The saying echoes across Spain on a Thursday in late February: “Jueves Lardero, pan, chorizo y huevo”, Fat Thursday, bread, sausage, and egg. Simple words announcing a simple feast, but behind them lies a tradition as complex and varied as Spain itself. From the green hills of Aragón to the Mediterranean coast of Catalonia, from the windswept plains of Castilla-La Mancha to the Atlantic shores of Galicia, Spaniards gather on this Thursday, the last before Lent, to eat, to celebrate, and to bid a theatrical farewell to the pleasures they’ll soon surrender.
This is Jueves lardero, Spain’s Fat Thursday, known also as jueves de comadres (Thursday of the godmothers) or dijous gras in Catalan, a day when regional identity expresses itself through food, when ancient traditions persist through sausages and pastries, when the entire peninsula prepares for Carnival’s final surge toward Lent’s austerity. Unlike its more famous cousin, Mardi Gras, which claims international fame, Jueves lardero remains distinctly Spanish, intimate, regional, diverse as the autonomous communities that comprise the nation.
The Name and Its Origins
The word lardero derives from Latin lardarius, meaning “pertaining to bacon” or “pertaining to lard.” The name announces the day’s purpose with characteristic directness: this is the day of fat, of pork products, of using up the animal fats and meats forbidden during Lent’s traditional fast. Like the German Schmotziger Donnerstag (Greasy Thursday) or the Italian Giovedì grasso (Fat Thursday), the Spanish celebration marks that crucial threshold between abundance and abstinence, feast and fast, indulgence and discipline.
The tradition falls on the Thursday before Ash Wednesday, exactly ten days before the start of Lent. This timing places it at Carnival’s beginning rather than its climax, Jueves lardero announces that the festivities have truly begun, that the final days of permitted pleasure have arrived, that the countdown to Cuaresma (Lent) has started.
Historically, when Lenten fasting was observed with genuine strictness, this Thursday represented the last opportunity to consume meat products without guilt or transgression. The Catholic Lenten fast, particularly as practiced in Spain, prohibited not just meat but also eggs, dairy, and animal products generally. For 40 days (actually 46, since Sundays don’t count in the Lenten calendar), the faithful would eat fish, vegetables, legumes, bread, simple, austere foods appropriate for a period of penance and spiritual preparation.
Before entering that desert of deprivation, Spaniards feasted. And they did so with regional pride, each area of Spain developing its own particular Jueves lardero specialties, its own way of saying goodbye to the forbidden foods.
The Regional Mosaic: How Spain Celebrates
Spain’s seventeen autonomous communities and two autonomous cities create a tapestry of cultural traditions, languages, and identities. Nowhere is this diversity more evident than in Carnival celebrations, and Jueves lardero showcases this regional character through food.
Aragón: The Kingdom of Longaniza
In Aragón, the saying goes: “Jueves Lardero, longaniza en el puchero”, Fat Thursday, longaniza in the pot. The longaniza, a long, thin pork sausage seasoned with black pepper, paprika, and sometimes anise, reigns as Aragón’s Jueves lardero monarch. Particularly famous is the longaniza de Graus, from the small town of Graus in the Huesca province, which has earned Protected Geographical Indication status.
Aragonese families prepare these sausages in various ways: grilled over open flames, cooked in stews (pucheros), or simply eaten as bocadillos (sandwiches) with crusty bread. The tradition involves going al campo, heading to the countryside for outdoor picnics where longaniza is grilled, wine flows freely, and families and friends gather to celebrate the day in natural settings.
The outdoor component is crucial. Jueves lardero isn’t meant to be celebrated indoors at formal tables. Instead, Spaniards pack their foods, their portable grills, their wine bottles, and head to parks, riverbanks, mountainsides, olive groves, anywhere that offers open air and communal space. This democratic, outdoor character distinguishes Spanish Carnival from the more theatrical, urban celebrations of Venice or New Orleans.
Catalonia: Dijous Gras and the Butifarra d’Ou
Catalonia calls the day dijous gras (fat Thursday in Catalan) and celebrates with distinctive regional specialties. The star of the show is butifarra d’ou (egg sausage), a unique sausage containing ground pork mixed with whole eggs, creating a distinctive texture and flavour. When sliced, the white and yellow egg sections create a striking visual pattern within the pink pork.
