A Spanish Tortilla as Autumn Comes to Restoration Farm

You can feel it deep in your soul, even if the weather isn’t quite cooperating. Aromas seem more intense, the harvest moon and stars seem infinitely brighter and every breath you take fills you with anticipation. Autumn has arrived. And, although the thermometer is still flirting with 80 degrees, the vegetables at Restoration Farm have changed – darker flesh, thicker skin and deeper, earthier flavors.

Countless pounds of potatoes have been plucked from the soil, some rose pink and others burnished gold.  How do you describe the taste of a freshly harvested potato?  Words seem inadequate, but you know that all previous potatoes were pale imitations of this rich, creamy flesh and nutty aroma.

These potatoes require a recipe that offers simplicity and a showcase. I chose a traditional Spanish Tortilla – a potato omelet – comprised only of potatoes, eggs, olive oil and salt. Using a 10-inch non-stick skillet, two-and-a-quarter pounds of red and gold potatoes are sliced thin and sautéed in two cups of olive oil until tender. The finished potatoes are seasoned with salt and white pepper and drained. They are then combined with a mixture of 8 eggs beaten vigorously with a pinch of salt. Add two tablespoons of olive oil back into the pan, heat over medium heat and then pour in the egg and potato mixture. Press down the potatoes, and shake the pan periodically as the eggs set, so that the omelet doesn’t stick to the pan. After about 10 minutes, invert the tortilla onto the lid of the skillet, and then slide it back into the skillet with the cooked side up. Continue to heat until the bottom is set and golden. Transfer to a serving plate and serve at room temperature.

It seems fitting to eat the tortilla where the potatoes were grown, and I bring the dish to the Pot Luck Dinner celebrating the autumnal equinox at Restoration Farm.   The heat – and the flies – makes it feel a bit like early August, but the conversation is lively and there is music and an endless array of good food to share.   I think I experience real happiness from the gatherings at this historic farm, where the past, the soil, people and fresh food unite in one community. 

It is quieter as you walk in the field after the meal.  There are still some plum tomatoes on the vines, but the fields seem sparser and the sunflowers have closed and bowed their heads.  

The late afternoon sun hangs lower in the sky.   Is it really possible that the end of the growing season is just beyond the horizon? 



©2010 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved  

The King of Paella

Recently, I heard a rumor that my friend Rocky claims to be a member of Spanish culinary royalty.

I first get the word from my colleague Hal2001, a creative thinker and epicurean. We are sampling Manchego and chorizo – with a side of red wine – at Despana Gourmet in Jackson Heights. I am admiring the gleaming paella pans perched high on a shelf.

“Rocky says he’s the King of Paella,” Hal2001 mentions. This surprises me, since I’ve always considered Rocky a serious meat and potatoes guy.

“Where did you hear that?” I ask.

“Rocky told me. He was installing a light fixture in my apartment, and fell off the table and hit his head.”

“You believed the word of a man with a serious head injury?”

I am determined to investigate further and approach Rocky directly. I send an email.

“I hear you’re “The King of Paella.” You know how I feel about food. How could you keep this from me?” I demand.

The direct approach pays off, and scores me and Hal2001 a dinner invitation where Rocky promises to prove his prowess at paella. So we show up at the Upper West Side apartment of Rocky and his charming wife, with a bottle of fine Spanish sherry in hand.

Paella is a legendary Spanish dish of rice, chicken, vegetables and seafood, named for the pan in which it is prepared. It is often cooked over an open wood fire – although this is not acceptable behavior in a New York City apartment. Rocky has the ingredients spread on the kitchen counter. Chicken and spicy chorizo is simmering on the stove in the wide, shallow pan, and nearby there is a bowl-full of perfect clams and an open packet of succulent swordfish.

You can learn a lot about colleagues around the table that you’ll never discover at the office. I’ve always known that Rocky was a man of letters, but had no idea that he’d lived in Spain for four-and-a-half years as a youth and later bartended there as an adult. He claims to be a bit nervous with a celebrated food blogger scrutinizing his every step, but he moves with comfortable dexterity through the kitchen. Saffron colors the broth a burnished gold and the pan sizzles with savory and briny aromas evoking the earth and the sea.

