Catalan culture

Dancers hold hands in a circle, men and women alternating, arms raised for the entire piece. From a distance it looks peaceful; it is in fact tiring and far trickier than it looks, because the steps are counted, in series of curts (short) then llargs (long), and one mistake throws the whole circle off.

The orchestra that plays for the sardana: eleven musicians, and out in front the tenora, a large Catalan oboe with a nasal tone you do not forget once you have heard it. It was invented in Perpignan in 1849 by the instrument maker Andreu Toron.

At just about every village festival in summer, Laroque included. Banned under Franco south of the border, the sardana remained a strong marker of identity: it is still danced everywhere.

I have watched three generations of Catalan women in my own family dance it: my grandmother, my mother, and my cousins today. The shrillness of the instruments and the complexity of the steps have always left me, let us say, perplexed. But it is unmistakably one of the things you have to see, and those who dance it say that when it is done well, when the circle really works, it is downright ecstatic.

The family dish above all others, handed down through generations and never quite the same twice: meatballs of minced beef, veal and pork, simmered in sauce with green olives and dried ceps, usually served with white beans. A sort of Catalan cousin to cassoulet, in meatball form. Every family has its version and every version is, obviously, the right one.

The Sunday ritual: grey snails set on the embers of a fire of vine cuttings, bacon fat, aioli, and alongside them prime lamb cutlets and Catalan sausage. It is eaten standing, outdoors, with a crowd. Under ten guests, there is no point.

Long, thin, coiled in a spiral, grilled. The village butcher, Didier Salvi, is a world champion at it, which settles the question of where to buy it.

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Small soft rings under a white sugar glaze, born in the Vallespir valley. A pastry chef from Amélie-les-Bains, Marius Sèguela, came up with the glaze in 1810; the Touron house in Arles-sur-Tech later swapped the aniseed for lemon. Both still exist.

Catalan nougat, made on both sides of the border: Spanish turrón from Jijona and Alicante on one side, Catalan touron on the other. Same family, different recipes, endless argument over which is better.

A bulbous glass carafe with a long tapered spout: you hold it at arm's length, aim, and pour a thin stream of wine into your mouth without the spout ever touching your lips. That is what let a whole table of grape pickers share one bottle and nothing else. The tradition goes back to the 14th century. The first attempt always ends up on your shirt, it is a rite of passage.

While we are here: how the local fortified sweet wines and rancios are made, in glass demijohns left out in the sun for years, is explained in the Drink section.