The butifarra d’ou is traditionally served grilled or pan-fried, often accompanied by tortilla de butifarra, an omelette incorporating pieces of this sausage. Another Catalan specialty is the coca de llardons, a savoury flatbread topped with chicharrones (crispy pork cracklings) and pine nuts, the combination of rendered pork fat, crispy skin, and pine nuts creating a rich, complex flavour.
Sweet bunyols, fried dough balls similar to doughnuts, sometimes filled with cream or custard, also appear during dijous gras, representing the Catalan tradition of combining savoury and sweet elements in celebratory meals.
Barcelona’s Carnival officially begins with dijous gras, featuring parades through the city and the arrival of the Carnival King. The tradition of outdoor meriendas (snacks or light meals) dominates, with groups gathering in parks and public spaces to share their regional foods.
Castilla-La Mancha: Chorizo Entero and the Mona
In the regions of Castilla-La Mancha, particularly Albacete, Cuenca, and Guadalajara, the saying goes: “Jueves Lardero, chorizo entero” (Fat Thursday, whole chorizo). The chorizo, Spain’s most famous sausage, takes centre stage, typically served with bread in generous portions.
But Albacete adds a unique element: the mona, also called Día de la Mona in this region. This is a round pastry with a boiled egg baked into the middle, creating a nest-like appearance. The mona tradition connects to Easter customs (the Catalan mona de Pascua is famous), but in Albacete, it specifically marks Jueves lardero.
The egg, symbol of life, renewal, and spring, sits prominently in the pastry’s centre, its shell intact, a reminder of the agricultural cycles that once governed Spanish life. Families prepare monas at home or purchase them from bakeries, then share them during outdoor gatherings.
Throughout Castilla-La Mancha, tortilla de chorizo (omelette with chorizo) also features prominently, the eggs and pork sausage combining in the ultimate pre-Lenten indulgence.
Soria: Chorizo con Pan
In Soria, the northern province of Castilla y León, Jueves lardero has reached almost legendary status. The classic combination is simple: chorizo with bread (chorizo con pan), consumed outdoors in massive communal gatherings. Thousands of people descend on Soria’s parks and countryside on Jueves lardero, creating scenes of organised festivity that rival major festivals.
The tradition emphasises community above all. Extended families gather, neighbourhoods organise group outings, coworkers celebrate together. Portable grills appear everywhere, smoke rising from hundreds of fires as chorizos sizzle and brown. The smell of grilling pork, paprika, and garlic fills the air, Spain’s answer to Greece’s Tsiknopempti smoke.
Historical photographs from Soria show thousands gathered in public spaces, tables stretching for what seems like miles, everyone eating chorizo, drinking wine, singing, and celebrating. The sheer scale of participation makes Soria’s Jueves lardero famous throughout Spain, a small city that knows how to throw a party.
La Rioja: The Bollo Preñado
La Rioja, famous for its wines, celebrates Jueves lardero with the bollo preñado, literally “pregnant bun.” This is a soft bread roll with chorizo baked inside, the sausage “hidden” within the dough like a secret or a surprise. When you tear open the bun, the chorizo reveals itself, still hot, its oils having soaked into the surrounding bread.
The bollo preñado represents the perfect portable food for outdoor celebrations. It requires no utensils, stays warm for extended periods, and combines bread and meat in a single package. Riojan bakeries produce thousands on Jueves lardero, and families often make them at home, creating assembly-line production with parents preparing dough while children insert the chorizo pieces.
Community of Madrid: El Día de la Tortilla
In certain towns of the Community of Madrid, particularly Mejorada del Campo, Velilla de San Antonio, and Fuentidueña de Tajo, Jueves lardero is known specifically as Día de la Tortilla (Tortilla *Day). The Spanish tortilla, a thick potato and egg omelette, sometimes called tortilla española to distinguish it from Mexican tortillas, becomes the day’s focus.
These aren’t ordinary tortillas. Families compete to make the most impressive versions, some incorporating chorizo, others remaining traditional with just potatoes, eggs, and onions. The tortillas are sliced into generous wedges and shared during outdoor gatherings, accompanied by bread, wine, and conversation.
The emphasis on tortilla rather than sausages creates interesting variation within the broader Jueves lardero tradition, proof that even within a single region, local customs assert their distinctiveness.
Valencia and the Balearic Islands: Dijous de Berenar
The Valencian Community and Balearic Islands call the day dijous de beren*-ar or dijous llarder (snack Thursday or lard Thursday in Valencian/Catalan). The tradition centres on meriendas, afternoon snacks that in this context become substantial meals eaten outdoors.
