Saturday, April 10, 2010

POTATOES---FROM THE CANARY ISLANDS TO LA RIOJA


Can you imagine life before potatoes? Unless your origin is, perhaps, Peruvian, there was such a time--hardly 500 years ago--when potatoes didn’t exist. No fries. No jacket potatoes. No mashed. No potatoes. Not in Ireland. Nowhere in Europe. Not in India, nor China. Not in North America.

It wasn’t until some 40 years after Columbus set sail from Spain that potatoes found their way to the Old World and, much later, back to the New World.

The potato is native to the high Andes regions, where the Indians were eating it as early as 3000 BC, although it was unknown through the rest of South and North America. It was “discovered” in Ecuador by one of Francisco Pizarro’s band of explorers, and brought  to Spain in 1534.

The potato was cultivated as a curiosity in monasteries, but, at first, hardly anyone dared eat it’s tuberous root. Related to poisonous nightshade, the potato was believed to be dangerous and, because it’s not mentioned in the Bible, ungodly. Nevertheless, potato eating spread widely in Europe amongst hungry people, who discovered the tuber easy to grow on poor soil. In Spain it soon displaced other starches such as dried chestnuts as sturdy addition to lentil and garbanzo stews.

It wasn’t until the famine of 1770, when Antoine Parmentier in France won a prize for a study showing how the potato could be the solution to famine, that the potato really gained culinary ground. Parmentier launched a heavy-duty public relations campaign promoting the potato.

There’s no record explaining how the potato got to Ireland, although some stories say it arrived there around 1586, possibly from ships of the Spanish Armada wrecked on the Irish coast. Much later it was Irish settlers who carried potatoes to North America. So, from the New World (South America) to the old, Spain, and back to the new.

In Spain potatoes are, after bread, the most favored food-stuff. Patatas fritas, Spanish fries, preferably fried in olive oil, are a standard side with the Spanish meal and, of course, potatoes are the essential ingredient for a Spanish tortilla.

While potato dishes are to be found in every region of Spain, the Canary Islands, the stopping-off point between the New World and continental Spain, are a veritable Garden of Eden of potatoes, with many heritage varieties still grown. .

Read my story about “wrinkly potatoes,” papas arrugadas, from the Canary Islands in this week’s LOS ANGELES TIMES food pages. Cooking in heavily salted water wrinkles the potato skins and leaves them with a light crusting of salt. They are delicious served with baked or grilled fish and Canary Island mojo sauces. (Click HERE for the story and follow the links for recipes.)

Here is a recipe for a potato dish from La Rioja, in northern Spain. A robust Rioja crianza, a red wine with a little time on oak, would go nicely with the potatoes.




Potatoes, La Rioja Style
Patatas a la Riojana


La Rioja cooks say you shouldn’t cut the potatoes with a knife, but rather cut them slightly, then break them into pieces. The rough broken surface releases more potato starch, which is what thickens the cooking liquid.

This dish can be served, instead of soup, as a starter or main dish.

Serves 4.

3 pounds mature baking potatoes, such as russets
¼ cup olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 small green pepper, cut in 1-inch pieces
1 tablespoon pimentón (paprika)
pinch of cayenne
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups water
12 ounces chorizo sausage links, sliced


Peel the potatoes and cut and snap them into chunks of about 1 ½ -inch.

Heat the oil in a cazuela or heavy skillet and sauté the onion until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the potatoes and turn them in the oil for another 5 minutes. Add the green pepper, pimentón, cayenne, bay leaf, salt and water. Bring to a boil, then lower heat so potatoes cook gently for 10 minutes.

Add the chorizo to the potatoes and continue to cook for another 25 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender.

Let the dish rest for 10 minutes before serving. The cooking liquid should be thickened to a sauce consistency.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

TO MARKET, TO MARKET--- BARCELONA'S BOQUERIA

Fresh produce at the Boquería market in Barcelona.

Mountains of strawberries, heaps of artichokes, oceans of escarole, rafts of olives. Shrimp in every size and color. Lobsters waving their feelers. Snails oozing out of string bags. Glistening tuna, stacks of salt cod. Barcelona’s Boqueria market stuns the senses.

As I wandered through the crowded market, which is situated just steps off La Rambla, even my olfactory senses were aroused. Near the meat stalls, the sweet smell of freshly-butchered spring lamb permeated the air. At the stand of mushroom seller Llorenç Petràs, the earthy fragrance of damp forest wafted through the air. Aroma of nectar from the fruit stalls, where fresh juices were being pressed. The sharp smell of vinegar and brine prickled the taste buds at the stalls selling olives (more than a dozen varieties!), pickles and capers.















