The price on a menu sets my expectation, not the description. Gifted writers can make car tires sound delectable, but what a restaurant charges for food should be a reflection on both the quality and the preparation of the dish.

Buckle up. This is going to be harsh.

When we arrived we were told that there was no seating outside, even though there were three tables, including one large enough for our party, clearly empty. After a little pushing, we secured the table to enjoy the fresh air and warm weather. The waitress was absolutely everything she should have been: prompt, courteous, pleasant, helpful, sales-y, apologetic (when necessary). The chairs were quite comfortable deep leather. The menu was clear and well written. The wine list was impressive, boasting the 1984 Yarden Cabernet Sauvignon at nearly ₪3000 for the bottle. We weren’t drinking wine anyway.

The table rolls were tasty, served with three dipping salads. The eggplant was okay, the carrots were drowned in bottled sweet chili sauce and the fennel was lemony. The last was an observation, not a criticism.

I ordered the calves’ brains for the appetizer. I’m a fan of organ meat. I truly enjoy the silky, supple texture it has, its slightly gamy flavor, and for some types, its ability to be almost absent of flavor in the presence of more strongly flavored items in the dish. It’s a weird juxtaposition that a happen to enjoy quite a bit. The appetizer was served on a tile, which I don’t find appetizing, not to mention the corner of it was sticking out past the end of the table so I couldn’t sit properly. The five thin slices, maybe 50g total, each sat on its own little dollop of smashed potatoes. Not smashed potatoes with garlic, not smashed potatoes with saffron, not smashed potatoes with anything. The tile was painted with tehina, but there were completely unidentifiable flavor pools on the tile, which did nothing for the dish. I found myself wondering if the chef had actually tasted anything he had put on my tile. To their credit, it was cooked well, even if it tasted like it was only boiled in water.

My wife couldn’t taste the sun-dried tomatoes in her ravioli. It was, however, smothered in pesto. The pasta was obviously handmade, but with no protein in them, the portion was small for the price.

The tomato soup portion was small, one diner complained. He counted five spoonfuls. I think it was more, but not much more.

They served a mint sorbet intermezzo, which was served in little metal cups. Which were too cold to handle after about a minute. Which is why they’re usually served in glass, which acts as an insulator.

I had the Moulard breast, which was my first encounter with it in real life (meaning, I knew about it from research and reading). It is a hybrid duck, and something I have never seen kosher. I guess I expected a more classical presentation, with the layer of fat cut in a criss-cross pattern, but that’s my fault. The meat was firmer than I expected it to be, but not as gamy as I expected, which may or may not have been the kitchen’s fault. It was served demi-cut, meaning they cut twelve half-slices through the breast. Better than a slab of meat on the plate, I guess. There was a wine and honey sauce, which was okay, but I didn’t understand its relation to the meat.

My wife and another diner had the entrcôte. My wife is the resident expert on the entrcôte cut, which is ribeye bone out. She said it needed salt, while the other diner’s food didn’t. That struck me as odd.

Two diners shared a Beef Wellington. It seems they got the best of the bunch, because they were delighted with their dinner. It had a nice portion of foie gras in it, which one diner raved about. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to taste it.

Every dish was served with the same dollop of smashed potatoes (maybe it had some sweet potato mixed in. It was hard to tell because it was dark and flavorless) an single stalk of asparagus and a biased-cut chef’s special carrot jammed into the potato. The Beef Wellington has to chives lying on the plate. I think it showed an abysmal lack of creativity on the chef’s part, and certainly not what they have displayed on the Internet.

We had dessert, some same-old (coconut/passionfruit/berry) sorbet and a couple of chocolate soufflés. Now, a soufflé is light and airy, right? These weren’t. They were however, dry on the outside.

Gabriel is checked off the list.

*We were treated to dinner by good friends. This article is in no way a reflection on them. It was I who chose the restaurant, and I who bears the guilt for choosing a place that deserves this write-up. I have said before I don’t criticize food I don’t pay for. We printed out the eluna coupon (which I will NOT link to) in good faith (we forgot to give it to them) to help defray the cost of the evening. The kavanah (intention) was important.

Parsley Fennel Salad Niçoise

This was a simple put-together salad. So what makes it a “Salad Niçoise?” I tend to name things if I put several signature items into the dish. I’m not a purist when it comes to Salad Niçoise, so if it has tuna and olives (preferably niçoise, of course) in it, I’ll ‘abbreviate’ it so people can get what the recipe’s about more quickly.

