For all that fuel, the pile generated surprisingly little smoke, which Sr. Plà explained is what you want with this oxygen-deprived burning process. He told us he was on the lookout for “clean” smoke, which indicates things are progressing well and the wood converting to charcoal as it should. “Too much air and all this would go up in flames,” he said, “and that would be a disaster.”

“Listen,” he said, sklonking two black logs together. The sound was hollow and glassy. “This is from last year’s Carbonera. You can hear that this is good charcoal. It doesn’t weigh a thing, but it will burn perfectly.” If all goes well, he said, every thousand kilos of wood will yield about 170 kilos of charcoal.

Plà learned the art of charcoal-making as a young man, when every community had a carbonero who knew how to turn aged cork oaks uprooted to make room for crops into cooking fuel. “This is what I did up until 1950 or so, but then they came along with gas.”

“Nowadays,” he said with a shrug, “we do it to entertain ourselves.” And so they do: hundreds of people from towns up and down the coast find their way down a winding dirt road to a clearing in the oak woods around the old Mas Frigola farm in the village of Sant Climent de Peralta. Sawhorses and plywood are strung together into long communal tables and festival lights dangle overhead. Since the Carbonera has to be tended from the time the fire is lit on October 12th until the time the finished charcoal is stacked on the 30th, visitors are welcome to stop in any time, 24 hours a day. A dozen barbecue grills dot the clearing and everyone is expected to bring along plenty of sausages, bread, and wine, at the least.

The Carbonera is about tradition-keeping, too.

“Want to see our barraca?” asked Sr. Plà. We stepped in through an opening on the side of a long oval hut faced with stone. The Homes del Foc (Men of Fire), including the mayor of Forallac, Josep Sala, sleep here, right next to the pile. The mayor wasn’t around last Thursday––perhaps he was napping back at Town Hall. But we did meet one intrepid young Dona, Cristina Colom, who has joined the crew. Her father, Lluís Colom, knows the ropes well. “I’m still learning,” she said with a modest but confident smile.

“Yeah,” said Sr. Plà, with a glance at the sleeping bags lined up on the tamped earth floor of the barraca, “I’m here every day, but my days of sleeping on the ground are over.”

XVIII Edició of La Carbonera de Forallac, 2010, began on October 2 (when the carboneros built the wood pile); the earth layer was added on October 9. Things really got under way October 12, when the ull or “eye” of the fire was lit (a local archaeologist is responsible for rubbing a couple of stones together to supply the spark). Special events so far have included music, children’s activities, and a screening of “El territori al plat”––a documentary about the relationship between our landscape and what we eat) by the journalist and gastronome Salvador Garcia. Click here to see the trailer on Facebook.

They have lulled you into believing, perhaps, that jamón Ibérico de bellota is the only smuggle-worthy delicacy produced in Spain.  Well, I’ve got news for you:  the farmers of this peninsula’s northern provinces are over there in their little mountain villages quietly making more and more fabulous cheeses.   A few can be found at serious cheese counters in the U.S. (Artisanal, for instance in New York City offers great Idiazabal, a lightly smoky raw sheeps’ milk cheese from the Basque country).  More can be tasted in top Catalan restaurants, where the cheese course is undergoing a revival and chefs and sommeliers are taking up affinage (don’t let the cheese cart roll past you at Les Cols in Olot; the one at Mas Pau in Avinyonet de Puigventós is prize-winning).  But if you’re at all serious about getting a nose-full of the good stuff, the Fira de Formatges Artesans del Pirineu is the place to be.

The festival brings some 40 producers who present over 100 cheeses from across the Pyrenees — Catalonia, the Basque Country, Navarra, Aragon, France — to the mountain town of La Seu d’Urgell during its Sant Ermengol celebration (always the next-to-last weekend in October, this year October 18-19th, next year October 17-18th, 2009).

One of Catalonia’s most accomplished advocates of real food, Pep Palau, and his “Oenogastronomic Productions” outfit has turned the festival into a class act that excites ambitious cheese producers and eaters, with prizes in various categories, workshops, and a grand guided tasting.  (Here is their report on this year’s goings on and winners.)

When I met with him before this year’s fest, Pep said that one cheese to watch would be Serrat Gros, an extraordinary aged raw goats’ milk cheese produced in the Alt Urgell.  He was right:  this one took a first prize.  The cheesemaker in this case is Eulàlia Torras, an adventuresome, well, goatherd who has just written a book about recovering this traditional product of the Pyrennees (Serrat Gros: Ed. Garsineu, Tremp).  She uses only milk from her own herd, which she carefully pastures in the style of Euell Gibbons, and she produces from spring through December or so.  One of Ms. Torras’s aims is to educate consumers about the seasonality of cheese — herds can’t give milk all year, they need time off for reproducing and feeding their young.