Aroma of garlic and shrimp sizzling in olive oil drew me to the bar of El Quim de la Boqueria, situated right in the middle of the sprawling market. Here we enjoyed a late breakfast with pink cava (bubbly) and a variety of small plates. Quim Marquez opened the bar in 1987 with only five stools. As his popular market cooking attracted attention of locals and visitors from abroad, he eventually expanded to 18 stools.

Some of the dishes we sampled: chunks of lightly-grilled tuna with a soy and balsamic glaze; tiny fried fish served with a fried egg, to be quickly broken up into the fish; savory shrimp sautéed with garlic, red chili flakes and, according to Quim, a reduction of cava; winey, briny cockles, and, my favorite, crisply-fried sliced artichoke hearts. 


Crisp-fried artichokes with cava at a market bar.

I met another Quim at the market—Quim Marqués, chef/proprietor of the renowned restaurant, Suquet de L’Almirall, on the old port in the Barceloneta district (Passeig Joan de Borbó, 65). The restaurant specializes in seafood and rice dishes.

Today Quim was bagging spindly wild asparagus, baby fava beans and spring morels. I asked him how he was going to prepare them.
Chef Quim Marqués buys favas, asparagus.


“Sautéed with shrimp,” he said. “Anything else added?” I asked. “No, good things like these don’t need anything more.” (See the recipe below.) Quim’s sister has a kitchenwares stall at the back of the Boqueria, where I bought a copy of his cookbook, La Cocina de la Barcelona Marinera (Barcelona’s Seaboard Cuisine), by Quim Marqués.


I marvelled at the exquisite selection of fresh fish and shellfish on sale at the Boqueria—and also at the extravagant prices!

But, according to Susanna Barquín i Castany, a Catalan novelist who used to live near the market (she now works for Prodeca, the Catalan export promotion board, and was one of my Barcelona guides), the Boqueria is really two markets—an up-market where chefs and the well-to-do shop, where shrimp costs more than € 25/ kilo (2.2 pounds), and the people’s market, where working-class folk can find good produce at reasonable cost. She said that fresh fish that doesn’t sell on the first day moves to another stall for sale at a lower price, and, on the following day, prices are slashed yet again.

The downside of being a visitor to the Boqueria is not having a nearby kitchen. (Market-cuisine cooking classes on Thursdays; to reserve: 93 412 1315.) But, as I was returning to southern Spain by air, I bought a few ingredients that I wouldn’t find in my own local markets: morels and chanterelles; mongetes, small dried white beans; bull blanc, a spicy cooked white sausage; tiny Arbequina salt-cured olives.

SAUTÉ OF ASPARAGUS, FAVA BEANS, MORELS, SHRIMP
SALTEADO DE ESPARRAGOS, HABITAS, SETAS Y GAMBAS


This is my adaptation of the dish that Quim Marqués told me he was making one spring day at his restaurant Suquet de L’Almirall. I bought the morels at the same stall he did at the Boqueria and brought them back to southern Spain. I substituted thin cultivated asparagus for the wild. I picked the baby fava beans (also called broad beans) from my garden (more on those in future posts). Regrettably, I used frozen shrimp instead of those glistening-fresh ones I saw in Barcelona. Nevertheless, this was a brilliant dish, quick to prepare, full of seasonal flavor. My own addition—snippets of wild fennel fronds, as much for the aroma of springtime as for flavor.


I took notice that everywhere in Barcelona—for different tapa dishes, in paella rice—shrimp invariably was cooked with the heads left on, the bodies peeled. The roe in the heads contributes enormous flavor. It can be sucked from the shells or mashed into rice or sauce.

Serve this as a starter or light luncheon dish.


Serves 2.

8 large shrimp, bodies peeled,
      heads left intact
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil,
       preferably Arbequina
6 ounces shelled small fava beans
6 ounces chopped green asparagus
2 scallions, chopped
1 ounce morels, cleaned and sliced
salt and freshly ground black pepper
fresh fennel to garnish (optional)

Heat the oil in a skillet and sauté the shrimp in a single layer. Turn them to cook both sides. Remove the shrimp and set aside.

Add the fava beans, asparagus, scallions and morels to the pan. Sauté on a medium heat until favas and asparagus are crisp-tender, about 7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Return the shrimp to the skillet and reheat.

Serve garnished with sprigs of fennel, if desired.





Sauté of shrimp, morels and fava beans.




Friday, April 2, 2010

IF IT'S GOOD FRIDAY, IT MUST BE BACALAO


This is Semana Santa, Holy Week, which precedes the joyous feast of Easter. In Catholic Spain, many people observe the Lenten period by abstaining from meat. In that sense, this holiday is a fast rather than a feast, but it, too, is celebrated with special foods, in particular, bacalao, salt cod. On the streets of cities and villages, Holy Week brings massive religious processions and fervent demonstrations of faith. 

