Farms, factories, and festive times.

Today, Tracy and I met up with the kind folks at Sammic to learn more about our duties as scholars and to tour their factory.

The setting in which they make their wares is nothing short of idyllic. Rolling, verdant mountains dotted with pillowy sheep surround the building, adorned with large windows and skylights throughout to capture the natural radiance of the area.

They do everything from "scratch", per se; from founding and molding the metals, to development and testing.

A little known fact about me is that at one, now distant point in my life I learned to weld and work with metal. Even now I often notice the mark of a craftsman on things I see every day, the little waves and folds of metal that mark the edges and joints of so much equipment. We often overlook these signatures, the sign that an actual human hand persuaded the minerals to take new form.

As such, one striking thing I noticed about Sammic's factory was how spotlessly clean everything was, the air even smelled fresh. Many manufacturing areas are rough, greasy, and stinky, but Sammic's light and fresh headquarters really spoke to the kind of pride they take in what they do.

They treated us to lunch at a local Sidreria, nestled pertly atop one of the region's softly rolling mountains. Cider season is from January to May, when locals gather at these spots to eat, drink, and make merry.

I was told to grab a bite before entering the barrel room, crisp, flavorful chorizo that was like a blast of flavor in my mouth.

There's a method the the mayhem, one must first procure a humble-looking glass tumbler, then follow suit as your compatriots scoop the drink straight from the stream released from the barrel's valve.

Like so. Then repeat. Then you should probably repeat again, as we wouldn't want to offend our hosts, and each barrel's cider tastes a bit different. It's not the kind of cider we're accustomed to in the U.S., it tastes nothing like the apples from whence it came, but it is nicely alcoholic, with an almost lanolin-like essence reminiscent of the ewes that meander through the scene outside.

After sampling the local drink, you return to find a heaping omelette, riddled with tender beef and slow-cooked, sweet Spanish onions. Crusty bread makes excellent company for this rich first course. Oh, by the way, you must make sure that you and your friends clean every plate, lest you offend the host! Luckily, this was no problem.

More cider, poured from a height for aeration. Bottles of good Rioja wine also dot the table, making sure that you don't wont for refreshment.

The next course is tender, flaky baccalao (cod fish) topped with fried peppers and onions. The crisp/tender dynamic works well, and all is washed down with fine wine and hard cider.

A giant slab of beef makes way to the table, red in the center, nicely charred on the exterior, and topped with nothing more than flaky sea salt. Of course this was good.

Dessert was Idizabal cheese, with almond cookies and mebrillo (quince) paste. A not-too-sweet finish for an exciting meal. A conversation about D.O.P. regulations and Spanish wine regions lingers over a cafe solo (espresso), then it's back to Lasarte for a siesta.

But not before a scenic drive through the beautiful countryside.

Adios, y buenas noches.