MOJAMA—HAM OF THE SEA

My friends sure know what pleases me—gourmet gifts. I’ve recently enjoyed a prize-winning goat cheese from El Bosque (Cádiz province), packets of the best acorn-finished ibérico ham from Jábugo (Huelva province), morcilla sausage from Burgos (northern Spain) and mojama, superb dried tuna from Barbate, on the Atlantic coast of Cádiz (southern Spain). (Thanks, Julianne, Nancy, Charlotte.)

Mojama is air-dried tuna. Serve it with extra virgin olive oil, coarsely ground black pepper and grated lemon zest.

Mojama, sometimes called the “ham of the sea,” is an unusual product, not so widely known, although it has been produced on the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts for millennia. The Phoenicians, who founded the city of Gadir—Cádiz—around the year 1100 BC, exploited the copper and silver mines of western Andalusia and took over trading routes from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. Salted fish, made from abundant  tuna that migrated through the Straits of Gibraltar,  was a product that could be kept on long sea voyages and traded at far-away markets.

Mojama is made from thick slabs of tuna—bluefin, albacore, yellowfin—that are packed in sea salt for a day or two, then washed and hung to air-dry. The process, indeed, is similar to that for producing serrano and ibérico hams. The salting draws the moisture out of the flesh. As it dries, the flesh becomes firm, compacted. The flavor intensifies.

Lovely gift--12-ounce package of mojama from Barbate.

The best quality mojama is cut from the lomo, side of the tuna, closest to the center spine. It is veined with fat which keeps the flesh fairly soft and pliable.  Outside cuts taken from near the skin don’t have this streaking and become stiffer in the drying process. I have had mojama that was like cardboard or tough jerky. 

The taste of mojama? Salty, like good ham, not like anchovies. It has marine overtones, a subtle iodine, but is not “fishy.” It’s a rich, umami taste. Because it’s a concentrated flavor, a little mojama goes a long way.

Slice mojama thinly--about the width of a knife blade (1/16th inch). Marinate in extra virgin olive oil for 30 minutes before serving.

Good quality mojama is thinly sliced, moistened with extra virgin olive oil and served with bread. It can also be cut in dice or, if very firm, grated, and used as a flavor garnish. Unlike another dried fish, bacalao, salt cod, mojama is not soaked before using. It is never cooked.

In addition to the simple, classic presentation, I’ve discovered that mojama can be used in dishes in place of anchovies or canned tuna. Here are some suggestions. Fino Sherry or manzanilla is the best wine with mojama, in my opinion.

Breakfast or apéritif?  Here sliced mojama tops toasted bread spread with grated tomato and drizzled with extra virgin olive oil.

Mojama with Andalusian tapas--bottom, salad with oranges, onions and olives; left, salmorejo, a thick gazpacho cream; top, stuffed eggs.

Stuffed eggs with mojama.

To make the stuffed eggs: Hard-cook eggs. Separate the yolks and mash them with a spoonful of Dijon mustard, lemon juice, chopped red pepper, chopped mojama and a little mayonnaise to make a smooth mixture. Fill the whites and top them with strips of mojama.

This Málaga salad is usually made with salt cod. Layer sliced oranges, onions and sliced mojama on a serving plate. Dress with extra virgin olive oil, red pepper flakes and black olives.

Pasta with mojama, garlic, chile and sun-dried tomatoes.

Pasta with Mojama and Sun-Dried Tomatoes

Mojama tuna replaces anchovies in this version of  pasta alla puttanesca.

 Serves 2 or 3.

1 ounce sun-dried tomatoes, slivered (¼ cup)
Hot water
8 ounces linguine, spaghetti or fettuccine
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, sliced crosswise
Hot pepper flakes or sliced chile
1 heaping tablespoon capers
2 ounces thinly sliced mojama, cut into pieces
¼ cup chopped parsley
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Lemon zest

Place slivered tomatoes in a small bowl and cover with hot water. Let stand 10 minutes. Drain.

Cook pasta in boiling salted water until al dente.

Heat oil in a skillet. Add sliced garlic to cold oil. When garlic begins to color, add pepper flakes and sun-dried tomatoes. Cook 4 minutes. Add the capers.

Drain the pasta, reserving ¼ cup of the cooking liquid. Swirl the liquid into the skillet. Add the cut-up mojama and the parsley. Add the drained pasta to the skillet and toss with the oil. Season with salt and pepper. (Salt may not be needed.) Serve the pasta into heated bowls and grate a little lemon zest over each serving.