Many years ago I lived several miles from town in an old mill house that had no electricity and no running water. To get my hair washed and dried, I went weekly to the village beauty shop, run by María. This was one of my best sources for recipes because, along with local gossip, the talk amongst the village ladies was invariably of food--what to serve for the next meal. While I waited my turn, I gathered recipes.

On one occasion, a week before Semana Santa, the place was jammed with many women waiting for a perm and color. Holy Week marks one of the three occasions of the year when every woman in town and country must have a new hair-do and color job. (The other two are the village feria and Christmas, which also signal housewives to get busy white-washing their house facades). I sat down, fully prepared to wait at least two hours.

María rushed over to me, proudly displaying a wig. The color was dark chestnut, the color of choice for local women in those days (now, blond and copper are just as common), and the hair was curled in lovely long ringlets. A dozen women crowded around to ooh and ah. What was so special?

De la Virgen de los Dolores,” María said. The wig had been removed from the church’s image of the Virgin of the Sorrows, the life-size statue of the grieving Mother of Christ, with her jeweled tear-drops, which would be borne in the processions on Good Friday, and taken to the local beauty shop for restyling. Obviously no Andalusian woman, holy or otherwise, would dare walk in the procession without having her hair done!

The transubstantiation of dry salt cod
It was in a tapa bar during village processions that I first tasted bacalao, dry salt cod. It was delicious cooked in several ways, in a sauce and also batter-fried.

In the days before refrigeration and rapid means of transportation, fresh fish rarely was available to people who lived far inland from fishing ports. So during the Lenten period, when the Church required abstinence from meat, bacalao became an important part of the diet. Even in my village, so close to the sea, where people ate fresh seafood every day, bacalao was the choice for viernes santo, Good Friday.

I think it must be the mystery of the transubstantiation of bacalao, from a texture like cardboard and a smell like dirty socks, into a soft, snowy-white fish, that makes it appropriate to the season.

Though I enjoy eating bacalao in tapa bars, I rarely cook it at home. Except today. If it’s Good Friday, it’s got to be bacalao.

Because I recently returned from a trip to Barcelona (more about that in future posts), this year I’ve selected a Catalan recipe, bacalao a la llauna. A llauna is a shallow oven pan in which the cod finishes cooking. The cod is often served with tiny white beans, called mongetes, similar to navy beans. I brought some of those back from Barcelona. Once cooked (ok, not being very abstinent, I threw a chunk of pancetta into the pot), I dressed them with Arbequina olive oil from DO Siurana in Catalonia and the sauce from the cod. The garnish is of crisp-fried leeks (slice them crosswise, separate into rings, toss with flour and fry in olive oil).

SALT COD, CATALAN STYLE
BACALAO A LA LLAUNA


Start this recipe at least 24 hours before you intend to serve it. Select thick, center-cut pieces of salt cod, about 6 ounces per person. Trim away any fins and bones, but leave the skin. Rinse in running water and place the pieces of cod in a bowl. Cover with fresh water. Cover and refrigerate. Soak the cod for 24 to 36 hours (longer time for thicker pieces), changing the water 3 or 4 times.

Drain the cod and squeeze out excess water. Pat dry on paper towels.Use a boning knife to cut away any fins and bones.

Serves 4.
 

1 ½ pounds salt cod, cut in
      4 to 8 pieces, soaked for 24 hours
flour for dusting the cod
1/3 cup olive oil, preferably Catalan
     Arbequina
4 cloves garlic, sliced crosswise
2 ½ tablespoons pimentón (paprika)
½ cup white wine
salt and freshly ground black pepper
chopped parsley
cooked beans (optional)
fried leeks (optional)

Preheat oven to 350ºF (180ºC).

Dredge pieces of cod in flour and pat off excess. Heat the oil in a skillet on medium heat. Fry the pieces of cod on all sides until lightly browned. Remove them and set aside.

Strain the oil into a clean skillet (in order to eliminate flour bits). Heat the oil and sauté the sliced garlic until very lightly golden. Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the pimentón. Add the wine, salt and pepper. Return to the heat and simmer 3 minutes.

Lightly oil a shallow oven pan. Place the pieces of cod in it, skin-side down. Spoon the sauce over the top and sprinkle with parsley. Bake until the fish flakes easily, about 10 minutes.

Serve immediately, accompanied, if desired, by cooked beans and fried leeks.



Post tasting notes: I’m supposed to be the expert! But, my rendition of this recipe—tasted after I made the photograph—was not great. The bacalao was way too salty. The thick pieces needed another 24 hours soaking. Plus, I think I would cover the llauna oven pan with foil to keep the moisture in during baking. It really should be moist and flaky and mine wasn’t. But, maybe I need to cook bacalao more than once a year!