Valencia’s signature food for this day is the pataqueta, a crescent-shaped bread roll filled with various ingredients. Traditional fillings include tortilla de habas (broad bean omelette), tortilla de ajos tiernos (spring garlic omelette), esgarraet (a salad of roasted red peppers, salt cod, and garlic), or various cold cuts and cured meats.
The pataqueta’s crescent shape makes it distinctive, easy to hold and eat while standing or walking. Markets throughout Valencia decorate for dijous de berenar, and some organise tortilla-making competitions where amateur and professional cooks compete to create the best omelette, judged by panels of local food experts.
Salamanca: Jueves Merendero
Salamanca knows Jueves lardero as jueves merendero, snack Thursday. The tradition emphasises outdoor eating, with chorizo, bread, hornazo (a meat pie containing pork loin, chorizo, and hard-boiled eggs), and various embutidos (cured meats) comprising the typical menu.
The hornazo represents Salamanca’s particular contribution to Spanish charcuterie, a savoury pie that’s portable, filling, and designed for outdoor consumption. During Jueves lardero, hornazos appear at every gathering, their flaky crusts concealing generous portions of meat and eggs.
The Common Thread: Outdoor Celebration
Despite regional variations, certain elements unite Jueves lardero celebrations across Spain. The outdoor component remains essential, this is not an indoor, formal dinner but rather a democratic, communal feast in natural settings. Parks, riverbanks, mountainsides, countryside, anywhere people can gather, grill, eat, and celebrate together.
The foods emphasise pork in various forms: chorizo, longaniza, butifarra, morcilla (blood sausage), lomo (pork loin). Eggs appear frequently, often in tortillas or baked into pastries. Bread serves as the universal accompaniment. Wine flows freely, this is Spain, after all.
The timing, daytime rather than evening, distinguishes Jueves lardero from many other Carnival celebrations. Families with children participate fully, making this a multi-generational event. The atmosphere emphasises joy, abundance, community, and the simple pleasure of good food eaten in good company.
Carnival’s Progression: From Jueves to Martes
Jueves lardero marks Carnival’s beginning, but the celebration continues through the following week, building toward Martes de Carnaval (Carnival Tuesday, Spain’s version of Mardi Gras). Between these two days, Spanish cities and towns host parades, costume contests, musical performances, street parties, and various regional events.
Spain’s most famous Carnivals Cádiz, Tenerife, and Águilas in Murcia, draw international visitors with their elaborate celebrations. Cádiz is renowned for chirigotas, satirical musical groups that perform humorous songs mocking politicians, celebrities, and current events. Tenerife’s Carnival rivals Rio de Janeiro’s, with spectacular parades, elaborate costumes, and massive street parties. Águilas features unique elements including the arrival of Don Carnal (Mr. Carnival) and theatrical performances.
But even in smaller towns and villages, Carnival between Jueves lardero and Martes de Carnaval brings music, dancing, costumes, and celebration to streets and plazas throughout Spain.
The Burial of the Sardine: Spain’s Surreal Finale
If Jueves lardero marks Carnival’s beginning with feasting, Spain concludes the season with one of Europe’s strangest traditions: El Entierro de la Sardina (The Burial of the Sardine). This ceremony, held on Ash Wednesday in many Spanish cities, marks Carnival’s end through a mock funeral procession for a sardine.
The tradition’s origins remain disputed. The most colourful legend dates to the 18th century during the reign of King Carlos III. According to this tale, a shipment of sardines arrived at Madrid’s markets destined for the Lenten period, but they had rotted during transport. The smell was so overwhelming that the king ordered them buried along the Manzanares River. Madrid’s citizens, still in Carnival spirits, joined the burial in a mock funeral procession, parodying death and mourning while celebrating the sardine’s demise.
Another theory traces the tradition to 19th-century Murcia, where university students organised, a satirical procession carrying a sardine through the streets in 1850, mocking Catholic prohibitions on meat during Lent. The sardine symbolised the “death” of carnal pleasures and the onset of fasting, and students bid it farewell with elaborate theatrical mourning.
Whatever the origins, the Burial of the Sardine became a cherished Spanish tradition, particularly famous in Madrid and Murcia, though celebrated throughout Spain and even in parts of Latin America.