TWO WAYS WITH TUNA

Summertime is tuna time. Both the Atlantic bluefin tuna, atún rojo, (Thunnus thynnus) and the albacore tuna, called in Spanish bonito del norte or atún blanco, (Thunnus alalunga) are fished off Spanish coasts. The bluefin are captured as they head for the Mediterranean (see more about the almadraba tuna fishing here ) while the albacore are caught on the northern Cantabrian coast and Bay of Biscay.

A great price for bonito del norte--albacore tuna.

It was albacore, or bonito del norte, that I found at a local market at a really good price for either the whole fish (big, but not as big as bluefin) or a thick steak.  I’ve been buying canned bonito del norte instead of tuna for a long time, as the albacore, with catch quotas in place, is less threatened than the bluefin. But I had never cooked it fresh before.

Albacore is "white tuna."

Albacore, which can legally be called “white tuna,” really is much lighter-fleshed than the deep red tuna. Less fatty, it can be dry if overcooked. I tried it two ways—quickly grilled on a plancha and cooked in a traditional Basque stew.

Bluefin tuna has red flesh.

Grilled Albacore Tuna with Garlic-Crumb Topping
Bonito del Norte a la Plancha con Migas

Grilled tuna has a crispy topping of garlicky breadcrumbs.

 The bonito steaks can be grilled on a plancha, over coals (a la parilla) or baked in the oven. If baking the fish, mix the crumb topping ingredients and spread them on top of the fish without first sautéing them.

4 (6-ounce) albacore steaks, about 1-inch thick
Salt and pepper
5 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, chopped
Thyme
1 small red chile, minced
½ teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1/3 cup chopped parsley
Coarse salt

Sprinkle the fish steaks with salt and pepper and allow to stand at room temperature for 30 minutes. Brush them with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil.

Heat 3 tablespoons oil in a small skillet. Add the garlic, thyme and chile. Sauté until the garlic begins to turn golden. Add the lemon zest and bread crumbs. Toss the crumbs in the oil until they are golden and crisped. Remove from heat and stir in the parsley.

Ridged grill pan marks the steaks.

Heat a ridged grill pan on high heat. Brush the grill with remaining oil and sprinkle it with coarse salt. Place the bonito steaks on the grill. Cook 2 minutes and turn the steaks a quarter turn (in order to get cross-hatch grill marks). Grill 2 minutes longer. Flip the steaks and cook the reverse side in the same manner.

Remove to a platter and spread the garlic-crumbs on top of the steaks.

Basque Albacore Tuna and Potato Stew
Marmitako  

Chunks of white tuna simmer in a flavorful sauce with potatoes.

Marmitako—from the word marmite, a cooking pot—was traditionally made aboard Basque fishing trawlers. Originally, it was a stew of bonito boiled with bread and a chunk of salt pork. Once it became part of home cooking, potatoes, peppers and olive oil became standard ingredients.

This recipe is  based on one in Cocina Vasca en Bizkaia, by Jesús Llona Larrauri, Garbiñe Badiola and the Escuela Superior Hostelería Artxanda. It substitutes roasted red bell pepper for the usual pimiento choricero, a dry red pepper that has to be soaked and scraped.  Typically, the potatoes are not cut with a knife, but broken into uneven pieces. Insert knife tip into the potato, twist it to break off a chunk. The broken surfaces release starch that helps to thicken the stew.

A frugal home cook would use the bones and trimmings of the bonito to make a simple fish stock. (Cook the trimmings in 4 cups of water with salt and a slice of onion.) Use any fish stock or, simply, water.

Marmitako--a Basque dish of white tuna, potatoes and peppers.

1 ½ pounds bonito
Salt and pepper
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 ounce chopped bacon (optional)
1 cup chopped green pepper
1 cup chopped onion
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 cup peeled and chopped tomatoes
¼ cup white wine
1 bay leaf
2 pounds potatoes, cut up
1 roasted and peeled red bell pepper, pureed
Pinch of hot pimentón (optional)
2 ½- 3 cups fish stock or water
Chopped parsley to serve

Remove all skin and bones from the bonito. Cut the fish into 1 ½-inch chunks. Sprinkle them with salt and pepper and set aside, refrigerated.

Heat the oil in a lidded cazuela or skillet with the bacon, if using. Add the green pepper, onion and garlic and sauté gently 5 minutes. Turn up the heat and add the tomatoes. Fry them until they begin to thicken and stick on the pan bottom. Add the wine and let it cook off.

Add the potatoes, 1 teaspoon salt and the bay leaf. Put the pepper pulp and hot pimentón, if using, on top of the potatoes and pour over enough stock or water to nearly cover the potatoes.  Bring to a boil, cover and turn down the heat so the liquid just simmers. Cook until potatoes are tender, about 30 minutes.

