon olive oil.  I'm so glad I did, too.  If we had bottle after bottle of meyer lemon olive oil lying around, I would have happily gone the full-monty with it.  However, it is very expensive, so I'm trying to ration it a bit.

**Meanwhile what I really wanted to put in our suitcase was a beautiful little christening gown we'd seen in one of the convent shops. The only reason we didn't, was because we still had our eyes on a baby boy from Ethiopia. We assumed that he would not appreciate seeing pictures of himself in a beautiful little baptismal dress years later — no matter how beautiful it was. Who knew our sweet little tomato was going to be a girl just a few short months later?

Magdalenas
Makes about 16

1 cup olive oil
1 ¼ cups sugar
1 egg
3 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
zest of one lemon
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup milk

Preheat the oven to 350° F.  Line a cupcake tin with papers.

In a bowl, beat the olive oil, sugar, and egg until pale and creamy.  Stir in the lemon zest.  Combine the dry ingredients in another bowl.  In thirds, alternating between the flour mixture and milk, add it to the batter, beating well in between each addition.  (You know what I mean, add a third of the flour, beat well, add a third of the milk, beat well, and so on.)  Using an ice cream scoop, put the batter into the paper cups.  Sprinkle each one with sugar, and then place in the oven for 20 minutes.  They are ready when a skewer comes out clean.

(This recipe is from Iris Gurumi via Pais Vasco, and can be found here.)