One of the most emblematic products of the Ibizan gastronomic tradition and the Balearic Islands has crossed borders and reached Japan. The Ibizan herbs from the Marí Mayans firm have participated in the Anuga Japan 2026 fair, in Tokyo, where they have aroused the interest of professionals and visitors in one of the most demanding markets in the world.

The best llonguet of Mallorca is not eaten in the capital, but in the heart of the Pla region. In fact, it is made in the beautiful center of the island, in Lloret de Vistalegre, and precisely very close to the spot where the marker indicating what - for many people - is the center of Mallorca is located.

The best llonguet from Mallorca is not eaten in the capital, but in the heart of the Pla region. In fact, it is made in the center of the island, in Lloret de Vistalegre, and precisely very close to the place where the milestone indicating what - for many people - is the center of Mallorca is located.

The acidic smell of vinegar wafted through the kitchen, cutting through the bitterness of the green beans and the aromas of boiled vegetables. I knew that when I sat down at the table, the ordeal would begin. Spring had burst, the pods were flowering and the beans grew tender and crisp, stuffed with small green pearls inside. There was always a small furrow or two of broad beans in the yard, and some days some of these fruits would arrive at our table in a formidable, unavoidable green bean dish.

Few plants have accompanied humans throughout history as much as gourds. Present in cultures on every continent, they have been much more than food: they have served as containers, tools, musical instruments, and even life preservers. Currently, we associate them with gastronomic terms, as part of creams, in stews, pickles, and desserts.

My slaughtered animal hung from a scaffold. It had its belly open, a large empty cavity from which the gold that would be offered fried had been extracted. It seemed that its eyes had followed point by point the entire sequence of its dismemberment and had been horrified by it: the drained blood, the offal, further on the gut that was beginning to be limed to remove all dirt, the clean and lemoned intestines hanging from some reeds. A wild scene, an impossible puzzle to reassemble.

Is the empanada a pie? An empanada? It seems simple, but it isn't. Because when you try to define it, you understand that it's not just a dish: it's a world. On the Mediterranean islands —from the Balearics, with Mallorca and Menorca, to Sardinia— each place seems to know perfectly what an empanada is... until the discussion begins. From Palma to Maó, from Assemini, in southern Sardinia, to Cuglieri, in the province of Oristano, to Oschiri, in Gallura, each community defends theirs as the most authentic. And they are all right.

The streets awaited the passage in silence while the songs were still heard in the distance in a dull murmur. The procession passed, the mournful songs of the mourners chilled our blood with their sadness. They spoke of death and forgiveness, of promised paradises that fled, winding with the jingle of the chain of a penitent and anonymous Christ. We knew nothing of all that, of the grief, we were children and our paradise was a pocket full of sweets.

Making crespells is one of the most deeply rooted traditions of Holy Week in Mallorca. Beyond the recipe, it is also a shared moment: floured hands, molds of various shapes, and children starting in the kitchen almost as if it were a game.

The kitchen filled with a white light, as if flour had taken the place of light.

The first World Days of Ibizan Flaó are here. Sant Josep de sa Talaia will host several events and presentations on the weekend of April 10-12 with the aim of promoting and reviving one of the most important traditional dishes of the Pitiusas Islands, at a time when globalization seems to be consuming local traditions and history.

The porch was small, and the steam from the cooking pot fogged the windows, making the space even more sheltered from the outside world—a little haven for everyday cooking. Inside the pot, a thick, yellowish broth simmered, its aroma heavy and pungent. Chopped parsley awaited its turn on the wooden chopper. Sometimes it was enriched with a snail found among the weeds in the yard, with asparagus from the edges, or a mushroom when it was in season. If I was lucky, it would be rice; if not, noodles or burballes (a type of sausage), and woe betide me, for I would struggle to finish whatever dish they placed before me.

The history of gastronomy cannot be understood without the constant movement of cooks. Long before culinary schools existed, knowledge circulated among those who controlled the kitchen. In the case of royal cooks, it was not surprising that they traveled from one kingdom to another, serving kings, nobles, or high dignitaries. With them traveled not only techniques, but also ingredients, serving styles, and the very essence of a banquet.

The bakery was bright and clean. A sweet, milky air filled the air, thanks to the freshly baked treats, ensaimadas, and cakes that were so tempting. I peered into the oven; more than one person could fit inside, a thought that both unsettled and intrigued me. On the marble counter lay the pastries that would later become cakes, and beside them, whipped cream, fruit, chocolate cream, and a large, pristine, glossy bowl of meringue—a mound of sticky snow, the sweetest of fillings.

Little by little, without much noise, traditional cuisine of the Balearic Islands It's fading away. It's not happening for a single reason or overnight, but as a consequence of a profound change in how we live, eat, and relate to time. Globalization, the culture of immediacy, and a fast-paced diet have been displacing a cuisine that requires slow cooking, patience, and oral tradition. This has led to the disappearance of part of the culinary vocabulary and linguistic heritage that has defined the cultural identity of the Balearic Islands for centuries. Words that once circulated naturally in the islands' kitchens are increasingly unfamiliar to younger generations, reflecting how the disappearance of traditional dishes is accompanied by the loss of language and cultural knowledge.

We used to play on the seashore, mostly digging holes that would soon fill with water. We would have loved for starfish and seahorses, like the ones we saw in other children's plastic buckets, to suddenly inhabit them. Sometimes we went to the reefs where the rocks fiercely sheltered the snails. I was never able to bring myself to eat them. They had the strength of the sea in their bodies and their taste, perfectly camouflaged in their surroundings. If the waves wouldn't let us swim, we would look for crabs in the crevices of the rocks. It wasn't easy to fool them because our little feet betrayed us, and they would soon retreat into dives impossible for us. Some of these species are now protected, and although I'm relieved I was never the cause of their disappearance, it pains me to know they are in such a fragile state.

With this enthusiastic and apt phrase begins the prologue of one of the most unique and valuable recipe books of the island's gastronomic tradition, Popular Mallorcan cuisinePublished in Sóller in 1931. The small-format work was printed at the printing establishment of Salvador Calatayud, who had already participated in some of the many editions of the work The guinea pig of MallorcaAttributed to Pere de Alcántara Peña.

One of the great gastronomic debates among groups of friends in Mallorca is which is the best place to eat the best bread with olive oil And what makes it truly special? Despite its simple appearance, this essential dish of traditional Mallorcan cuisine depends on factors that go far beyond the basic combination of bread and oil. The debate revolves around the type of bread, the quality of the extra virgin olive oil and its aromatic profile, the salt, and even how the dish is served: whether with sliced ​​tomato, cured meats, or simply plain. Some argue that the best bread with oil is that which respects the purest tradition, while others value modern reinterpretations that play with textures and local ingredients.

Anthony Bourdain said that the best way to get to know someone is to share a meal, and that when someone invites you to sit at their table, they are really inviting you into their world. Because in every dish, however simple, there is a story, and every recipe is a journey of no return. The municipality of Algaida travels the world through the kitchens of the families who live in the town and in the villages of Pina and Randa, transforming gastronomy into a meeting place where diversity is experienced, shared, and celebrated.

We had located the great fish; it circled our little boat, chasing the mackerel that served as our seat. The morning passed quickly, amidst the excitement of seeing it and the uncertainty of whether we could catch it. We played cat and mouse for a while until it won and left us alone in the middle of the calm sea. Then I breathed a sigh of relief because deep down I would have been upset to see it end up lying on the deck, its glassy eyes fixed on the sky and yearning for the blue of the water.