Madrid’s Burial: Goya’s Legacy
In Madrid, the ceremony begins at the Hermitage of San Antonio de la Florida, where participants first view the magnificent frescoes by Francisco de Goya, who was named the first honorary member of the Alegre Cofradía del Entierro de la Sardina (The Merry Brotherhood of the Burial of the Sardine), the organisation that has organised the event since its post-dictatorship revival in the 1980s.
Goya himself painted the ceremony around 1812-1819, creating one of his most enigmatic works. The Burial of the Sardine depicts an exuberant crowd carousing on Ash Wednesday while other Spanish Catholics worship in church. Yet the painting carries sinister undertones—the masked and blank faces surrounding dancing women in white, grey distorted trees, encroaching dark colours, and an unsettling black banner with barely visible text reading “mortus” (death). The painting captures both Carnival’s joyous abandon and its darker associations with mortality and transgression.
The modern procession follows a route along the Manzanares River, featuring traditional gigantes y cabezudos (giants and big-headed figures, large processional puppets common in Spanish festivals), brass bands, dancers, and the Brotherhood members themselves. They dress in black capes with red linings covered in silver badges, carrying the wooden sardine in its hand-painted, satin-lined coffin, swinging it on chains while singing and distributing sweets to children.
Galician bagpipers, the gaita, provide music, their Celtic sounds unexpectedly accompanying this Mediterranean tradition, demonstrating Spain’s cultural diversity. The procession culminates at the Fuente de los Pajaritos (Little Bird Fountain) in Plaza de las Moreras, where the sardine meets its fate in a purifying bonfire meant to cleanse past vices.
Murcia’s Spectacular Version
While Madrid’s Burial is traditional, Murcia’s Entierro de la Sardina reaches extraordinary scale. Unlike most Spanish cities that celebrate on Ash Wednesday, Murcia holds its burial during the Fiestas de Primavera (Spring Festivals) in late April or early May following Easter, transforming it from a Carnival conclusion into a spring celebration.
Murcia’s three-day festival features parade several kilometres long, with floats dedicated to Olympian gods, a fire-breathing articulated dragon that has impressed spectators for decades, charangas (brass bands), comparsas (musical street groups), and the famous Grupos de Sardineros (Sardine Groups) that organise the festivities.
The celebration includes unique elements: a fish-headed mascot (the role held by Pablo García for 18 years), a Doña Sardina (Sardine Queen) appointed annually as an honour, and El Gran Pez (The Great Fish), typically a prominent local businessman who, with Doña Sardina, represents Murcia’s celebration beyond regional borders.
The night before the burial, Doña Sardina delivers the sardine’s will from the balcony of Murcia’s City Hall. This satirical speech comments humorously on Spanish current affairs, touching on political scandals, celebrity gossip, and local controversies. The crowd repeats the final syllable of each sentence, encouraging the Doña as she speaks, a participatory tradition that transforms political satire into community ritual.
The parade culminates with the burning of an enormous papier-mâché sardine beside the City Hall. Thousands of toys are distributed from floats to spectators, including whistles that everyone sounds, creating cacophonous celebration. Murcia’s population of 450,000 doubles during the festival with visitors from across Spain and internationally.
The sardine itself, constructed from nearly a thousand flakes of blue metallic cardstock over a plywood skeleton, can reach six meters in length. After the burning, attendees enjoy grilled real sardines with lemonade, transforming the symbolic fish’s death into literal consumption.
Francisco de Goya and the Buria
Goya’s painting The Burial of the *Sardine (c. 1812-1819) immortalised the tradition, capturing its paradoxical nature, simultaneously joyous and sinister, celebratory and morbid. Art historians place the work in Goya’s middle period, between his bright early tapestry cartoons and his psychologically dark later Black Paintings.
The painting forms a thematic set with other works depicting religious ceremony: A Procession of Flagellants and Inquisition Scene. Goya was fascinated by Spanish religious and popular traditions, particularly their capacity for extremes, the way Spanish celebrations could be simultaneously devout and profane, serious and satirical, ordered and chaotic.
The masks in Goya’s painting reference the tradition’s origins in themes of mortality, masks were worn to ward off spirits of criminals and those who died violently. The festival blends pre-Christian elements (pagan fertility rites marking winter’s end) with Christian Lenten observance, creating characteristically Spanish syncretism.
One art critic wrote: “This is also one of the most astonishing virtuoso performances to come down to us from Goya’s brush. Rarely did Goya again reach such decisiveness of touch. Every brushstroke is a calligraphic marvel at the same time that it describes with consummate precision the expression of faces and the emotional charge of each stance or gesture.”