Rather than using lettuce as a greens base, I used parsley. Added the bright fennel to counterpoint the earthy parsley, and punctuated it with slivers of red onion.

The dressing was equal parts low-fat mayonnaise, capers, vinegar, lemon juice and two parts water.

Or if you like drinking neon.

Maybe you want to have a little?

I saw the ad the other day. It was on a Jewish website, I don’t remember which, and it specifically said on it, “Kosher.”

“Look at that,” I mused, “Pepsi is playing catch-up, again.” Pepsi, as you may or may not know, has always followed Coke when it comes to Israel and kashruth. Powerade, from the Coca Cola Corporation, has been kosher since its inception. They also ignored the Arab boycott of the fifties. Pepsi only came to Israel in the early 90s. Maybe that’s why Pepsi is still #2.

I enjoy sports drinks for the non-carbonation of it, certainly not for the flavor. But there was always that nagging doubt in the back of my mind as I watched coach after coach drenched in gallons of firefly green Gatorade… “But what does it taste like?”

Perspective, folks! It’s an overly-hyped sports drink. Yes, it has added electrolytes that help you reabsorb moisture lost through strenuous activity or dehydration. But it’s sugar water. Try an hibiscus punch instead.

But it’s still cool that it’s kosher now. Better late than never, I guess. I’ll try one, just so I can say that I did. But here in Israel, I’ll stick to energy drinks ;-)

I don’t make it a habit of linking to the New York Times. Let’s say I have strong opinions on the quality of what passes for news. However, the food section doesn’t count. It consistently has quality writing and subjects.

So my friend Mordecai sends me thins link: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/14/dining/14curious.html

I wasn’t into the whole anthropology angle of the article. Yes, I took anthro in college, and did surprisingly well. But I don’t buy the ‘evidence’ of cavemen and the planet being millions of years old. The only thing anthropology ever helped with is sorting through the strata of papers piled high in my office to identify which epoch I forgot about them.

Cilantro was soapy to me for forever. I remember it distinctly. It was only until I started exploring food flavors that I came across it again, and it was still soapy.

Then I ate at Noah’s Ark in New Jersey. They had a beef wrap with cilantro that was hands-down the tastiest Latin food I have ever had the pleasure to eat, and that includes eating Mexican food prepared by Mexicans. And it was the counterpoint of cilantro that absolutely made that meal. It was indescribably delicious. And I was hooked. I remember thinking that it wasn’t soapy at all.

Cilantro is found in both Latin American and Middle Eastern cuisines. It was probably brought to the Americas by Arabian slave traders, but Wikipedia states definitively that it came in 1670. Did they find a dated package, I wonder?

Cilantro is what I call the leaves. Coriander is what I call the seeds. They’re really fruits, but don’t call them coriander fruits in the market; they’ll laugh at you.

Garden Coriander

Fresh cilantro leaves are used to flavor stews and salads. Add it at the very end or the bright flavor will be lost, especially in heavily seasoned dishes. The fruits are citrus-noted and very floral. I like experimenting with coriander. I even have some growing in my front garden. I planted it, it died, and now I have new plants cropping up!

The article suggests chopping it and letting it sit to dissipate the aldehydes that make it “soapy.” I can’t vouch for it one way or the other, but I do have someone I can test that theory on.

Then I added horseradish.

Creamy Horseradish Mustard Dressing on a simple garden salad

I’m not a big fan of iceberg lettuce, but allow me to justify that. It was the only lettuce in the house growing up, so I got tired of the monotony. Now with several varieties available year round, including Romaine, red leaf, green leaf, Bibb and mesclun baby leaf mix, iceberg can happily join its brethren in the rotation.

Iceberg lettuce is almost all texture, a crispy crunch that hold the icy chill of the refrigerator well. To counter the almost dampening nature of iceberg lettuce in a salad, I looked for the components of a dressing that would cut through the cool to give me a hot punchy taste.

My go-to ingredients for salad dressing is mustard for heat. So I started there. I added vinegar and water, then some 5% white cheese to give it body as well as lend its own subtle tang to the dressing. I added the oil, and then started reaching for lemon juice. And I stopped. It needed something hot, not sour.