It turns out the recipe is something of a family heirloom. During the time Rocky’s family lived in Spain, they often ate at a restaurant called La Puntaza in Mojacar and befriended the chef. One night at the restaurant in 1971, Rocky’s mom got up from table, went to the kitchen and learned how to cook paella from the chef. Take that, Julia Child! To this day, Rocky traditionally prepares the same paella recipe as part of their New Year’s Eve celebration.

Just before the feast of paella is ready, we encounter a slight snag. Hal2001 announces that he doesn’t like peas, just as Rocky is about to toss a handful into the pan.

“No peas, lima beans or sauerkraut,” states Hal2001 decisively. The sauerkraut issue is surprising for a guy who grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country.

“Two out of three are not in this recipe,” says Rocky, but he agrees to a compromise. Only the right half of the pan will contain peas.

We fill our plates at the stove with the steaming and colorful concoction. Adorned with wedges of lemon and roasted pimiento, it is a brilliant and festive serving of Mediterranean splendor. Rocky agrees to share the recipe acquired so long ago on Mojacar. In a nod to modern technology, this time the recipe is passed along via Blackberry, but the venerated tradition remains intact.

ROCKY’S PAELLA RECIPE

1 small frying chicken or chicken pieces
Partially precook with 2 teaspoons parsley, salt, pepper, bay leaf in 6 cups water to make broth. Remove chicken, reserve broth.

Ingredients:

4 cloves garlic, minced
½ lb. swordfish
1¾ cup rice (Uncle Ben’s)
4 oz. tomato sauce
Handful of peas
Small jar roasted pimiento, drained

Chorizo
Shrimp
Clams
Mussels
Olive oil
Saffron

In paella pan: brown the partially precooked chicken and chorizo in olive oil along with the garlic for about 10 minutes.

Add fish, brown 2 minutes maximum.

Add saffron.

Add rice, stir to more or less coat with oil and distribute evenly.

Add tomato sauce to the broth and add to the paella pan to the top. Continue cooking until liquid is almost absorbed, 15 to 20 minutes.

When liquid is almost absorbed, add shrimp and shellfish, pushing them down into the rice, until they open. (Shellfish can be precooked separately to remove bits of sand.)

Decorate with lemon wedges and roasted pimiento strips.

(Serves Six)

Paella, fit for a king and prepared by a culinary monarch. And, if you’re choosy about peas, remember, Rocky’s Paella is completely customizable.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Tapas Dancing as Fast as I Can - Part Two

“Chef, should we start sautéing the minced onions?” asks a lovely but slightly overwhelmed woman, one of twenty students who have signed on for our two-part Spanish tapas immersion.

“You know the rules,” snaps our instructor, Chef Sixto Alonso. “The rules are, I cook, and then you cook.”

Indeed, Chef is preparing a demonstration as part of our program for session two of Tapas Essentials at the French Culinary Institute in New York City. But first, he announces that he has “a surprise” for us. He takes us to a corner of the kitchen where what appears to be a 50-gallon vat is simmering away. He has prepared enough Stewed Tripe with Ham and Chorizo to feed the citizens of Aragon, Valencia and Catalonia. He makes a point of mentioning - in case we didn't know - that tripe is the stomach of the cow, and we will get to try the dish during lunch. The rest will be served at a buffet dinner hosted by the school later in the week.

Some of the students appear less than enthusiastic. The assistant, Chef Justin, points out that if we try it, we might actually like it. The vapors rising off the 50-gallon vat smell, well…earthy.

This week, things are a little more relaxed, more akin to the tapas tradition. Following Chef’s direction, we prepare our mis en place in an orderly way, and put together a recipe of Pan con Tomate, or Tomato-Rubbed Bread so we’ll have something to nibble on in case we get hungry. Chef Sixto and Chef Justin have already prepared Verdeho de Acetunas (Marinated Olives) and Almedras Fritas (Sautéed Almonds) which are carefully arranged in individual cazuelas at the front of the room. We are invited to partake. The olives are spicy with tangy strips of citrus peel, cumin and fennel, and the almonds are warm, toasted and salty.