The Dictatorship and Revival
Franco’s dictatorship (1939-1975) suppressed many Carnival traditions, viewing them as too pagan, too irreverent, too difficult to control. The Burial of the Sardine disappeared from Spanish streets for decades, forced underground along with other manifestations of popular culture that the regime deemed threatening.
The tradition’s revival began in the 1960s and 70s as Franco’s grip loosened. The formation of the Alegre Cofradía del Entierro de la Sardina in Madrid in 1967 marked a turning point, breathing new life into the ancient custom. After Franco’s death in 1975 and Spain’s transition to democracy, Carnival celebrations exploded with renewed vigour, making up for lost decades.
The Burial of the Sardine’s revival symbolised Spain’s broader cultural renaissance, the reclaiming of traditions that had been suppressed, the assertion of regional identities that had been denied, the embrace of irreverence and satire that had been forbidden. That a mock funeral for a fish could represent resistance to authoritarianism and affirmation of cultural freedom speaks to the power of seemingly frivolous traditions.
Why the Sardine?
The choice of sardine as symbolic victim remains somewhat mysterious. Several theories exist beyond the rotten fish legend. Some suggest “sardina” is a corruption of an older word referring to pork products (connecting it to Lent’s meat prohibition). Others propose the sardine represents Lenten food, fish being permitted when meat was not, and its burial symbolises the end of Carnival’s meat-eating and the beginning of fish-eating Lent.
The sardine might also reference biology students’ pranks in the 1800s, holding mock funerals for specimens they were about to dissect. This academic origin story appeals to those who see the tradition as fundamentally satirical, a mockery of Catholic solemnity by irreverent students.
Whatever the truth, the sardine serves its symbolic purpose perfectly. Small, common, humble, not a noble salmon or proud tuna but a simple sardine. Its ordinariness makes the elaborate mourning absurd, which is precisely the point. The tradition mocks the very idea of excessive mourning, satirises death itself, and through satire, perhaps, makes both death and the deprivations of Lent more bearable.
The Deeper Meanings: Feast and Fast
Jueves lardero and the Burial of the Sardine frame Spanish Carnival, marking its beginning and end. Between them lies a week of celebration, but these two moments, the Thursday feast and the Wednesday funeral, capture the tradition’s essential character.
Jueves lardero represents abundance, community, regional identity, and the body’s pleasures. Spaniards gather outdoors with their distinctive regional foods, celebrating what makes their corner of Spain unique while participating in a tradition that unites the entire peninsula. The chorizo of Soria differs from the longaniza of Aragón differs from the butifarra d’ou of Catalonia, yet all serve the same purpose: marking the last feast before the fast.
The Burial of the Sardine represents the inevitable conclusion, the end of excess, the return to discipline, the symbolic death of pleasure. But it does so with characteristic Spanish irony and dark humour. Rather than simply stopping the party, Spaniards hold an elaborate funeral for a fish, transforming the end of Carnival into one more spectacle, one final performance before the curtain falls.
This theatrical approach to the sacred and profane, this willingness to mock even death and religious obligation, characterises Spanish cultural expression from Don Quixote to Goya to Buñuel. The sardine’s funeral is simultaneously sincere and satirical, mournful and mocking, a genuine transition ritual performed with tongue firmly in cheek.
Regional Foods as Identity
The extraordinary regional diversity of Jueves lardero foods reveals something essential about Spanish identity. Spain is not a culturally homogeneous nation but rather a collection of distinct peoples, languages, and traditions held together by geography, history, and, sometimes tenuously, political unity.
When Aragonese insist on longaniza, when Catalans demand butifarra d’ou, when Sorianans gather by thousands to eat chorizo con pan, they’re asserting more than culinary preference. They’re claiming regional identity, maintaining traditions that distinguish them from neighbouring regions and from Madrid’s centralising influence.
The foods themselves tell stories of climate, agriculture, and history. The prominence of pork products throughout Spain reflects centuries of Christian identity assertion, eating pork publicly demonstrated that you were neither Jewish nor Muslim, both of which religions prohibit pork. During the Inquisition, pork consumption became a marker of religious orthodoxy, and traditions like Jueves lardero reinforced Christian identity.
The outdoor eating tradition connects to Spain’s generally mild winter climate, celebrating outdoors in late February would be miserable in Stockholm or Moscow, but in Valencia or Seville, it’s perfectly pleasant. The emphasis on portable foods reflects Spain’s tradition of mobile socialising, the paseo culture of walking and gathering in public spaces rather than entertaining at home.