There are some things that lurk in a refrigerator, some unitasker (thanks, Alton) foods that don’t go with anything else. Red horseradish is one of those things. It’s owned entirely by gefilte fish, to be adorned with said horseradish for the compulsory Shabbat appetizer. Yes, there are other uses for horseradish, lamb for instance, but not the red horseradish.

I grabbed it.

To keep things simple, everything was added in equal portions, which worked out quite nicely. When I added the horseradish, the dressing, as expected, turned pink. Riotously pink. Well no, riotously fuschia. ‘Kay…

Well, it worked perfectly. The cheese muted the heat just enough so the flavors peaked. It was smooth and easily poured, but hung onto the vegetables without the oiliness that mayonnaise sometimes does, again thanks to the cheese. The heat is easily tuned by reducing either the mustard or the horseradish.  But who would want to?

Full disclosure: I have had Max & Mina’s horseradish ice cream. And I also know that horseradish goes well with corn.

I made a puree from the poaching liquid carrots which gave everything it touched a lemony note. Not a bad thing.

Lunch took about 25 minutes to prepare. Zero fat. Minimal starch.

Poached Sole with Pureed Kohlrabi

Rule #1: Omelets are not brown. Anywhere.

Rule #2: The heat on the stove does not rise above medium. Ever.

Rule #3: The whole process takes four minutes.

Rule #4: Fresh eggs, butter, salt. That’s it. Leave the other stuff for after you master the technique.

Master the technique? C’mon, it’s only an egg, you say. Well, culinary lore has it that there are one hundred pleats in a chef’s toque corresponding to the number of ways to prepare an egg. Now, August Escoffier has 143 egg recipes, so I’m not sure where the number 100 came from, but feel free to add into the comments your research.

Mise En Place

Butter, eggs. You’ll use a pinch of salt too, but it’s not worth it to mention. I use a fish turner as a spatula.

Dice The Butter

No, this isn’t some snotty step used to annoy you. You are going to put half the diced butter into the pan over medium/low heat, and half into the bowl with the eggs. Season the eggs at this point:

Divide the Butter

Stir the eggs lightly with a fork. Do not incorporate too much air into the eggs; you don’t want froth. Once the butter is melted, coat the bottom of the pan:

Coat the Pan

There’s barely any thickness to the butter. The heat is also on low enough so that the butter isn’t going to brown.

Pour the Egg

Pour the eggs into the pan. See, there are no large bubbles in the egg, and it starts to thicken around the edges.

Set the Egg

Gently stir the eggs around. Don’t scratch the pan. Keep things moving in the pan until about half the eggs are set. Run the unset eggs into the holes in the omelet. The butter cubes, as they melt, keep the eggs moist.

Flip the Omelet

Slide the omelet to the back of the pan. Back is where the wall is. Front is where you’re standing. Not the angle of the pan from the shadow – the pan is at about a 30 degree angle, and the omelet is just at the edge of the pan. Yes, it’s true that this pan’s lip angle is better for flipping/sauteing, but you can do this in a straight-sided pan; just angle the pan higher. With the egg on the edge of the pan, give a quick saute jump to fold the edge of the omelet 1/3 into the center of the omelet, and then do it one more time to complete the omelet roll:

This takes less than ten seconds. I kept taking pictures, so my second flip was a bit too far, but all of that can be corrected on the plate. Some techniques call to blast the heat in the final ten seconds. This is unnecessary, as the carryover heat will cook the egg thoroughly.

Shape The Omelet

The white spots in the egg are just unincorporated albumen, a result more of my moving too quickly with a camera for the post. It took four minutes from fire to plate. Don’t put the pan back on the fire if you’re making more than one, make sure the pan stays low to medium. The egg will be soft, and you will not need your teeth to chew it. Use your tongue to melt it against your palette so that it slides into your throat. The only thing that comes close is poached eggs, but that’s another post.

Once you can do this six times in a row without variation, you’ll know what you’re doing, and what you did wrong when it comes out badly.

Note: Don’t eat more than three eggs a day. They’re healthy for you, but they also have cholesterol in them, since they come from an animal. Your body will eliminate unused cholesterol, but there’s no need to max out your daily cholesterol intake either.

So what’s the difference? I’m not entirely sure. Why am I even thinking about this?

