My mother used to collect fennel seeds from the paths surrounding the small house and leave them to dry on a piece of newspaper. Those little seeds in the sun were the beginning of a cycle that started with small routines: the prepared white cloths coming out of the box, the clean jars, the long and thick needles, the parts of the manual machinery being checked again, the threads and the ropes. A whole dance of objects that, when the time came, would come to life until the cycle closed once again. It has been a few years since this cycle was broken and I have a small grief anchored within me. A small, constant, and annoying prick that seeks that awakening of inanimate things. A system collapsed like a house of cards made of newspaper.

Pere Garau square will host the second edition of the Variat Fair on the upcoming 26th and 27th of September, an event that grows this year and incorporates changes to avoid the logistical problems of the first edition. The main novelty will be the possibility of buying tickets in advance through the fair's website, a system that will allow acquiring the consumptions before or during the event and exchanging them at any of the participating stalls.

Summer stretches out like a heavy shadow. There is no conversation that does not begin with the heaviness of these months, the difficulty of enduring the high temperature, and how the humidity has clung to the skin like a heavy fabric. They say that next year they will be even higher and we breathe deeply while we think about how we will be able to endure it. But we will adapt to it, for survival, as we have adapted to what the land gave us, to the changes in the landscape, to the loss.

Xisca Alzamora is the owner and cook of Nou Convent Cafeteria. “I put a lot of love into it,” she says when we ask her how she manages to prepare and give that good flavor to the daily dishes of Mallorcan cuisine or the varied tapas of the place, right in front of Manacor Town Hall, which reopens after a well-deserved vacation. Everyone who knows her knows that she doesn't like to boast about her knowledge in the world of Mallorcan cuisine, but people who have tasted any of her daily dishes or tapas know that she has something that makes her so special when entering a kitchen.

In Ibiza and Formentera, the vocabulary related to livestock conveys a way of life where raising sheep and goats was part of the peasant economy and daily diet. It is not simply an abundance of names, but a precise lexicon that allowed animals to be distinguished according to species, sex, age, or their function within the flock.Words like ‘xai’, ‘anyell’, ‘moltó’, ‘ovella’, ‘cabrit’, ‘cabra’, and ‘boc’ are part of this rural universe. In the case of ovines, ‘xai’ and ‘anyell’ denote the young of the sheep, while ‘moltó’ identifies the adult male and ‘ovella’, the female. Among caprines, ‘cabrit’ is the name for the young, while ‘cabra’ and ‘boc’ distinguish adult animals according to sex. These are words known in the Catalan language as a whole, but in the Pitiuses they are integrated within a much broader peasant terminology, where differences in the animal’s age and state could have practical importance.

Traditional pastry making constitutes one of the richest gastronomic heritages of the Balearic Islands. Cultural exchange, the utilization of available resources, and the transmission of culinary knowledge from generation to generation have given rise to an extraordinarily wide repertoire of cakes, pastries, pies, cookies, and sweets that have accompanied religious celebrations, family parties, and the agricultural calendar. This diversity not only responds to the creativity of bakers and pastry chefs, but also to the fundamental role that domestic kitchens, convents, and prosperous homes have played in the conservation and transmission of this heritage.

Finding restaurants where traditional recipes are still cooked is becoming a small odyssey in Mallorca. Just as has happened with other aspects of the island's heritage, mass tourism, globalization, and changes in consumption habits have been marginalizing a way of cooking and eating that for generations had been part of daily life. Today, in many cases, this gastronomy has an almost testimonial role, both in bars and restaurants and in residents' homes.

Cod has been for centuries one of the great protagonists of our cuisine. Its long preservation made it an essential food when fresh fish was scarce or inaccessible, but also an ingredient capable of adapting to the rhythm of the seasons. While in winter it was accompanied by seasonal vegetables such as green leaves, with the arrival of summer it found its best allies in garden fruits: tomatoes, peppers, and in some cases, eggplants.

The folding chairs and rocking chairs swirled in groups from one end of the street to the other. My grandmothers, Aunt Magdalena and Mrs. Juanaina, sat in our midst. Further on were Mrs. Panerera and Mrs. Verda, and on the other side were Ms. Xisca from Can Feliu, Ms. Bet, and Ms. Tonina from Can Sastre. They began to enjoy the cool evening air before dinner, when the heat subsided and it felt better to be outside than inside the houses. When it was time to sit down to eat, the chairs were outside, alone, as if a cataclysm had made disappear the people who had occupied them until then. As the street filled with darkness, the neighbors reclaimed the street and the murmur of conversations and laughter resumed. We children went back and forth from one side to the other, from group to group; at times we played, at others we sat and listened to stories to pass the time. Sometimes someone brought out ice cream made with an almond preparation. We enjoyed the cool air. The street was ours.

Lobster fishing is one of the most traditional and valuable artisanal fishing activities in the Balearic Islands. This crustacean lives on rocky bottoms and is mainly caught with traps, a selective fishing gear that allows young specimens and egg-bearing females to be preserved. Its exploitation is subject to very strict regulations, with closed seasons, limitations on the number of traps, and a minimum catch size, measures that have contributed to maintaining some of the best-preserved populations in the Mediterranean. Although catches are limited, its high commercial value makes it one of the most profitable fisheries for the Balearic artisanal fleet. Beyond its economic interest, lobster holds a prominent place in the gastronomic heritage of the Islands, especially in Menorca.