Modern Jueves Lardero
Contemporary Spain maintains Jueves lardero despite, or perhaps because of, secularisation. Many Spaniards who don’t observe Lent still celebrate Jueves lardero. The tradition has largely detached from its religious origins to become a cultural celebration, a marker of Spanish identity, an excuse to gather and feast.
Social media amplifies the tradition. Instagram fills with photos of grilled chorizos, outdoor gatherings, and regional specialties. Local news covers the massive assemblies in places like Soria, where thousands gather annually. Food blogs share recipes for traditional preparations, how to make authentic longaniza de Graus, the perfect technique for butifarra d’ou, the secrets of a great coca de llardons.
Restaurants and bars promote special Jueves lardero menus, though purists argue the tradition should be celebrated outdoors, not in commercial establishments. Supermarkets create elaborate displays of appropriate foods, sausages, eggs, bread, wine, marketing to the tradition while profiting from it.
Some contemporary adaptations raise eyebrows among traditionalists. Vegetarian and vegan versions of traditional sausages appear in progressive markets. Plant-based chorizos and meat-free longanizas attempt to capture traditional flavours without animal products, a curious inversion of a tradition specifically about consuming meat before Lent’s prohibition.
Jueves Lardero and Spanish Character
There’s something quintessentially Spanish about Jueves lardero and the traditions surrounding it. The combination of religious framework and secular celebration, the emphasis on regional identity within national tradition, the insistence on outdoor communal gathering rather than private indoor feasting, the willingness to conclude Carnival with an absurd funeral for a sardine, all this reflects Spanish cultural values and historical experience.
Spain’s history of multiple religions (Christianity, Islam, Judaism), multiple languages (Castilian, Catalan, Basque, Galician), and multiple kingdoms unified only relatively recently creates a nation simultaneously united and diverse, national and regional, centralised and autonomous. Jueves lardero embodies this paradox: a shared tradition expressed through regional difference, a national celebration of local identity.
The sardine’s burial adds Spanish dark humour and appreciation for the absurd. Spaniards have endured centuries of religious conflict, civil wars, dictatorships, economic hardships. Perhaps this history necessitates the ability to laugh at death, to mock solemnity, to transform even mourning into performance. The sardine’s funeral demonstrates that nothing is too sacred to satirise, not even the transition from Carnival to Lent, pleasure to penance, feast to fast.
The Foods Await
Somewhere in Aragón, longanizas hang in a butcher shop window, their casings taught with seasoned pork, waiting for Thursday’s grills. In Catalonia, a baker prepares butifarra d’ou, carefully mixing eggs into pork, creating the distinctive sausage that will star in tomorrow’s outdoor feasts. In Soria, families plan their Jueves lardero gathering, which park, which friends, how many chorizos to buy, whether this year they’ll finally try grilling them over oak wood instead of ordinary charcoal.
In Madrid, members of the Alegre Cofradía check their ceremonial capes, polish the silver badges, make sure the wooden sardine is ready for its annual burial. In Murcia, construction begins on this year’s giant papier-mâché sardine, each blue metallic flake carefully glued into place, the structure slowly taking shape in preparation for its spring immolation.
These traditions, Jueves lardero’s regional feasts, the Burial of the Sardine’s theatrical farewell, continue because they fulfil needs that transcend religious obligation. Humans need their moments of excess before restraint. Communities need occasions to gather and affirm their bonds. Regions need traditions that express their distinct identities. Cultures need rituals that mark transitions, that acknowledge life’s rhythms of abundance and scarcity, celebration and sacrifice, beginning and ending.
When Thursday arrives and Spaniards fire up their grills, when the smell of chorizo and longaniza fills parks and countryside, when friends gather over bocadillos and wine, the tradition persists. And when Ash Wednesday comes and the sardine processes toward its funeral pyre, when the Merry Brotherhood swings the coffin on its chains, when children scramble for the sweets being distributed, when the flames consume the fish and Lent officially begins, the tradition persists.
Next year, the Thursday will come again. The sausages will be grilled, the eggs eaten, the bread shared. The sardine will be buried, mourned with exaggerated grief and genuine joy, its death marking life’s continuation. The traditions endure, regional and national, sacred and profane, serious and absurd, quintessentially, irreducibly, magnificently Spanish.
“Jueves Lardero, pan, chorizo y huevo.” The words are simple. The tradition is anything but.
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