A croquette is a patty of chopped protein, bound with eggs and maybe flour or breadcrumbs, seasoned and pan-fried.

A burger is a patty of chopped protein, bound with eggs and maybe flour or breadcrumbs, seasoned and grilled. Or pan-fried.

Come to think of it, a crab cake is a patty of chopped protein, bound with eggs and maybe flour or breadcrumbs, seasoned and pan-fried.

I know, I know. “Who cares?” Well, it’s not the snobbery of calling it some fancy French name, I just want to be accurate. Accuracy matters in cooking: teaspoon vs. tablespoon, et cetera. And, it’s something that I wasn’t sure of, so it became an educational quest as well. Surely a minor footpath on the great road of culinary adventure, but something to explore nonetheless.

In the annals of culinary writing, a croquette was made from chicken, potatoes, or as a dessert dish. The savory dishes were coated with bread crumbs and deep-fried. Larousse’s Gastronomique contains recipes for basic croquettes, beef croquettes, cheese, Viennese, mussel, potato, rice, celery root and three sweet croquettes: apricot, chestnut and rice. Interestingly, a beef croquette doesn’t exactly resemble a hamburger. A more modern definition is “a small cake of minced food, such as poultry, vegetables, or fish, that is usually coated with bread crumbs and fried in deep fat.^[1]”

This last step was decidedly missing from my family’s recipe; the bread crumbs were only always used as a filler/binder mixed in along with the eggs and seasoning. This alone seems to be sufficient cause to stop referring to it a croquette. But was it a burger then, or something else?

The truth is it lacked the chunky texture of minced beef to be labeled ‘burger.’ It was too smooth and creamy which may have been a result of using cooked canned salmon. That, and it was fried in oil, which properly formed burgers should never need if you’re searing them on a griddle. (Why aren’t you grilling them?) Oh and I didn’t serve it on a bun, which I suppose is de rigueur. I figured that using chopped raw belly salmon may qualify it more as a burger than a croquette, but that will have to wait for another post.

So was it a salmon cake? Crab cake has the alliteration thing going for it, and it’s a well-known fish/seafood preparation, so I guess they are my dish’s closest culinary relation, but even so crab meat in crab cakes is very firm and roughly chopped, which my canned mush wasn’t.

I guess in the end while it most closely resembled a croquette it lacked the egg and breading exterior. To correctly call it a croquette means it needs to be breaded and fried. To call it a burger it would definitely need to be fresh ground salmon, and to call it a cake would need rough chopped salmon.

My kid ate Beignets Mousseline de Saumon, Mousse di salmone Frittelle or Salmon Mousse Fritters.

Sorry, Mom.

I didn’t want you to have to wait until the end of the post to find out. But please, keep reading.

Let me tell you honestly, I was surprised. Once they had started announcing the winners, I started to get a sinking feeling that my three entries might have been out of place in the competition. And with close to forty entries, my odds of winning were diminished as well. But competition is competition, and I did indeed win.

My winning entry: Hot Pepper Jelly Tomato Hamentaschen

I know this post is going to at times sound cocky and arrogant. I apologize. It’s really not meant to be. Obviously if I had clean-swept all three entries and said well, it wasn’t really a fair fight, that would be cocky and arrogant, and I would deserve a smacking in the comments. The truth is it’s very hard to compete against friends and neighbors and their children. Everybody who entered wanted to win, and I am grateful that at least one of my entries was chosen.

The hamentaschen contest was a blind competition, meaning that while I knew the judges and they knew me, they didn’t know which of the entries were mine. Now that I think about it, compared to the other entries, they may have been able to figure it out. But then again, that might just be me Monday morning quarterbacking.

So why was I surprised that I won? The competition stated that the entries could win in any category, but when we registered, we were asked to supply three entry categories. I was told it was just to “guide the judges,” but I think it may have predisposed them to select within those categories. I entered them all in as Most Gourmet, but I would have much less surprised to see my winning entry take the “Turned Around (Original Idea)” category versus my Almond Tuile Chocolate Amaretto Mousse Hamentaschen, which is infinitely more “gourmet” than jelly-filled cookies. So my first-strongest entry won in what I would call its runner-up category. And my second-strongest entry didn’t win.