Add the chunks of bonito. Cook until fish is just cooked, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and allow the stew to set for 10 minutes. Serve sprinkled with chopped parsley.

THE ALMADRABA TUNA SEASON BEGINS

I’ve just come back from a trip to the Atlantic coast, beyond the Straits of Gibraltar, to the coastal towns of Tarifa, Zahara de los Atunes, Barbate, Conil de la Frontera and, inland, Vejer de la Frontera, where the almadraba, or tuna fishing season, has just begun. 

The almadraba in Spain is a very ancient way of fishing tuna. The Phoenicians, who colonized southern Spain more than 3000 years ago, devised a system of capturing the tuna as they migrated from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean.

Roman ruins at Baelo Claudio, an early fish processing factory.

The Romans, too, fished their way along this coast. Situated right on the wind-swept beach of Bolonia, near Tarifa in the Straits of Gibraltar—the southernmost tip of Europe—are the ruins of Baelo Claudio, a fairly substantial town that thrived from the 2nd century BC until 2nd century AD.

Temples, market, forum, amphitheater make up excavated ruins. Beside the sea, are pits where tuna and fish entrails were brined, fermented and seasoned, producing garum, the salsa of the ancients. Packed in amphorae, this gourmet product was shipped back to Rome.

The almadraba nets, forming long chambers like an interconnected series of corrals, are anchored to the bottom fairly close to the coast. Tuna swimming through on their spring migration to spawn in the Mediterranean are trapped in the nets. Once the huge fish are trapped in the final chamber, fishermen in boats pull the net into a tightening circle. The men raise the net, gaffe the tuna and haul them on board.

The nets allow smaller fish to escape. None weighing under 70 kilos (154 pounds) are captured, with most of the catch weighing in between 180 and 200 kilos (400-440 pounds). The average age of the fish is 14 years, meaning they have completed several reproductive cycles. (I got this up-to-date information from a new magazine called Oro Rojo, La revista del Atún.)

Since 2007, the almadraba catch is controlled and subject to strict quotas imposed by ICCAT (International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas). Due to indiscriminate overfishing, the Atlantic bluefin tuna (in Spanish known as atún rojo or “red tuna”) is in danger of extinction. Yet the local fishing industry claims that almadraba fishing is sustainable and feels it is being unfairly restricted for the sins committed by rapacious high-tech “factory” fishing fleets. It is estimated that only 0.01 percent of the tuna that migrate through the Straits are captured in the coastal almadraba.

As much as 80 percent of the almadraba catch is bought up by Japanese entrepreneurs and shipped, frozen, to Tokyo. What’s left goes to local markets, restaurants, tapa bars and canneries.

Different cuts of tuna at Barbate market.

In the mercado de abastos, town market, of Barbate, the home port of the almadraba boats, I found several vendors specializing in fresh tuna, showing all the many cuts as well as hearts, parts and pouches of tuna roe (eggs). Ventresca, the fatty tuna belly, looked gorgeous.

Tuna belly with thick rim of fat.

Loin and other cuts of fresh tuna.

At a nearby shop displaying dozens of tuna products in cans and jars, I bought a jar of tuna preserved in Ibérico pork lard. Something new and unusual to try. Maybe heaped on hot toast? Ventresca canned in olive oil will make a marvelous niçoise salad. Mojama, salted, air-dried tuna, thinly sliced and dressed with olive oil, will make a lovely aperitif with dry Sherry.

Carpaccio of fresh tuna (thinly sliced raw tuna).

While on a tapas crawl in the nearby town of Vejer, I sampled both traditional and vanguardista dishes with tuna. Very enjoyable was the carpaccio of fresh tuna at Casa Varo http://www.casavaro.com/index.html   Fresh tuna is flash-frozen (the method is Japanese), so there’s no risk of ingesting parasites in raw fish.

Grilled tuna in a summer salad.

Tuna with capers.

Back in my own kitchen, I am grilling a thick slab of tuna “loin.” The leftovers make fabulous summer salads.

There are tuna tasting festivals in Conil, Zahara de los Atunes and Barbate from now until June 9.

SOMETHING'S FISHY

Bonito, a great fish.

I think I’ve finally got all my ducks in a row. Or, fish, actually.

Last month when I was in Sevilla for a few days, I encountered tapas of a fish called melva. I found melva in the fish market there too, but I’ve never seen it in my local market. Melva somewhat resembles bonito, a fresh fish that I buy frequently. But, is that the same as bonito del norte, the canned fish that I buy regularly for “tuna salad”?

