After la Tomatina ( which will be blogged as soon as roll is finished, darn my non digital!!) the gang and I descended on the city of Valencia. The Lonely Planet guidebook mentioned a local drink and food that was recomended to sample. The name 'fartons' not only put the guys into fits of giggles , they flat out refused to put something in their mouths with a name like that. So Cindy and I had to wait until they left town before we could descend upon the Horchateria de Santa Catalina.
Surely a national drink that prompted establishments devoted to its consumption must be good. We entered the Horchateria late in the afternoon, unsure if there was a designated time to drink it, it seemed a reasonable compromise. santa catalina seemed like its interior had remained unchanged since the 30s. Marble floors, mosaic walls,dark rickety wooden chairs and tables like an ice cream shop of your parents childhood. dark polished wood and glass counters behind which the fartons were lined up in rows.
Our crap Spanish hindered our communication until a kind waitress took us under her wing. She explained the process.Eat fartons.Drink ice cold horchata.Repeat as necessary. Not wanting to seem piggish, we ordered 2 each.
Sweet mother of God, I could have eaten 22. Really. As sweet as a malasada (anyone else from Hawaii knows about this) but without the sticky fingers afterward. Horchata is like a low fat milk in substance with sugar added. Just what does a body good after an afternoon of wakling and church hopping. Modesty prevented me from ordering more. That and the nervous twitch I developed from all the sugar. When in Valencia, overcome the humor of the name and EAT A FARTON. And be proud.