Here were my entries:

Hot Pepper Jelly Tomato Hamentaschen When initially discussing entering the competition, my close friend Mordecai had immediately validated my first thought, which was to make one out of my hot pepper jelly. I added the tomato both to make the color stand out and to add another “savory” element to the entry. Neither the dough nor the filling were savory in the true sense, but neither chiles nor tomato fruits are normally included in sweet profile foods. Thanks, Mord!

Candied Clementime-Orange-Cardamom Flax Seed Hamentaschen This was a striking-looking cookie, with seeds that resemble sesame seeds but aren’t. The filling I admit wasn’t much, even though I doubt any other entry had a homemade preserves in it (aside from my hot pepper jelly). [Does that sound cocky? What I really mean is, were the marshmallows that won homemade? Marshmallows are a pain in the butt to make; did those who entered them actually make the marshmallows?] I registered it as having cardamom, which didn’t come through in the tasting. These were the weakest of my entries.

Yarden's Favorite: Almond Tuile Chocolate Amaretto Mousse Hamentaschen

Almond Tuille Chocolate Amaretto Mousse Hamentaschen These were pretty cool, if I may say so myself. (I’ll let you in on a little secret: if I don’t have a real, plastic-coated canvas pastry bag, I completely suck at piping. Not that I don’t have enough practice or know what I’m doing, but ziptop bags leak, one-off bags burst, I cut the holes for the tips too big… it’s just one of those things. But when I do have one, I could do a wedding cake.) I think the almond in the tuile and the amaretto in the mousse complimented each other, I think there was enough mousse in the cookies, I think the tuile was different enough than the other entries. I really thought I nailed it with this one.

Where were my other screw-ups? Well, even though I knew that dumped two teaspoons of cardamom into the candied Clementine orange jelly, the flavor faded. I should have put it in the dough with the seeds. I should have added twice as many flax seeds to the dough to make the ratio higher. I should have gone with a different flavor than Amaretto. The tomato flavor was only discernible when eaten alone and chewed thoroughly, so there should have been more of that.

How could the competition have been improved? Random numbered entries, not letters. Specific category entries with posted judging criteria. After a while I’m sure they all started to taste the same which means the later entries were at the mercy of the judges’ apathy. More judges. I think the entrants should have been allowed to present their entries. True the judges might have been biased by it, but it’s sort of traditional, and if it would compromise the judges’ impartiality by it, they shouldn’t be judging. Announcing the runners-up in each category would have been nice, especially for the people who didn’t win anything. It would have given them a sense of how close they came to winning. The registrars needed to be older to be more familiar with cooking terms and ingredients. The last thing, which is what irked me the most, is that one of the winning entries came with a printed sign explaining the entry. This simply wasn’t fair, since I would have been more than delighted to print up explanations of all of my entries, describing the cholesterol-lowering health benefits of flax seed, or the fact that all of the fillings were really homemade, not out of a jar. Competition is competition, so stick to the rules.

One final note regarding the recipes: you can’t have them. Not that they’re secretive, but they were created somewhat in the moment, using my cooking  instincts more than following a recipe. That being said, the base dough for the hamentaschen came from the Spice and Spirit Cookbook, substituting margarine for oil. I divided the recipe, using half for the tomato and half for the flax seed. I added enough seeds until I got the ratio of seeds to dough “right.” I added enough tomato paste until I got the color “right,” then added more flour in to reestablish the consistency I needed for cutting cookies. The tuile cookies came straight from the CIA Professional Chef cookbook, substituting crushed walnuts for hazelnuts. The hot pepper jelly and candied Clementine jelly were simple preserves, and the mousse was half real/half mock.

I encourage you to enter cooking competitions if you’re serious about cooking. Winning ₪100 to spend locally is a nice affirmation/prize, but it gives you a real sense of pride in your creative work to have it be considered and validated by a panel of judges, even if it isn’t chosen as a winner. You won’t win every contest, but you won’t start winning until you believe that it’s a competition you’re entering.

I already know two of my entries for next year. Unless they tap me to be a judge.

The music playing was Spanish guitar, which for a Latin restaurant is apropos for the ambiance. I could have done without the toy sombrero hanging on the wall, but the authentic gaucho mates more than made up for it.

A small menu in a restaurant tells me that the chef is not trying to be all things to everyone. It focuses the chef’s attention on a handful of quality ingredients that he or she can buy with expertise. The menu was not limited at all, featuring all of the expected proteins used in authentic dishes in both appetizers and as entrées.

