It was safe passage that made the small island of Menorca famous. In the ancient Mediterranean, there was no better place to ride out a storm. When the squalls buffeted and the waves hammered against your hull, there was always Mahon, one of the world’s greatest harbors, with miles of shelter. But today our captain, Francisco, couldn’t be calmer as he piloted us through an inlet, called Fornells. His feet on the outer deck of the llaut, a traditional Menorcan craft, he enjoyed the fresh air while reaching through an open window to manipulate the controls.
“I grew up on the water,” he told me, through an interpreter. “I learned to sail as a kid. It’s very typical here, on this island.”
One of the Balearic Islands—a small, Spanish archipelago with four major, inhabited islands in the middle of the Mediterranean—Menorca is sometimes overshadowed by its larger neighbor, Mallorca. Its name (which is sometimes spelled Minorca) literally means “smaller island.” But despite the fact that they’re separated by just 40 miles and easily visible from one another, the two are worlds apart. Far from bustling, big-city Palma, Menorca’s entire population is under 100,000, dotted with small villages and anchored by two larger towns, Ciutadella on one side, and Mahon on the other.
Settlement here dates back thousands of years. Many civilizations blew through on the trade winds—Phoenicians and Romans and Vandals, pirates and Moors and Ottomans.
“When you’re in the Western Mediterranean and you’re low on fuel and food and water, you always come to Mahon,” said my guide Carolina. “Deep, and six kilometers [3.7 miles] long. It’s unique in the world.”
The earliest inhabitants came from Mallorca and built curious-looking tombs called “navetas,” which still dot the island. Archaeologists thought they resembled overturned ships—the word translates to “little ship” in Catalan. One has been fully restored and is open to visitors.
“This could be considered the oldest building in Europe,” said Carolina as we walk around the impressive pile of stones. She noted that it dates back to 1,000 B.C., and as many as 100 people were buried here.
Later, on a walking tour of the picturesque town of Ciutadella, on the other side of the island, Carolina pointed more of the architectural quirks that spring from a very long history, including the island’s cathedral, built over a mosque—its bell tower was once a minaret. Trade brought great wealth, evidenced by two impressive palaces, owned by the two richest families in town, fronting Born Square, with its obelisk and Gothic town hall. Three different world powers held sway on this island in the 19th century alone—occupied thrice by the British, and also by the French and Spanish.
With great diversity and access to fresh ingredients from land and sea comes excellent food. Descending down a curving lane out of the labyrinthine streets of Ciutadella’s old town, I sat down to lunch at Restaurante Aquarium, with its tables spread under the sun next to the harbor. Chef Lucas Garcia came out, a bundle of energy and good cheer. He was trained at the famed Culinary Institute of America and was once employed in posh kitchens in Silicon Valley. But he eventually returned to his hometown to open his restaurant in a building—once a warehouse carved from stone—owned by his father.
The seafood comes out in a flurry, all of it sourced locally—octopus and cuttlefish and mussels and a “blind” seafood paella, with all of the shellfish already peeled and ready to eat. Garcia points out that they make a now-prized “caldereta,” a stew cooked with spiny lobster, but when his grandfather, a fisherman, first came to this island, they were actually giving lobster out for free with drinks at a local bar. And while the food is good, the culinary experience on Menorca always goes beyond the food itself. Here, a meal is always a social affair.
“Nobody eats standing up,” he said. “It’s a cultural experience.”
Those cultural and culinary experiences continued throughout my days here. Wine tastings and massive meals. One day included a mayonnaise tasting, a chef making the sauce with local olive oil, by hand. This simple concoction—eggs, oil, salt—was born here, but has since spread all around the world. The chef offered four types, with fresh bread for dipping, smoked with pine needles, one with melon and fig, another with shrimp, the last one mixed with capers.
And far from the main road, deep into the rolling fields down a tiny country lane, the next day I sat down to breakfast at Son Piris, a dairy farm and cheese factory.
“We have been making cheese on this island since prehistorical times,” owner Lucia told me. First, she served a typical Menorcan morning meal of sausage, bread, and cheese, while birds chirped away, as a fresh breeze blew onto the patio. The cows are milked twice a day and the product is still made by hand. And it remains fresh and pure. “Because we’re an island, we’re isolated from other bacteria,” she explained.