I pulled out my fishy reference books—Alan Davidson’s The Tio Pepe Guide to the Seafood of Spain and Portugal (Santana Books); Seafood, A Connoisseur’s Guide and Cookbook, by Alan Davidson with sensational watercolors of fish by Charlotte Knox (Mitchell Beazley), and Manual del Pescado by José Carlos Capel (R&B Ediciones).  The Alan Davidson books are really helpful because they give fish names in several languages, including regional variations in nomenclature.

I also consulted http://www.fishbase.org, an amazing on-line data-base of fish worldwide and their names—and variations—in many languages. (That was where I found out that “rosada,” a widely marketed fish in Spain, is the “pink cusk-eel” and comes from the south Atlantic. When a market fish vendor tries to tell me it’s “fresh,” I know better, as it is always frozen, then thawed.)

Here’s the ducky list.

Melva is Auxis rochei, the frigate mackerel (although not actually a mackerel). According to Davidson, it is abundant in the Bay of Cádiz—which explains why it’s so ubiquitous in Sevilla.

Bonito is Sarda sarda (note—not tuna), known in English as bonito or Atlantic bonito. In Japan, bonito is an important ingredient in the cuisine. In Spain, this is an excellent blue fish, very meaty, fairly economical.

Bonito del norte is Thunnus alalunga, albacore tuna or long-finned tuna. In Spain, it’s known as atún blanco, white tuna (to differentiate it from “red tuna,” blue-finned tuna). In summer, albacore is fished off the northern Cantabrian coast. Much of it goes to the canning industry, but, fresh, it is used in the wonderful Basque dish, marmitako, tuna with potatoes.

As I’ve said before: Love the fish you’re with! I’ve got me a pretty bonito (no, I did not find out why bonito—which means “pretty”—is called bonito). Note the dark longitudinal stripes.

While flipping through the pages of Capel’s fish manual, I came across a fine recipe for bonito, calling for olives. As you may remember from last week, I’m on an olive roll, so this suited me just fine.

Bonito and its “blue” relatives, such as mackerel, sardines and tuna, are often prepared in escabeche, a vinegar marinade for cooked fish. This recipe is reversed—more like an adobo, as it is marinated—but only briefly—before cooking. The marinade is reduced to make the sauce.

(This recipe is adapted from one published in Manual del Pescado, by José Carlos Capel and attributed to La Cocina Andaluza by Miguel Salcedo Hierro).

Fillets of bonito with olive sauce.

Bonito Fresco con Aceitunas
Marinated Bonito with Olives

Serves 4 as a starter or 2 as a main dish.

1 whole bonito, about 2 pounds
½ teaspoon salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
½ cup white wine
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 cloves garlic, slivered
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
Sprigs of thyme
Fennel flowers (optional)
½ cup water
1 cup pitted Manzanilla olives, sliced
Flour, for dredging
Olive oil, for frying

Cut off and discard head and guts. Cut the flesh into four fillets, leaving the skin on. (Besides the center spine, the bonito has a row of bones running down the middle of each half.)

Fish fillets in marinade.

 Place the fillets in a single layer in a non-reactive bowl (glass or earthenware). Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add the oil, wine, vinegar, garlic, bay leaf, parsley, thyme and fennel, if using. Cover and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours.

Remove the fillets from the marinade. Place the marinade in a small saucepan with the water. Bring to a boil, then simmer until reduced by half, about 10 minutes. Strain the liquid and discard the garlic and herbs. Return the liquid to the pan and add the olives. Simmer gently.

Dredge the bonito fillets in flour and fry in hot oil until golden on both sides. Serve hot or cold with the olive sauce.

Crispy on the outside, moist fish on the inside. Olives are a piquant sauce.

FINS IN TINS

Canned seafood makes for easy meals.

It may be September, but in southern Spain this is still full summer. I want quick and easy meals, minimal cooking. So I’m taking my own advice (see a previous blog posting, Too Hot to Cook), and using canned seafood as the starting point for easy meals. With such a great variety, I’ve got lots of options.

There’s way more than canned tuna. Here’s what I’ve got in my pantry: bonito (white tuna or albacore), melva (frigate mackerel), caballa (mackerel), sardines and sardinillas (small sardines), anchovies, mussels, clams, cockles, scallops, octopus, squid.

Spain has long been a market leader in fish conserves.  Way back in Roman days, Spanish garum, a powerfully smelling, fermented fish paste flavored with herbs and packed in brine, was much appreciated in Rome.  Today tuna--albacore, skipjack and yellowfin-- represent more than 55 percent of Spain's canned fish production.  Sardines are second, followed by mussels, mackerel and anchovies.

