One cloudy summer morning, my husband Carlos and I parked on the side of the road in Cantabriaā€™s Valle de Pasiegos, a lush mountainous region off the northern coast of Spain. We were there to hike, but before heading out, I stopped in the roadside restaurant to use the restroom while my husband waited at the bar. When I came out, he gave me a very serious look. In the short time I was gone, five people had called to make lunch reservations. And that told us one thing: we should follow suit. But what about our schedule? What about the sandwiches I had packed? My hyper-efficient, sometimes inflexible brain went haywire. But, even the promise of ticking off my to-do list couldnā€™t keep me from a coveted reservation and the smells wafting from the kitchen.Ā 

Iā€™m a hiker who appreciates a good on-the-go snack. Growing up, my family escaped Houston summers one week out of the year to hike in the crisp air of the Rockies. My mom would religiously pack trail mix to snack on along the way and peanut butter and honey sandwiches for us to eat at the peak of the mountain. At 18, I moved to Denver and would drive to the trailhead with my green smoothie and thermos of coffee in tow, packing granola bars and that same sandwich combo. While overlooking majestic views, I could eat and reconnect with nature, the fat from the peanut butter lubricating my knee joints for the descent.

But if thereā€™s one thing Iā€™ve learned during my now six-year stint in Spain, itā€™s that the real peak hereā€”that same mountaintop nourishment I long forā€”is often found at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere.Ā 

There was a great unlearning that happened when I moved to Spain, and unraveling my food and hiking routine was no exception. To start, taking food ā€œto-goā€ is an uncommon concept in practically every part of Spanish food culture, meaning there are less intermittent snacks, no car meals, and my typical grab-smoothie-and-go breakfast routine was out of step with local rhythms. For example, breakfast in Andalusiaā€”the most southern autonomous community where I liveā€”is always a cured Iberian ham, tomato, and olive-oil-laden toast washed down with a scalding hot cafe con leche. This breakfast deliciousness is frequently enjoyed outside the home, or, in the hiking scenario, at a dingy roadside diner attached to a gas station. But old habits die hard, and the number of times my husband and I eat breakfast at home before heading out for a morning hike and still end up with oil-slicked fingers and extra caffeine pumping through our veins, is uncanny. Obviously, I blame him.Ā 

The entire experience of lunch in Spain is different too. It is by far the biggest meal of the day, usually eaten around 2 or 3 p.m., and is long and languid. Kiddos get out of school just before lunchtime and many families often eat at home together. This long-held tradition plays a role in how lunch fits into other activities, like hiking.Ā 

If lunch is eaten on trail, which is rare unless youā€™re on a long, remote route, itā€™s usually a mediocre bocadillo: a dense sub with a few slices of low-grade salami or a can of tuna if youā€™re lucky. Thrown together at home or purchased from a small grocery store, ā€œA bocadillo seems to be the one and only answer to food on the go,ā€ says my friend and avid hiker Hayley Salvo, an American with 16 years of Spanish living under her belt. ā€œNo other options exist.ā€ (Note that the meaty garlic smell tends to waft out of your backpack and interrupt the fresh outdoor air.) Hence my insistence on packing my very American but very reliable PB&H sandwichesā€”and why most day hikers make a reservation at a restaurant in town instead.Ā 

Avid outdoorsman and leader of excursions at , Luis Andrade, explains that the typical afternoon meal, even after a hike, is a way to relax and connect with people and the local culture. As a child, he and his family would occasionally bring bocadillos for remote full-day hikes, but ā€œin the majority of cases, we ended up eating at a restaurant or bar in one of the towns near the route.ā€ Another friend, French-born Sophie Picard, who belongs to a local hiking club composed of Andalusians, says even if they do eat on trail, thereā€™s always a mandatory beer or wine stop before heading home. Or if the hike is long enough, theyā€™ll end with an early dinner.Ā 

Take the Camino de Santiago for example, Spainā€™s most celebrated pilgrimage through the north of the country. When I hiked the St. James’s Way, as itā€™s called in English, my crew and I got started as early as 5 a.m. and walked for a few miserable, uncaffeinated hours until the small village cafes opened. As an avid coffee drinker, I initially couldnā€™t believe we were going to trek so far without caffeine, let alone without some kind of granola bar breakfast to hold us over. Instead, we eventually sat, gratefully fueled ourselves with coffee and a pastry or toast, and continued on until we finished the dayā€™s work.

Admittedly, after walking three hours in the dark with a pack, I was more than willing to omit the on-the-go-breakfast and sit down to eat and give my knees a rest. The goal was always to make it to the next destination before a hearty three-course pilgrim feast. ā€œThe routes on the most famous hiking trail in the whole country are all centered on ensuring you finish your day with a long lunch and still have time to rest and relax afterwards,ā€ says Salvo. ā€œEven now, I donā€™t want my hike to go past lunchtime. One of the greatest joys of hiking in Spain is eating in rural villages.ā€

Since those first no-snack treks where I just couldnā€™t wait to get to the cafe, Iā€™ve learned to be flexibleā€”or put another way, less American and more Spanish. Now, I look forward to the roadside breakfast stop, despite its inefficiency. When the trail is occasionally long and remote, Iā€™ve learned to make my own bocadilloā€”which has graduated to fire-roasted peppers, sheepā€™s milk cheese, and cured Iberian ²õ²¹±ō³¦³ó¾±³¦³óĆ³²Ō on sourdough. Iā€™ve learned not to complain when our group doesnā€™t reach the peak because weā€™re running late for our lunch reservation. And Iā€™ve learned to savor sun-kissed restaurant patios where we happily tuck into generous fireside portions of Iberian steak and bottles of red wine because, in Spain, wine post hike is both common and recommended.Ā 