Our waitress brought menus quickly, and we deliberated our choices. We each decided on appetizers — two soup specials and two plates — and three of us ordered drinks. I assume the waitress knew that I was driving, because she didn’t bother to ask me if I wanted something to drink. Go figure.

The small loaf of bread was served with three dips: tomato salsa, roasted eggplant, and a chickpea/tumeric dip that wasn’t very Latin, but it was very good. I know a few tricks about keeping bread fresh for service, but I would have bet real money that the bread they served was fresh-baked from their ovens, which is pretty impressive for a 60-seat restaurant.

The restaurant had a special on a red wine, which one diner enjoyed. The second had a mango margarita which she enjoyed immensely. The third drink served was supposed to be a piña colada. When it came to the table, it was brown. We were hesitant to try it. The waiter/manager came over apologizing as the diner finally mustered up the courage to try it, and it turns out that he had used coffee liqueur instead of pineapple. The coconut/coffee combination was an accidental winner; the cocktail was a huge hit.

Each of the appetizers were served with homemade nacho chips. Not the cheesy sodium triangles (that I love) but the real ones. I haven’t seen masa harina around in stores, so I’m guessing they’re either cutting up pre-made ones or using wheat flour. No crime there, since they’re a pain to make anyway. The cool part was that there were exactly the right number of chips for the portions served.

Two diners had the Jerusalem Artichoke Soup special. When the soup arrived in a comically long boat-shaped bowl, the color of it had us all look at it quizzically. It wasn’t supposed to be orange, since sunchokes are pale cream to stark white. It turns out it was butternut squash and corn soup, which may or may not have had Jerusalem artichokes in it. It was pretty spicy too. “Not what I expected” was the definitive comment from both diners.

The Sambarela con Pollo was a cooked tomato salsa with chicken and okra. The general feeling was that it was good.

At this point I should go on for about sixteen minutes how I waited and waited and waited for my Ceviche. You’d think they’d serve the guy with the notebook first. Hell, you’d think the dish they didn’t have to cook would have come first. Well, about thirteen minutes into waiting, while everyone else was eating, the waitress appeared with a salad and profuse apologies. Excellent damage control. I was finally rewarded with my appetizer, and it was exactly as a ceviche should have been: light, creamy and citrus flavor laced every bite. It was salmon and tuna and Israeli salad and it was all very good. The only discordant note was that the chives it was garnished with were pretty on the plate but unwieldy. I picked them up and dumped them unceremoniously on the side of my plate while my fellow diners ate the rest of my consolation salad.

The appetizers were cleared and our mains came out. Together. I had the Rump Steak, medium rare. Some of it was medium, some of it was rare. And some wasn’t cooked at all. Other than that, it was a tender, tasty piece of meat. It was served with three dipping sauces: sweet chili out of a bottle, a balsamic vinaigrette, and a third one we had a little trouble identifying. The smashed potatoes were good, and the string beans were also good. I left the uncooked meat on the plate for the chef to see when the plate was returned to the kitchen.

The Entrecote was cooked medium rare, again, mostly. It was, unlike other Israeli restaurants, seasoned with salt, which did exactly what it was supposed to do: it brought out the flavor of the meat. This was noted by the diner.

Two diners shared the Parilla, a sort of meat-centric paella. The oversized bowl-dish was laden with lamb chops, chorizo sausages, chicken, potatoes, and meat. The chorizo smelled better than it tasted, but it was still very good. The lamb had a weak flavor, but I can’t really fault the kitchen for that, unless it was due to freezer burn. The meat was soft but I have to say honestly, it looked like roadkill. We picked it up so I could play Guess Where On A Cow This Is From, and I didn’t have a clue. The chicken was seasoned with cumin which worked well and tasted good.

All of the portions were adequate, except for the parilla, which was huge. Everything was well-seasoned without a single dish being too salty. This tells me that the chef was tasting his food during preparation. At some point there was the requisite chimichuri on the table which was bright and flavorful, but I don’t remember what it was served for.

We passed on dessert, since Aldo’s was downstairs, but left feeling well-fed. Was it wow amazing? No, but La Boca delivered the authentic, ethnic flavors of Spain and Latin America.