Mackerel fillets in escabeche.

Tuna and bonito come packed in vegetable oil or olive oil; in escabeche, a vinegared marinade; with lemon; al natural, in brine without added oil, and in ensalada, which includes bits of pickles, carrots and onions.  Fish of similar family are melva, frigate mackerel (one brand markets it as melva de almadraba, captured in anchored nets), and caballa, mackerel.

Escabeche fish, with a piquant blend of oil, vinegar and pimentón (paprika) makes a ready-made dressing.  All that's needed is a good squeeze of lemon.

Canned fish in escabeche--readymade dressing.

Canned tuna, bonito, melva and mackeral can be used more or less interchangeably. All make fine salads and sandwich fillings. Best quality brands are those packed in extra virgin olive oil. But, if I’m making an ordinary tuna-salad-sandwich for the kids, I use cheaper brands, drain off the vegetable oil and stir in some olive oil. For something a little different in tuna sandwich, I like the capote served in tapa bars—tuna with mayonnaise and capers topped with strips of roasted red and green peppers on mini buns.

Canned sardines, whose bones are soft enough to chew, are an exceptionally rich source of calcium. The finest sardines are those packed in olive oil, but they also come in tomato sauce, in escabeche and picante, seasoned with chile.  Sardines make a great topping for pizza. I make a sardine “pâté” to spread on toasts. Combine drained sardines, chopped onion, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, dry Sherry, extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper in a mini food processor. Serve on toasts garnished with sliced hard-boiled eggs and thinly sliced peeled cucumber.

I think of anchovies (in a tin, they’re called anchoas; they’re boquerones if they're fresh ones) as a sort of spice.  A dash of them adds pizazz to many different foods.  Chop some into boiled potatoes or mash with cream cheese to make a topping for baked potatoes.  Stir into butter with lemon and capers and pour over veal cutlets.

Squid in ink sauce, great for pasta.

Squid (calamares, pota or chipirones), cuttlefish (jibia, chopitos) and octopus (pulpo) all make fine additions to pasta sauces and, in a pinch, can be substituted for fresh squid in paella or seafood stews. Tinned ones are very tender. Today I’m using squid canned in ink sauce to make a topping for linguine. The meal is ready in less than 30 minutes! (See the recipe below.)

Linguine with squid in ink sauce, quick and easy.

Canned mussels (mejillones) in escabeche are so good that I pack them to take as gifts to friends in the US. (My mother was crazy for them.) They can be enjoyed straight from the can or turned into more complex presentations.  They’re great in a salad of wilted greens with fried croutons, crispy garlic and chopped egg.

Clams (almejas), cockles (berberechos), razor-shells (navajas), wedge-shells (machas), sea-urchins (erizos) and crab (cangrejo) are other shellfish in cans to be found in Spanish shops.

Imported Spanish canned tuna, sardines and shellfish can be found in many big supermarkets in the US or from La Tienda, The Spanish Table, or De España.


Linguine With Squid Sauce

Serves 3 or 4.

4 (80-gram) cans squid in ink (en su tinta)
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 slices bacon, chopped
½  onion, chopped                                       
2   cloves garlic, chopped
1   red or green bell pepper, chopped
Pinch of fennel seeds
1/3 cup white wine
Red pepper flakes
½ pound linguine or spaghetti
Chopped parsley to garnish.

Heat the oil in a pan and sauté the bacon, onion, garlic and bell pepper for 5 minutes. Add the fennel seeds, wine and red pepper flakes and simmer the sauce for 5 minutes.  Add the contents of the cans, cutting up the pieces if necessary, and simmer another 3 minutes. Add a little water if sauce is too thick.

 Meanwhile, cook the linguine or spaghetti in ample boiling, salted water.  Drain the pasta. Serve it topped with a spoonful of the squid sauce and a sprinkling of chopped parsley.

TUNA--A GUILTY DINNER

Fresh tuna--beautiful, but---

Every time I see the glistening slab of fresh tuna at the fish market, I promise myself that this is the last time. I will not buy/eat tuna—a critically endangered fish—ever again. Once again, though, I succumbed. In spite of the guilt, oh my god, but it was delicious. That’s why it’s so hard to quit.

Barry Estabrook, who blogs at  http://politicsoftheplate.com, said “There is a strong likelihood that someone in this generation will be the last human to eat a bluefin tuna.” The species, he writes, hovers on the brink of extinction.