Part of me still misses regularly lunching in the woods. Thereā€™s something about eating on the ground and settling into the rocks and dirt that makes me feel more human, so occasionally I still make it happen. But Iā€™ve also discovered the value in sitting down for a proper meal with the people we love most. And if that means weā€™re nursing our tired muscles with a mysterious anise-laced liqueur made by the restaurant ownerā€™s cousin, well, then weā€™re really getting to know a placeā€”its food, its culture, and its people.Ā 

Looking out from the cozy restaurant dining room over the mystical Cantabrian valley we had just explored, I confirmed to Carlos that we had made the right decision. We ordered the braised goat with crispy potatoes and a fresh salad. We dove into a local pasiego stew loaded with creamy white beans, hearty greens, rich pork trimmings, and a spicy pickled guindilla chile; it warmed us from the inside out. At that moment, I was definitely not thinking about peanut butter and honey sandwiches.

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To some, the calling phrase, “Soup’s on!” in the midst of a broiling outdoor workout might not elicit positive reactions. But in southern Spain, gazpachoā€”a chilled tomato soupā€” is a coveted relief on any sweltering day. Temperatures can reach 115ĀŗF in the months of June, July, and August, and energy is costly. And Even Ted Lasso, reflecting on his time in Europe in the final episode of his namesake show, declares heā€™s ā€œfinally accepted that air conditioning is a privilege and not a right.ā€ This never feels more true to me than when Iā€™m in the blazing summers of Seville, Spain, where Iā€™ve lived since 2017.Ā 

This city turns into a fiery ghost town in August. Shops shut down, restaurants close, and citizens head to the beach for their month-long vacations. The heat is so oppressive it leaves you tongue-tied, lethargic, and even kills your appetite. For those who stay, keeping cool is an art form. Seville is built to keep out the heat, with its narrow streets that block out the sun and buildings lined with cooling marble floors. Many older apartments have inner courtyards with bubbling fountains, a concept brought here by the Moors. But even so, women always keep a fan in their purse and around 4 pm that after-lunch siesta beckons loudly.Ā Ā Ā 

However, the best way for folks to cool down quickly and replenish electrolytes is not by drinking a bottle of a fluorescent sugary ā€œade,ā€ but by guzzling one of Spainā€™s most beloved ancient refreshers: gazpacho. Thereā€™s gazpacho galore across Spain in the summertime; it is in every fridge and on every menu. It is even at the grocery store. , a food company located in Alpujarra, Spain, markets their gazpacho to athletes who are looking for a hydrating recovery drink.

I will add that even though people do sometimes buy bottled gazpacho, my husband always says itā€™s one of those things he thinks people will keep on making from scratch because it tastes unlike anything else.Ā 

Gazpacho Made Right

Gazpacho made right (or my Spanish familyā€™s version of right) is a thirst-quenching, sugar-and- chemical-free alternative to electrolyte enhancers youā€™d find at the grocery store. Loaded with juicy summertime vegetables, bulked up with extra-virgin olive oil, and with just enough water to hydrate without dulling the flavor, gazpacho is the ideal post-workout beverage. Itā€™s also the epitome of the Mediterranean diet, which never fails to outlast all other fads.

According to author and food historian Almudena Villegas, Ph.D, ā€œThe Romans invented the idea of gazpacho, the origin of gazpacho,ā€ and spread the concept across the Mediterranean. But it really stuck here in southern Spain, with its warm climate and abundance of farm workers seeking sustenance in the fields. Some of the first versions (or what Villegas refers to as the ā€œgreat-grandfatherā€) of gazpachoā€”a watery vinegar mixture with salt and a little olive oilā€” were used by the Romans in battle. Soldiers would carry a canteen of this hydrating elixir as they traveled and fought, adding vegetables they found along the way or crumbling in dried bread. Tomatoes werenā€™t added until the 16th century when conquistadors brought seeds back from the Americas.Ā Ā 

Cooling Off with Family Tradition

The second the temps turn, my Spanish mother-in-law, Loli Ramos Moreno, fires up the blender and gets the gazpacho churning. Sometimes my father-in-law will blend the vegetables and my mother-in-law will season it at the table right before lunch, sprinkling in extra salt or more vinegar, and offering sips to taste test. ā€œGazpacho is full of vitamins and minerals,ā€ she tells me enthusiastically. ā€œIt replenishes all those nutrients you lose so quickly here in the summer.ā€Ā 

My husband and I are more than happy to carry on the tradition. While Iā€™m often annoyed at the giant bowl of it taking up space in our small fridge, gazpacho never lasts long. And thereā€™s nothing like coming home after a sweaty evening run or day at the climbing gym (or dragging myself across town in the heat) to an icy glass of vitamin-packed goodness.

The most widely known gazpacho recipe includes garlic, olive oil, vinegar, bread, and tomato, but everyone in Spain makes it differently. Some add onion, some serve it in a bowl like soup with croutons and finely chopped veggies; Villegas tells me she even adds a little pinch of cumin. In the south, itā€™s always drunk in a glass, often served over ice. But as Villegas says, ā€œThe great thing about gazpacho is that every house has a different recipe. This is part of the abundance of Spanish gastronomyā€” a gastronomy that is living and represents the rich variety of traditions here in this country. The fact that each recipe is different says so much about us. Itā€™s what keeps our heritage alive.ā€Ā 

This gazpacho recipe ā€“ which comes directly from my mother-in-law ā€“Ā  has changed over the years to accommodate family tastes. For example, garlic was slowly eliminated when my father-in-law started helping out in the kitchen, and they eventually did away with the bread altogether. Overall, the changes resulted in a much lighter soup thatā€™s nothing short of chuggable.

Seville-Style Gazpacho

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