Chef Sixto and Chef Justin line up parallel demonstrations. Chef Sixto prepares Mejillones en Escabeche Jaleo (Marinated Mussels, Jaleo Style). He steams mussels in wine and then the soft yellow pillows are removed from the shells and marinated in a hot mixture of garlic, onions, sherry vinegar and sweet paprika. He drops a bay leaf in the sauté pan, and tells us “Spanish people put a bay leaf in everything.” Chef Justin is simmering chunks of potatoes and sausage for a rustic Patatas a la Riojana (Rioja-style Potato and Chorizo Stew). Chorizo is the spicy red sausage that is a specialty of Spain and is sometimes eaten raw at tapas bars.

Having received our instructions, we move to our stations. I steam the mussels, but mistakenly use chicken stock instead of wine (I add the wine after the mussels have opened.) The acid in the sherry vinegar completes the cooking of the mussels, and the sweet paprika and citrus zest add a nice kick. Alas, I have forgotten the bay leaf, so I probably won't win any tapas awards.

My teammate prepareds the potato and chorizo stew, which as it simmers, becomes the bronze color of terra cotta. A combination of sweet paprika and hot paprika adds an extra jolt of smoky, savory flavor.

As both recipes simmer, we are given directions on preparing two tapas dishes made with Bacalao or salt cod, a staple in Spain. Chef Sixto claims he has been up since 3:30 a.m. rinsing the salt cod. Esqueixada Salad is eight ounces of flaked cod fish (“It must be shredded by hand,” Chef insists.) dressed with sliced baby red onions, sliced cherry tomatoes, ¼ green pepper, black olives, sherry vinegar and flavorful olive oil. The fresh, briny taste evokes a kitchen garden by the Mediterranean sea.

Atascaburras is a traditional puree of potatoes, flaked cod, garlic and olive oil, of which there are many variations. We fill marinated red peppers with Atascaburras and create a presentation that resembles the peaks of the Pyrenees Mountains.

As we dine on our creations, I remember that I’ve not yet tried Chef’s tripe. Chef Justin has added garbanzo beans to the finished dish. It is fiery and strong, with the leathery flavor and texture of offal. Not unpleasant, but an acquired taste, nonetheless.

Our final assignment is the preparation of Croquetas, made from a mushroom béchamel sauce, flavored with Serrano ham. The sauce is chilled, but it is still tough to roll in flour and bread crumbs. However, when dropped into hot olive oil, the croquetas quickly become crisp and golden.

We clean up our workstations and it is time to receive our diplomas acknowledging 10 hours of intensive training in Tapas Essentials. During the two sessions, we have transformed about 10 simple ingredients into a feast “in the Spanish style.” The olive oil has flowed, and as reminder, I note there is a faint hint of olive oil fingerprints on my diploma cover. Chef Sixto seems genuinely reluctant to see us leave, which suggests that by working side-by-side for two sessions, we have found the spirit of friendship and hospitality that is at the heart of the Spanish tapas tradition.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved

Tapas Dancing as Fast as I Can – Part One

Mon Dieu! Can one learn the essentials of Spanish tapas at the French Culinary Institute? Apparently, the answer is a resounding oui!

I can’t speak a word of Spanish.

It’s been nearly two years since I took a hands-on cooking class at the French Culinary Institute. FCI’s gone through an extensive transformation and now offers instruction in French, Italian and Spanish cuisine in what is collectively referred to as the International Culinary Center. Privately, I wonder if I’ve still got my mojo. It’s been a while since the spit and polish drills of the culinary classroom.

At least I’ve still got my uniform and my traveling kit of chef’s knives. Frankly, the decision to enroll in the course was also one of economics. Times being what they are, it was a lot more affordable to sign up for a two-part cooking clinic on Tapas Essentials in New York City, than invest in a trip to Spain. Consider it a little appetizer for a future culinary excursion.

Although I had hoped for a little grounding in the history and traditions of tapas, the class of twenty-one students in white coats and white caps is immediately hurled into boot-camp mode.

“If I ask you a question, you say Yes, Chef, or No, Chef,” orders Chef Sixto Alonso, a native of Barcelona. “The chef isn’t crazy,” he elaborates. “The chef needs to be heard, and you need to listen. You understand?”

The direction has the desired effect. The students all snap-to, and I quickly find myself back in professional kitchen mode, as we scurry for onions and Red Bliss potatoes to prepare Tortilla Espanola. However, I am still clueless about tapas.