And yet. The towns of Barbate and Conil, tuna fishing towns on the Atlantic coast of Cádiz province (Andalusia), have just celebrated their big feria de la almadraba, with bars and restaurants serving up meals and tapas featuring atún rojo—“red” tuna, bluefin tuna.

The almadraba in Spain is a very ancient way of fishing tuna. The Phoenicians, who colonized southern Spain more than 3000 years ago, devised a system of capturing the tuna as they migrated from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. The almadraba nets, forming long chambers, like a series of corrals, are anchored to the bottom. Tuna swimming through on their migration to spawn in the Mediterranean are trapped in the nets. Fishermen in boats pull the nets into a tightening circle, until the huge fish are trapped in the middle. The men gaff them and haul them on board. It is an amazing sight.

The almadraba catch is controlled and subject to strict quotas. The nets allow smaller fish to escape. All this sounds pretty good. But, here’s the problem—very little of the almadraba catch finds its way to the restaurants in Barbate, nor to the market where I shop. The Japanese buy it all. They pay huge amounts of money, freeze the catch, ship it back to Tokyo. Very expensive sushi in the making.

If you want the truth, I’m not sure what I’m buying. It may be yellowfin tuna that comes from northern Spain (and keeps the tuna canneries operational). Or it may be tuna fished much further afield, in unregulated waters by industrial fishing vessels (such as in the Indian Ocean, where a Spanish trawler was taken by Somali pirates a few years ago).

Perhaps you don’t know what you’re buying either. After consciousness raising and conscience pricking, I am looking more closely. Perhaps the next time, I will give the tuna a pass.

Atlantic bluefin tuna—Thunnus thynnus—is known as atún rojo, red tuna, in Spanish. Important to the canning industry is bonito del norte, Thunnus alalunga, which is white tuna or albacore—not to be confused with Thunnus albacares or albacora, yellowfin tuna, also sometimes called albacore (rabil in Spanish).

In southern Spain, where tuna is part of traditional cooking, it is usually cooked in a slow braise with onions and tomatoes slowly reduced. While it’s delicious that way, I wouldn’t dream of long-cooking tuna. I love it, if not raw, then quickly grilled and served medium rare—pink in the middle.

Sliced tuna with sauteed cherry tomatoes.

Here I used a thick slice of tuna, browning it on both sides in extra virgin olive oil. I added sliced onions, garlic, and cherry tomatoes cut in half. Some oregano. I let the tomatoes reduce while the tuna cooked to that perfect point. After the tuna rested for 5 minutes, I sliced it across the grain and served it with the gooey tomato-onion mix and a sauce of olive purée (that recipe is here; another tuna recipe, with onion confit, is here).

Cold tuna in salad with capers.

I used sliced leftover tuna to make a sort of salade niçoise, with tomatoes, potatoes, beans and capers.

I so hope that I am not the last person of my generation to eat tuna. I would hope to enjoy it again. Meanwhile, I’ll be trying some new recipes with sardines and mackerel, two fish not threatened with extinction.

STUFFED EGGS FOR A SUMMER POTLUCK

Eggs stuffed with tuna.

Invitations went out on Facebook a couple months ago for a big summertime get-together of expat families and their kids who grew up together in this Spanish village. Now, our kids have kids. Some still live in the village, but others are far-flung. The visit of one family from Chicago was the reason for the party. It was a terrific reunion of cousins, school friends, former teachers, parents, grandparents, neighbors.

Stuffed piquillo peppers and more.

The hosts had some of the food catered by Bar Niño, a nearby tapas bar—stuffed piquillo peppers, potato tortillas, salpicón de mariscos  (chopped seafood salad), fried green peppers, potato salad.

Josh prepared his trademark smoked turkey. A Uruguayan friend, Eduardo, brought barbecued ribs, chicken wings, beef and sausage with knockout chimichurri sauce. Someone else brought wood-fired pizzas. Sharon, the clan’s matriarch, baked three different cakes.

Josh carves smoked turkey.

My contribution? Every potluck needs a platter of stuffed eggs. I made a Spanish version in which tuna replaces some of the yolks in the stuffing and capers give it punch. This recipe can also be prepared using chopped shrimp instead of the tuna. (My recipe for stuffed eggs was chosen by the editors of Food & Wine as one of the Best of the Best, in their 2003 edition.)

Cousins Luke, Karina and Jordi, all wearing the colors of Spain's world cup football champions, helped serve food and drinks. 

Karina with eggs.

Huevos Rellenos
Stuffed Eggs

You will not need all of the yolks for this recipe. A few can be grated over the tops of the stuffed eggs. Save the remaining for another use.

Makes 24.

