Wenceslao Fernández Flórez stood already as a celebrated writer and historian when a circle of journalist friends invited him to Alicante for a modest rice feast in 1928. He approached the invitation with a touch of personal caution: his delicate health and sensitive palate could make too hearty a meal risky, and the memory of a public misstep by a political figure the year before added a layer of self-consciousness to the gathering. A Madrid lawyer named Ossorio y Gallardo spoke of generous portions of rice and the playful image of rice pyramids replacing traditional second courses and desserts.
Yet, once in Alicante, the warmth of the local welcome melted the initial reservations. In mid-December the party lingered on the terrace of the casino, where the sea stretched out beyond the railing. The group compared the day’s chill with how they would endure a much colder spell elsewhere, only to learn that Alicante’s residents rarely wear coats because the city seems to welcome the rain with a smile. Umbrellas proved elusive, nudging strangers to suggest where to find one, whether at a fabric shop or a pharmacy. One guest even joked about racing home to fetch a seven-year-old boy who had never seen rain in Alicante. The episode became part of a travel account, with someone christening the city the home of spring as winter seemed to retreat on arrival to Alicante.
The menus shaped the week: more than a dozen rice dishes were sampled. Fernández Flórez found himself tasting variations from different locales—arrós en pollostre from Alicante, a sailor’s version from Dénia and Calpe, a cauldron-style dish from Santa Pola, Huerto del Cura’s in-shell rice from Elche, and rice with rabbit and snails from Pinoso. The culinary tour revealed a spectrum of styles, textures, and traditions, each highlighting regional flavors and cooking techniques.
Manuel Pérez Mirete, the dean of the journalists’ association, admitted that his own experience had been limited to plain dry rice, with a pilaf served only in soup. Don Manuel, a venerable lawyer who taught Roman Law and ran a respected academy, drew together students and professionals from Alicante, including figures like Pedro Soriano, Isidro Serna, and Francisco Mira, along with the writer himself. The dean’s seminars were memorable for their wit and erudition, with tales of Latin phrases and vivid anecdotes bridging law, literature, and everyday life. The group then moved to a chalet on the city’s edge for a grand, almost theatrical feast. The dining hall filled with a pomp befitting a royal or noble banquet. The opening course, the renowned “arrós caldo,” presented with care, contained pieces of pork that drew cautious attention—for not everyone relished such a rustic element in a meal that promised conviviality. A striking moment arrived when the host rose with a glass of wine and posed a single question: Is there a reason? The guests answered in unison: yes, there is a reason. They explained that they drank to savor the moment, not to indulge in heavy fare; the aim was to enjoy the meal itself, to justify the occasion rather than to appease obligation. The exchange became a running joke, a ritual of sorts that framed the gathering as much as the food itself did. The reason was less about necessity and more about celebration, a playful ritual that attendees used to justify their merriment while honoring good company and good cooking.
The author returned to Madrid with a newfound appreciation for Alicante’s gastronomic landscape. He published an article in ABC headlined simply “rice eater,” a title that captured the spirit of his experience. The favorable weather and hospitality prompted Alicante to adopt a new nickname, with a spring-like banner that echoed through the city’s festivities and civic celebrations. At the first bonfires of 1929, a ninot was chosen as the fête’s favorite son, paying tribute to the “rice adventure” and its role in blending regional identity with culinary culture. When asked which rice technique he preferred, the narrator mused that simplicity often yields the best result: rice leaves should be unadorned, the broth clear, the cooking straightforward in a flat pan or paella, letting the core elements—rice, broth, and the occasion—shine. The narrative closes with a portrait of Alicante through this culinary lens: a place where food becomes a shared memory and a living symbol of regional pride. [Cited from ABC archives; contemporary reflections on Alicante’s rice traditions]