Another amazing traditional mountain cheese more people ought to know about, says Palau, is Tupí.  This is a creamy, tangy, soft cheese, named for the earthenware dish in which it is fermented and presented.  It is the invention of frugal shepherds who grated up finished cheeses that had cracks or other superficial imperfections, added more milk, a shot of aguardiente (either eau de vie or anís), and thistle bloom as a coagulant, then let the stuff ferment for a few months. Tupí is a testiment to the fortitude of mountain shepherds, it being one of those leap-of-faith foods that goes through an unbearably stinky phase before it mellows into deliciousness. Serious cheese seekers might want to note that Eulalia Torras’s Tupí took second prize in that category; Baztarrika, a Basque version won first.

Those who can’t wait until next year’s Fira de Formatge in La Seu to try these wonderful mountain cheeses can wander any time into the town’s best cheese shop Formatgeria Casa Eugene, C/Major 58, La Seu d’Urgell, Tel: 973-350-401.  Also, come May 1 & 2, Pep Palau’s team is putting on another cheese event, “Lactium,” in the wonderful market town of Vic.  And in September, little Lladó has its own cheese fair.

To stay tuned about next year’s fest and other important food and wine events in Catalonia and beyond, get yourself on Pep Palau’s list by e-mailing newsletter@forumgastronomic.com.

Pictured are an array of cow and sheeps’ milk cheeses presented at the fair by Mas d’Eroles, with thanks to photographer Xavier Subias.

As you drive into La Bisbal d’Empordà, your romantic image of what a historic pottery-making town ought to look like (quaint cottage workshops complete with artisans at the wheel) takes a withering blow. The place is dusty, for one thing — sitting on a great big expanse of clay since the dawn of time will do that do a town. But take it slow here and you will find enough artisanal pottery and good eats to make you forget the scruffiness and want to come back for more.

They’ve been busy churning out clay roofing and downspouts, bathroom tiles and kitchen crockery here for 300 years and have the factories to prove it. L’Aigueta, the old highway through the center of town, is lined with ceramics shops, some of them featuring wares more dubious than garden gnomes.

But, as I was saying, good things come to those who can resist the donkey’s gaze. For a look at traditional shapes and colors, I like El Rissec (C/L’Aigueta, 92-102). They’ve got some over-the-top flouncy stuff and odd imported goods, but they’ve also got everyday country pottery — pitchers, coffee cups, tagines, casseroles — in Catalonia’s traditional earthy golds and greens, creams and blues, and unadorned terracotta.

Vila Clara is the place to go for gorgeous unconventional colors. The gray-blue pieces at the top of this post are from there, as are the bright glazes in the photo below. Vila Clara has two shops, one with platters and bowls (C/ L’Aigueta, 56), the other at the other end of town (C/ Sis d’Octubre, 27) with dinnerware collections.

Rogenca d’Ullastret is my favorite. Proprietress Antonia Roig works in an open studio near the center of town (C/ Hospital, 2) most mornings, and is in her shop at no. 112 on L’Aigueta most afternoons. I go back for her Japanese-like tea sets, simple fountains, rock-shaped boxes — these are not traditional pieces but her forms are very organic and tactile, her colors more delicious than this picture conveys.

Walk across the bridge over the dry riverbed at the center of town and head into the old city on C/Cavallers for lunch. Two excellent places for a reasonable menú del día: Els Fogons (C/Cavallers, 22, tel: 972-645-165) and just across from it and a bit more stylish, La Cantonada (C/Bisbe, 6, tel: 972-643-413). Both are on the way to the Castle — oh, yeah, there’s an eleventh century castle on a square here, especially worth strolling through on a Friday, market day.

If you’re serious about your shopping, Artesans Ceramistes website offers glimpses (and whereabouts) of many local producers. If you want to go beyond shopping, there is an interesting Terracotta Museu in town, housed at a defunct tilemaking factory. Though it is currently closed for renovations, once it reopens tours will include a visit to Terrisseria Salamó, which still produces very traditional pieces. For the crafty, La Bisbal also has a well-regarded Escola de Ceràmica that offers short courses in summer for serious amateur artisans — ceramics, as well as sculpture, drawing, glass-blowing, and furniture making.

Barcelona’s Boquería market is spectacular, but if the Boquería is the only market you see in this town, you’re missing out.

Every neighborhood in the city has its market. Some are beautiful (like the Mercat de Santa Caterina, above, with its fab new roof), most are amazingly well-stocked, and they are much friendlier to roam than the increasingly tourist-crowded stalls of the Boquería. Information on all the city’s markets can be found here.

Smaller shops, they tell a story, too, about what ingredients are most prized locally. There, you’re more likely to get the chance to chat with shopkeepers about their wares. Catalans can be a little taciturn, but ask for a culinary advice and you’ll likely find yourself snagging a recipe.

Here are some of my favorite food-oriented shops beyond the Boquería:

• Mercat de la Concepció (C/Aragó 313-317) down the street from Gaudí’s Casa Batlló. It’s a wrought-iron classic built in 1888 and beautifully integrated with a modern-day supermarket below.

• Mantequeria Can Ravell (C/Aragó 313) the Eixample neighborhood’s top cheese, cured meats, and luxury specialties purveyor. Taste at the marble table or feast in the restaurant upstairs.

• Cacao Sampaka (C/Consell de Cent 292). Albert Adrià, chef Ferran’s brother, offers wild flavors, but the chocolate here is Barcelona’s best. Research it yourself: at this Eixample location you can order a bonbon tasting.

• Formatgeria de la Seu (C/La Daguería 16), in the Barri Gotic, a tiny, artisanal-Spanish-only cheese shop run by Katherine McLaughlin a Scots ex-pat. Don’t miss her cheese ice creams.

• Herboristeria del Rei (C/Vidre 1, off Plaça Reial), has been a fine source for herbs, honeys, and saffron since 1860. Check out the marble fountain where they used to stock leeches.

• Casa del Bacalao (C/Comtal 8), sells top-quality house-salted cod including thick, white loin pieces, unlike any you’ll find in the U.S

• Vila Viniteca (C/Agullers 7, in the Ribera). Young owners have turned their family corner store into a trove of fabulously curated cheese, cured meat, and wine. There are regularly scheduled tastings.

• Targa Ferretería (Pla de Palau 5-6, in the Ribera), sells restaurant and retail cooking equipment including clay casseroles, oil pitchers, and paellas (translation: skillet, but also the pans used for paella) of every size.

If you read Bill Buford’s Heat, you know that Mario Batali’s first formative food epiphany came in Spain. Too bombed to recall the specifics, he later moved on, slightly more soberly, to Italy. Now PBS has him roving Spain in the company of Gwyneth Paltrow, filming their culinary road trip for TV. Mark Bittman is along too, presumably to eat for Gwyneth. Stalking along on Batali’s blog, I started to worry that Mario, GP and Bitty’s “discovery” of Vic’s beloved sausage, the llonganissa, might make it impossible to keep production at artisanal levels.

A purist’s salami, llonganissa is made from choice cuts of pork, only hams, loins, and bellies; the meat is diced, not ground; it is seasoned only with salt and black pepper. After a 48 hour cold maceration, the meat is packed in natural casings, and the sausage is cured in Vic’s curiously foggy air for at least 45 days. That dusting of white on the skin isn’t some painted on powder — it’s a coveted kind of mold. Not available in the U.S., this sausage has cult status in the region. It’s worth a trip (maybe literally, at around 35 Euros a kilo).

There are lots of sausage makers in Vic, and the displays at stores along Calle dels Argenters and C/ de Carnisseries (“butcher-shop row”) are impressive. Some producers aim for I.G.P. status (Indicació Geogràfica Protegida), a European Union designation meaning the sausage is made according to standards of local-ness, seasoned and shaped in a traditional style, but not necessarily with purely local ingredients. Others go for their own family’s versions, I.G.P be damned.

Batali tasted two great sausages from renowned producers. Casa Riera Ordeix (est. 1852) has the I.G.P. designation. Spiffy as it is, the factory Batali saw was not actually a “full-on USDA cleaning and chopping place,” let’s just say this stuff is too carefully made to be USDA approved. Joaquín Comella of Riera Ordeix confirmed that although they’ve observed with interest the arrival of the great Spanish ibérico hams on the US market, they aren’t yet near that point. They’re purists here: no nitrites, no plastic casings, and classy pork. “We raise our own pigs, and use only sows,” which, because they’re of a certain age, “gives our sausage its deeper characteristic color and flavor – the young pork people are used to now is pallid by comparison,” he says.

Casa Sendra (est. 1849) is a statement, tricked out like a jewelry shop by owner Pau Arboix, who has been profiled in El Pais as a stalwart against the sausage-making’s unfortunate reputation for “sordidness.” (They don’t have a website. Go see and taste in person at C/Jacint Verdeguer, 23, Vic.) Mr. Arboix told me he refuses to “play the I.G.P. game,” because, he says, “It has no real meaning in terms of quality.” In his view, the designation panders to cheap mass producers in its vagueness. “Worst of all, it allows the use of additives such as nitrites, which are known carcinogens,” he says. This sausage was awarded Le Guide des Gourmands’ Coq d’Or for “Best Food in Spain” in 2006. Besides using only the requisite choice cuts, Arboix says the pork he uses comes from pigs fattened within 10km of Vic. He founded his own slaughterhouse to gain full control of production: “For any given batch of sausage, I can tell you exactly where the pigs were raised, what they ate, and, by the way, that means grains and vegetables — not a bunch of animal byproducts and antibiotics.” Making real llonganissa, he says is “simply incompatible with mass production.”