12 hard-boiled eggs
1 4-ounce can tuna in olive oil or 

     4 ounces cooked, peeled and 

     chopped shrimp
¼ cup drained capers  

    or chopped pimiento-stuffed olives
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
1 tablespoon chopped flat-leaf parsley
4 tablespoons lemon juice
Salt and pepper
½ teaspoon pimentón 

     picante (hot paprika or cayenne)
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1 tablespoon olive oil
Strips of roasted red pimiento

Peel the eggs and cut them in half lengthwise. Remove the yolks. Place six yolks in a bowl. Reserve the rest for another use.

Add the tuna and its oil to the bowl with the yolks and mash them together. (If using shrimp, add it after the yolks are mashed along with 1 tablespoon of olive oil.) Add capers, onion, parsley, 3 tablespoons of the lemon juice, salt and pepper and pimentón and combine well. Spoon this mixture into the egg whites, smoothing the tops.

In a small bowl, stir the mayonnaise with the olive oil and remaining 1 tablespoon of lemon juice until it reaches spreading consistency. If necessary, thin with a little water. Top each egg with a dollop of mayonnaise. If desired, grate some of the reserved yolks over the stuffed eggs. Lay a strip of red pimiento on top of each. Serve immediately or cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until serving time.

Off to a potluck!

ONIONS TO CRY FOR

Onion harvest.

When my kids were growing up, come dinnertime, all I had to do was heat a little olive oil in a pan and add a chopped onion, gently frying it a few minutes, and the kids would materialize from the depths of homework or TV asking, "Smells great, what's for supper?"  At which point, I could serve liver, fish brains, spinach or vetch and get away with it.  Nothing, I think, tantalizes the taste buds like the smell of onions cooking.

How could we cook in any language without that pungent member of the lily family, the onion?  Certainly, Spanish cuisine would be bereft without it, for its flavor is essential to many dishes. Onions are the basis for sofrito, a gently fried mixture that is the starting point for many traditional dishes.

Onions before harvest.

I am gloating over my new onion harvest—a basketful of big, golden onions that will last me several months. Stored in a cool, dry place, protected from light, they will keep until, in their natural cycle, they begin to sprout. Usually I have used them all up by then, but any that are sprouting can be replanted for an early crop of spring onions. 

The newly-harvested onions are nearly tear-free. Only when the sulphur compounds become more concentrated after storage does the job of chopping onions turn into a sob story.  Parboiling onions for about 4 minutes before chopping will reduce the tear factor, as will chopping under running water.  But, a good cry from time to time may well be one of the onion's endearing characteristics.

Chopped onions for sofrito.

I love to put sliced raw onions on toasted bread that has been drizzled with olive oil and topped with Manchego cheese. These fresh onions are remarkably sweet, without the bite.

If you want raw onions without the bite, soak them in milk or salt water for an hour; drain and rinse before incorporating in a garnish or salad.  Gentle cooking radically subdues the pungent, sulphurous quality of raw onions and causes their natural sugars to caramelize, adding a lovely colour and a slightly sweet taste.  Be careful not to scorch them or they will turn bitter.

Use onion skins, slowly browned, simmered and strained, to add depth of colour to stocks and sauces.  To make peeling onions easier, submerge briefly in boiling water or char over a gas flame or under the broiler.

Raw herbs and greens, especially parsley, are said to diminish the onion's lingering on one's breath; salt and lemon help to eradicate it from hands and pans.

While onions generally make up the supporting cast, in this recipe they have a starring role.

Grilled tuna with onion confit.

Atún con Cebollas Confitadas
Grilled Tuna with Onion Confit

Both in Andalusia and in the Basque Country, atún encebollado is a favorite dish. It consists of tuna braised with lots and lots of onions. This is a modernized version. The tuna is flash-cooked on a grill-pan and served with a deeply flavorful onion sauce. You should get to know Don Pedro Ximénez, aka PX. The sweet wines made from this grape varietal add alluring caramel and figgy flavours to sauces. If you can´t find PX wine, use a medium Málaga Muscatel or oloroso Sherry.

Cut the grilled tuna into squares to serve as a tapa or slice it for a dinner portion.

Makes 10 tapas or 2 main dishes.

2 large yellow onions
3 tablespoons olive oil plus additional for the grill
1 clove garlic, chopped
Grated orange zest
½ cup PX wine
1 tablespoon Sherry vinegar
10 ounce tuna steak, 1 inch thick
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon orange juice

Cut the onions in half, then slice them thinly crosswise. Heat the oil in a frying pan and add the onions and garlic. Cook very slowly, stirring frequently, until onions are dark brown, 40 minutes. Do not let them scorch.