Fortunately for you, dear readers, I have since done my homework. As I suspected, tapas is the name for small appetizers served throughout the various regions of Spain – bar food, to be exact. One story, proposed in the 1997 edition of Joy of Cooking, says the practice began in the sherry region of Andalusia in southern Spain in the 19th century. Small slices of bread were placed atop glasses in local taverns to keep the flies out of drinks. The word tapas derives from the verb tapar, which is translated “to cover.” Along the way, some entrepreneurial bartender started to top the bread with slices of ham. Others speculate that bartenders offered small bites of salty snacks atop drinks to make patrons thirstier. Consumption of tapas has become a cherished ritual in Spain, with different regions developing specialties from local ingredients. You eat tapas slowly and it should always accompany a glass of sherry, wine or beer. You savor tapas at a relaxed pace and take pleasure in life.

During class, we are destined to violate this important cultural prerequisite.

The pace moves quickly, and I pull out a notebook to scribble down Chef’s staccato directions. The kitchen is hot, I’ve missed my morning cup of coffee, my cap it on the tight side, and I’m concerned about the circulation to my brain.

Chef assures us that he will try to follow the recipes in our book. “Sometimes I get too excited and do something else,” he confesses. I team up with an engineer from an Internet company in New Jersey and we start to assemble our mis en place.

We set to work preparing Pan Con Tomate, or Tomato-Rubbed Bread. The dish comes from the region of Catalonia and involves grating ripe plum tomatoes into a puree and adding fruity Spanish olive oil. The tomato dressing has a lush, floral bouquet and is spooned over bread and topped with Serrano ham, Manchego cheese or anchovies.

Aside from the irony of our frenetic attempt to prepare food that epitomizes leisure, it becomes clear that the success of tapas is all about the alchemy of simple rustic ingredients, bold flavors and precision technique. We sample Almendras Fritas, or sautéed almonds. Whole blanched Marcona almonds, sautéed in olive oil until bronzed, are considered essential at tapas bars. We puree tomatoes, cucumber, red pepper, garlic and sherry vinegar with extra virgin olive oil for chilled Gazpacho Andaluz. The gorgeous salmon-colored soup is fresh and audacious with pungent garlic, fragrant olive oil and tart sherry vinegar entangled in an exotic flamenco dance.

Chef demonstrates the preparation of a Tortilla Espanola, or Spanish Potato Omelet, but he is not happy with the initial results and prepares it again. He is looking for a light color and creamy texture. The tortilla is cooked slowly on the stovetop, differing from an Italian frittata which is finished in the oven. Spanish women take great pride in the preparation of the tortilla. Chef talks about how the women in his family once competed to make the best tortilla. “Guess what?” he jokes. “Grandma won.”

Following his example, we combine browned potatoes with sautéed onions and eggs in a sauté pan. The process includes a precarious moment when one must invert the tortilla onto a plate, and slide it back into the pan to continue cooking. Some of our classmates get tripped-up by this step, but we manage the flip with dexterity and the result is respectably puffed and yellow, studded with savory onions and tender potatoes.

Gambas al Ajillo is a simple preparation of garlic shrimp sautéed in a hot pan with olive oil, red pepper flakes and brandy. When the brandy is added, little bonfires erupt over each stove. The shrimp is then simmer briefly with a little shrimp stock and served in a traditional terra cotta dish called a cazuela. I fret that I may have overcooked the shrimp, but the dish is wonderfully spicy and aromatic.

Chef tells us it wouldn’t be a proper course on tapas if we didn’t learn how to make aioli, a sauce of garlic and olive oil. He drops garlic by the fist-full into a bath of olive oil in a roaring Vitamix blender. “This is a big bunch of aioli,” he chuckles. “Don’t go out on a date tonight.”

He combines egg yolks and saffron with the olive oil and garlic mixture in a food processor, which becomes luscious golden-amber peaks. Prized saffron grows in several regions of Spain. We lighten the concoction with whipped cream and spoon it onto briny mussels on the half-shell that are placed under the broiler.

We eat our selection of tapas standing at our work stations, with no sherry, wine or beer in sight. School rules prohibit alcohol during class, but we’ve just committed a big no-no when it comes to tapas etiquette and international gastronomic protocol. A nice glass of ruby-red Rioja alongside those saffron aioli mussels would have really hit the spot. With any luck, I’ll avoid an entanglement with the Spanish Culinary Inquisition long enough to make it to our second session.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved