¡buen provecho!

It seems every language has this phrase to wish one a good meal, but the lazy English-speaking world must borrow from the French: bon appètit. These words encourage us not only to enjoy the food, but the whole experience. There are flavors, aromas, colors, and textures to savor. We are invited to relish the company of those around us. We are nourished by the feast and the atmosphere together.

Tonight’s dinner required little invitation for delight. Having but four guests at the moment, our small party was joined by the Spanish family and friends of the local folk who work here. José, one of the groundskeepers, prepared stuffed tomatoes and a dish of fried eggplant, filled with prosciutto and cheese. The food alone was amazing, but was only the warm-up for the Flamenco that filled the dining room for more than three hours!

Southern Spain (specifically the Guadalquiver valley in Andalucia) is the origin of this old art form that includes singing, dancing, and instrumental accompaniment. Lonely Planet says that it began in the late 18th century with the Roma people (once thought of as Gypsies, called gitanos in Spanish) as a singing style, produced from deep within. Later, the form incorporated instruments in the form of clapping, castanets, drums, and guitar. Today, Flamenco can be performed in any of these ways, or all together, along with dance.

Washing dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the deep, almost primal sounds of the men and women singing along to the guitar and drum box. I walked into the dining room flooded with sound and energy as members of the party sang from the bottoms of their lungs. It was as if they were challenging each other, the singers and the drummers. “Keep up with me, if you can!” “Follow me—I dare you!” Ana, a woman who once worked here I was told, belted out her poetry to a younger man who played along on the drum box. Her voice and eyes showed him the rhythm, and she clapped along to drive the beat home.

When there was no guitar, there were voices. Drums were replaced with clapping hands, pounding out rhythms to match the flow of the melody. Solo voices warbled out tunes to begin a new fiesta of sound. The passion of the music spawned dancing: a couple swayed about each other, weaving their arms through the air as though through water, barely touching even when turning as a couple. Then, with a quick twirl and a clap, the song and dance ended together in a rush of music.

Late into the night the Flamenco carried on, almost cacophonous at times. Pitchers of mojito quenched the thirst that flowed about the room with the smoke of cigarettes. Slowly, the party faded and people headed home a few at a time—but not without a song on the way out the door.