One of the most emblematic bars of traditional Mallorcan cuisine says goodbye. Ca'n Biel Felip has announced the definitive closure of the restaurant, in a publication on social networks, after more than thirty years of trajectory, a decision that the establishment itself admits "is never easy". The venue, recognized this year with the award for the best classic bar in the Balearic Islands, is now negotiating a possible succession so that the business can continue with a new stage. According to reports, the main reason for the closure is the lack of generational succession.

They had installed the perch in the kitchen. The feathered ducks swayed there, hanging from a hook. A macabre curtain from which the animals had just dripped the last drops of blood. The scorched skin gave off a metallic and penetrating smell that mixed with the scalded feathers. Those powerful animals that organized the coop with their scandalous comings and goings looked like others, stripped and sad, staring at you from that small head with cloudy eyes.

We had coffee facing each other, sitting at the kitchen table. It was the little pleasure after lunch with my grandmother. She prepared the coffee maker and I took out the cups and the anise. Inside the display cabinet where she kept it, the smells of liqueurs and the wood of the furniture mingled. Some bottles had never been opened, the yellowish seal unbroken betrayed them, others were wrapped in cellophane; presents from France that were savored on special occasions. She poured me that transparent liquid like one perfumes coffee with a pinch of cinnamon. This was our ritual: coffee, conversation, and a teaspoon of sweet anise while she watched me with a mischievous girl's smile.

Then the street was flanked by plots of land. The almond trees leaned over our path, offering such green almonds that we could still eat the skin. We opened them with our teeth and took out the kernel that burst in our mouths like a small gulp of acidic water. We filled our pockets with them and ran off in fours for fear that some neighbor might give us away. In the month of September, when it was time to harvest the almonds, I always ate some of those we shelled outside the cloths. The pulp broke crunchily in the mouth, milky and sweet, braving such a wonderful transformation, just like a chrysalis waiting for its final state.

There are cuisines that not only nourish, but also explain who we are: those that are passed down in silence, from generation to generation, and that live in memory before recipe books. From this invisible thread starts A kitchen in every home, the book by Pau Gómez Calvo, which combines memories, recipes, and reflection to reclaim a domestic legacy that, according to the author, is undergoing a complete transformation.

The sofrit pagès suffers like never before. Yes: it's a very bad pun. The situation of Pitiüsan gastronomy is also not good. Sofrit and other Ibizan specialities are drowning amidst an avalanche of pizzas, tacos, sushi, chicken tikka masala and spring rolls. Not to mention the competition from Michelin-starred restaurants, establishments by famous chefs and fast food franchises. It's an unequal fight. A quick search on Google Maps reveals the difference in forces: in the capital of the main Pitiüsa island alone, the search engine offers 23 Japanese restaurants, 16 Chinese restaurants, 24 restaurants classified as Italian cuisine, 21 pizza-only places, and 23 Mediterranean cuisine. There isn't a specific tab for local cuisine, but we must assume it's included in the 'Mediterranean cuisine' category. Without even going online, any Ibizan knows they will have plenty of options if they want to eat sushi or pizza, and practically none if they fancy a sofrit pagès, the main meat dish of traditional Ibizan cuisine.But the sofrit is no longer alone. Last week, the Academy of Balearic Islands Cuisine was presented to the public in an event at the Consell d’Eivissa; this organization, for the first time, has four members from the Pitiüsa Islands, three from Ibiza and one from Formentera. A kind of Pitiüsan resistance against culinary globalization. There was talk of "defending our own" and the "danger of extinction" of local cuisine. It is still relatively easy to find the famous fish stew (bullit de peix) on the menus of Pitiüsan beach restaurants – another matter is whether the fish used is truly Pitiüsan – alongside international cuisine dishes. It is much more difficult to find less popular preparations, such as sofrit and borrida de ratjada. The same applies to desserts; beyond flaó on some menus and perhaps greixonera, it will be almost impossible for you to find any other.

Bread, a staple food for humanity, seems to have originated by chance. It is said that the first inhabitants collected wild cereals and then used the grain by crushing it between two stones to make porridge. It is believed that one day, someone forgot some of this porridge near the fire, or perhaps poured it intentionally onto a hot stone. The result was a dry, flat, and crispy paste, the first unleavened bread (without yeast) in history. Bread as we know it today, fluffy, with crumb and volume, was born in ancient Egypt. Chance again played in its favor when some forgotten shepherd captured some of the yeast fungi that live suspended in the air. That dough swelled and when they found it, they decided to bake it. The result was truly a miracle: a soft, tasty, and much easier to digest bread.

Doughnuts constitute one of the most widespread types of traditional pastry within the peninsular sphere. This fried dough, generally in the shape of a ring or a closed horseshoe, made with flour, fat, eggs, and some flavorings, refers to a much older origin, to preparations of doughs fried in oil, often sweetened with honey or sugar, already documented in the classical world and which later developed in medieval cuisine.

The imposing mulberry tree offered shade and fruit to the hens when it was the season. There was enough space to roam all day, to peck at small blades of grass that didn't have time to grow, or to put an end to some insect that had had the bad luck to enter. At the back was the old nesting box where the birds went to lay their eggs and the old rabbit hutches that now served to store grain. A metal bed base converted into a door that never closed invited the hens to enter when the sun set. I liked to go looking for the eggs, discovering that offering that the little animals left us inside a box covered with straw. It surprised me that they were so unconcerned, absent of jealousy for that perfect little box that had come out of their bodies.

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.