Add the orange zest, PX wine and vinegar. Simmer another 10 minutes, until the sauce is syrupy. Reserve.

While onions are cooking, season the tuna with salt and pepper and sprinkle with orange juice. Allow to stand at room temperature 30 minutes.

Heat a ridged grill pan and brush with oil. Grill the tuna steak 1 to 2 minutes per side, or until browned on the surface but still pink on the inside. Remove and let rest 5 minutes.

Use a sharp knife to remove and discard skin and dark section of tuna meat. For tapas, cut into 10 squares, approximately 1 ½ inch. Stick each piece on a pick and spoon over the onion confit. Serve warm or room temperature.

TAPAS LUNCH

When I got a call from a culinary friend, inviting me to a tapas lunch, I dumped what I was doing (picking olives), changed my olive-stained pants and drove down the hill to the coast town.

The friend is Lars Kronmark, a chef-instructor at the Culinary Institute of America, Greystone, in St. Helena, Calif. I met him when I was a seminar presenter and workshop moderator at the CIA’s Worlds of Flavor conferences in 2002 and 2006 (read an interview with me). Lars was my section chef on my first trip to Greystone. He calmed my stage fright at finding myself for the first time in a professional kitchen and made sure all my Spanish recipes were prepared to perfection. In chatting, we discovered that his mother lives not far from where I live on the sunny Costa del Sol. He visits her on vacations and sometimes calls me when he’s in town.

Lars and his mother were lunching at El Tostón, a tapas and wine bar right in the center of seaside Fuengirola. What Fuengirola lacks in charm it makes up with chutzpah. The town has lively street markets on Tuesdays (an “everything” market—food to underwear to children’s toys to household stuff) and Saturdays (rastro flea market with crafts, antiques and junk) that attract tourists and locals alike. Fuengirola also is a great beach town, with chiringuitos, beach shacks, where you can eat espetones, fresh sardines grilled on the beach.

The tapas lunch started with carabineros, enormous, bright red shrimp cooked on the plancha grill. You peel them yourself, suck the delicious juices from the heads, eat the sweet flesh and finish with finger bowls for clean-up. Next came chunks of tuna, cooked rare and accompanied by two sauces, encebollado, onion confit, and a slash of red romesco looking rather lurid, but tasting of garlic, sweet peppers and a hint of vinegar.

Most delicious of all was shoulder of baby goat, a Málaga specialty, cooked sous vide, so that it was meltingly tender and juicy. Is it time for me to try sous vide in my home kitchen? With grilled baby vegetables, this was an outstanding dish.

Bodega el Tostón has a list of more than 500 wines. It started out specializing in Ibérico ham and Manchego cheese, but has expanded the tapas list over the years. Other great dishes to try are morcilla, blood sausage, from Ronda; fried eggplant with honey and any of the versions of bacalao, salt cod.

Now, it’s back to picking olives—

This recipe for grilled tuna and onion confit comes from my book, TAPAS—A BITE OF SPAIN.

Atún Encebollado
Grilled Tuna with Onion Confit

Both in Andalusia and in the Basque Country, atún encebollado is a favorite tapa. It consists of tuna braised with lots and lots of onions. This is a modernized version. The tuna is flash-cooked on a grill pan and served with a deeply flavorful onion sauce. Pedro Ximénez, aka PX, is a grape varietal producing wines with alluring caramel and figgy flavors. If you can´t find PX wine, use a medium Málaga Muscatel or oloroso Sherry.

Makes 10 tapas or 2 main dishes.

2 onions
3 tablespoons olive oil plus additional for the grill
1 clove garlic, chopped
Grated orange zest
2/3 cup PX wine
1 tablespoon Sherry vinegar
12 oz tuna steak, 1 inch thick
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon orange juice

Cut the onions in half, then slice them thinly crosswise. Heat the oil in a skillet and add the onions and garlic. Cook very slowly, stirring frequently, until onions are dark brown, 40 minutes. Do not let them scorch.

Add the orange zest, PX wine and vinegar. Simmer another 10 minutes, until the sauce is syrupy. Reserve.

While onions are cooking, season the tuna with salt and pepper and sprinkle with orange juice. Allow to stand at room temperature 30 minutes.

Heat a ridged grill pan and brush with oil. Grill the tuna steak 1 to 2 minutes per side, or until browned on the surface but still pink on the inside. Remove and let rest 5 minutes.

Use a sharp knife to remove and discard skin and dark section of tuna meat. Cut into 10 squares, approximately 1 ½ in. Stick each piece on a pick and spoon over the onion confit. Serve warm or room temperature.