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Asturias is not the Spain of your imagination. Dont expect flamenco dresses, clacking castanets and jugs of sangria in this north-west province. Instead of tiny tapas bars, there are raucous cider houses. Instead of vineyards and sunbaked hills, there are apple orchards and a thousand shades of green. This was a lesson I first learned from the chef and humanitarian Jos Andrs, born and raised in the Asturian mining town of Mieres. We travelled together on a surf-and-turf bender in his home region in 2010, soaking ourselves in Asturias cider, inventing meals to fill the interminable space between lunch and dinner. There wasnt a bad bite to be had anywhere, but it was our marathon meal at the 138-year-old Casa Gerardo restaurant on a quiet country road that changed everything for me. On the drive to lunch, Jos spoke in poetic detail about the ancient history, the blend of contemporary and classic cuisine, and Pedro and Marcos Morn, the father-and-son team behind it all. This is one of the most special places in Spain. We sat down to a five-hour feast that began with tiny, pristine, hyper-technical snacks and ended with gin and tonics the size of fish bowls. In between were 15 courses that showcased the best of Spanish modernist cooking the mind-bending textures, the outrageous concentrations of flavour, the wit and whimsy that elevates dining into something more than eating. But it wasnt until the final savoury course that my lust for Asturias turned into true love. Fabada is the regions signature dish, a stew of fat white beans called fabes simmered into glorious submission with a battery of types of cured pork: chorizo, morcilla and smoked ham. Id had fabada before, but never like the Moran family makes it: with fresh (rather than dried) beans, unbroken and unblemished and impossibly complex and savoury. Up until that moment, my understanding of Spanish cuisine was heavily tilted towards the high-end molecular gastronomy

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