Cena Española
Yesterday marked the end my sister’s two month stay in Victoria. I will sorely miss my co-chef in the kitchen, my kombucha taste-tester, accomplice at social events, and confidante. If I’m not mistaken, she will miss my little fruit-fly infested kitchen too, or at least the adventures we’ve had within it, and the contents of the mason jars and flip-top bottles that line its counters and crowd its refrigerator shelves.
From Italy to Mexico, passing by Japan, we’ve covered a fair bit of culinary geography together, and surely, there was time for one more destination. In honour of my sister’s birthday, and also to commemorate her impending departure, we therefore decided to prepare a big Spanish dinner for the family. Why Spanish? Well, sitting one the patio one windy evening discussing plans for our next meal, I decided to pull up my master list of cooking project ideas, to see if any of them sparked her imagination.
I scanned through the list, mentally crossing out entries as I went. Some of them required ingredients I haven’t yet found (monkfish liver, sweet potato starch, gluten-free gochujang), equipment I don’t yet own (a takoyaki pan, a temperature-controlled incubation chamber) or are simply too fanciful (making Chinese oyster sauce from scratch) or not particularly well-suited for a family meal (braised chicken feet)*, but one item stood out from the list: Spain’s iconic rice dish, paella.
I’d been wanting to make paella for a long time, having tasted the dish in Spain while backpacking there in my late teens, but especially since doing my research about rice varietals and their properties for my post about risotto. I find rice and the cultural preferences and ingenuity surrounding its preparation endlessly fascinating, and Spain was no less notable a destination in the great migration of rice.
The idea was approved with enthusiasm, not just by my co-chef, but also by two other very important guests at our soiree, who also happened to be the generous sponsors of this particular cooking endeavour (in lieu of a disclaimer: thank you dad and stepmom!).
I immediately wanted to dive into the literature: what were the authoritative books on Spanish cooking? I was able to get my hands on two: Claudia Roden’s The Food of Spain and 1,000 Spanish Recipes by Penelope Casas. That should be enough to get my feet wet, no?
On route to paella-making literacy, I happily got sidetracked by all the other entries on my potential Spanish Dinner Party Menu. A few hours and a few hundred recipes later, I had learned very little about paella. My Master List of cooking project ideas, on the other hand, had lengthened considerably, with soups, tapas, gazpachos (yes, plural), desserts, drinks, salads and braises.
Understandably, I ran out of time before I ran out of recipes to consider, and since this was my first foray into Spanish cooking, we decided to stick to the basics. More or less, anyways. My definition of “basic” unfortunately doesn’t translate into standard English.
Please join me in this three-part exposé into the making of a Fiesta. First, we dip our spoons into a familiar appetizer, then we spice it up (with saffron, no less) for our main course. To conclude our cena, I have a two-for-one special for you: booze and dessert rolled (or rather, macerated) into one. No one shall leave with hambre. Let’s get started.
(*at least not my family!)
Maldon Salt
Cold and Breadless
Mmm. Gazpacho. The refreshing taste of chilled, pureed tomatoes.
Wrong. Cold soups were a part of the Spanish culinary repertoire long before the arrival of the tomato in Spain, and if you step away from Andalucía, you will find many a gazpacho containing not a single speck of this new world fruit, with main ingredients ranging from almonds to beets to fava beans.
According to food historian Raymond Sokolov, it is not the tomato that defines gazpacho, but the bread. He examines a disparate collection of traditional recipes for raw, unheated soups from all over Spain, and remarks that the elements they have in common are the following: oil, garlic, bread and vinegar.
With its probable origins Moor-influenced Andalucía, and a name like gazpacho, it seems plausible at first to deduce that the dish came to Spain via Africa, but there is no evidence to support this proposed etymology. Sokolov subscribes instead to a rather different theory — that the word gazpacho comes from the pre-Roman caspa, meaning fragment, referring of course to the bread crumbs and chopped vegetables that made up the dish. Indeed, he traces the origins of gazpacho back to the Roman predilection for dipping stale bread into vinegar. Yum?
Does that mean that cold, breadless soups do not deserve to be called gazpacho? Well, first of all, how rude of you to call my soup cold and breadless! I assure you it has a very warm personality, thanks to a hint of cumin, a refreshing disposition, and a zesty and complex character, thanks to a splash of sherry vinegar, a handful of peppery arugula, and a few hours spent in the fridge, contemplating the meaning of life.
Second of all, the Romans left Spain 1547 years ago, and things have changed considerably since then. Case closed.
¡Buen provecho!
Joëlle
Yields 6-8
A refreshing chilled tomato soup with a hint of cumin and a lovely peppery kick thanks to a handful of arugula. Gluten-free.
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Ingredients
- 2½ pounds tomatoes, the best quality you can find, quartered
- 2 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
- 1 medium red bell pepper, coarsely chopped (about ¾ cup)
- 1/2 cup loosely packed arugula
- 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
- 1 tbsp shio koji (or 1 tsp salt)
- ½ teaspoon ground cumin
- ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
- Finely chopped tomatoes
- Maldon salt (optional)
Instructions
- Place all the gazpacho ingredients in a food processor and process until smooth.
- Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to overnight, to let the flavours develop.
- Taste and adjust for salt and vinegar.
- Serve very cold (you can even chill the bowls beforehand), garnished with finely chopped tomatoes and a sprinkle of Maldon salt (optional)
Notes
Shio koji (塩麹) is a lacto-fermented mixture of rice koji (rice inoculated with aspergillus oryzae spore -- the basis for many well-know Japanese ferments such as miso, sake and soy sauce). It provides enzymes and probiotics while imparting the dish with a unique umami flavour. You can substitute sea salt, himalayan salt or fish sauce. To learn more about shio koji, how to make it at home, and how to use it in the kitchen, click
here.
Adapted from Penelope Casas, 1,000 Spanish recipes. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (2014)
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References
Casas, P. (2014). 1,000 Spanish Recipes. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
Roden, C. (2012). The Food of Spain. London: Michael Joseph.
Sokolov, R. A. (1993). Why We Eat What We Eat: How the Encounter between the New World and the Old Changed the Way Everyone on the Planet Eats. New York: Simon & Schuster.
1 comment
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Toda una fiesta, de hecho! Era delicioso. Muchas gracias, Jo!
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