A Vegducation

A rural romantic at heart, today I perched on my balcony, picking little habas (broad beans) from velvety pods, happily channelling my inner Laura Ingalls. I forgot how great they smell, like a summer’s day. They usually come into season in England in early July, so eating these bad boys in January has the same effect as smelling Nivea factor 15, you feel a darn sight better about life. To grow good vegetables you need sun, and since the east coast of Spain is blessed in this department, they receive yields before northern neighbours. When I saw the mounds of habas fronting every market stall, I wanted in.

The market sellers were some of my first friends in Valencia, and since my mime skills have evolved into actual Spanish words, so begins my vegducation. Pilar, my First Lady of fruit and vegetables has a stall in Mercado de Ruzafa, it’s run by the whole family. They have a huerta (land for growing) in nearby Alcasser, where they grow organic vegetables for the stall. They also sell produce from Valencia, Murcia and Almeria too. I’ve never been quite sure what do with habas, so I asked Pilar for advice, I arrived home to find an email intact with the recipe, signed off with un besito muy fuerte (a strong little kiss). I don't think customer service can get much better than this.

The recipe for Habas Tiernas a la Valenciana required jamon cortardo en daditos (rough thick shreds of cured jamon) so I trotted off to the market first thing this morning. Whilst chatting to my fellow queue comrade, I let her know that I was cooking habas for the first time, noises of approval rose and I felt and little swell of pride. Following Pilar’s instructions, I began by gently frying my daditos of jamon, then I added chopped young garlic, followed by sliced spring onion. When everything had softened nicely, in went the habas and half a glass of water, a lid on the pan. Once the majority of the water was absorbed they were ready to eat. Pilar says they make a great bocadillo (baguette) filling or are wondrous on the side of any meat, or with a tortilla or a nice little sausage. She speaks the truth.

 

I’ve boiled the life out of broad beans before but never cooked them in such a fashion. These humble little habas deserve praise, they have a gentle freshness of summer, yet are far more complex creatures than peas, and that texture, a delicious silken tenderness. Together with the jamon and alliums it’s a mouthwatering combination. Fresh and light and at the same time rich and creamy. I ate them this morning with a cheeky omlette for almuerzo (elevenses).

A Veducation part 2, is soon to follow, I’ve got some alcachofas (artichokes) that are asking for it. Un besito muy fuerte readers.

Fork notes:

• These habas were picked young, so are tender and sweet.
• No problem in buying fresh and keeping in the freezer.
• In southern regions such as Almeria you will come across many farms that grow beneath plastic, creating conditions that can yield crops year round with no regard to season. I understand they need to make a buck but I think veg grown the old way tastes better, and yeah there is a smugness to eating what’s in season. 
• For some reason you can get the sublimely underrated and brilliant herb, Parsley, for free at nearly every market stall (veg/fish/meat). So remember to ask for your free bundle of fun.                          

Fear of Frying

Oh January. The nights are a little colder and you are three weeks into attempting to cut down on carbs, food from the Spanish fryers is suddenly all too appealing. This week I am dedicating my blog to frequently frowned upon fried delights. I’ll state from the start that I fry with trepidation, I went to University the year the George Foreman Grill went large, when scraping off cold fat was viewed as an achievement. But I’m here to learn, and if I’m going to fry I might as well do it properly, Spanish stylee.

Huevos Friggin Fritos! The Don of fried eggs, souped up with potatoes and morcilla (black sausage, though chorizo/jamon/mushrooms would be great subs). A pan liberally filled with oil. Typically here they utilize sunflower or olive oil. Slice up your potatoes nice and thin, fry in the pan (turning often) until soft and golden, remove to a warm dish.

Then next up fry the eggs one by one, flicking oil over the yolk to seal, they should only take a minute. Remove but retain the cooking oil for the next time you fry. With the pan still slick, add thick slices of morcilla and fry until crispy. An intense mixture of brilliance. Sumptuous crispy gooey potatoes, eggs with decadent oozing yolks, and then rich, lushious black sausage to dip into it. You will need a lie down afterwards. Raquel called it a ‘bomba’ as in a calorie explosion, though I thought she meant 'da bomb', which it totally is.

Another dish I shall honour today is the humble croqueta, a kind of Findus pancake of Spain, if you will. It graces tapas menus across the land and apparently in Madrid they are enormous, so take care when ordering, you don’t want to end up with a bomba. They are also a great way to use up leftovers, I’ve started to realise that’s exactly these fried recipes are all about, and though they can smack of indulgence they aren’t pre-processed and laden with sugar and other such nonsense.

We made our croquetas following a soup so had scraps of chicken and jamon left. To make them you need to; fry a finely chopped onion, add whatever you like in terms of meat and veg in shredded form to the pan and soften. Then add 5 tbsp of plain flour, keep stirring, next pour in milk a bit at a time and stir militantly in a clockwise direction till the lot combines into a thick paste. Put the whole pan (literally) in the fridge, overnight is best to give you a substance easy to work with. The next day, take out two spoons and use them to form the mixture into croqueta shapes. Roll in beaten egg and then in breadcrumbs, at this point you can freeze them, or fry and eat straight away, but when you eat them, add a cup of tea and your favourite series and you’ll be feeling 12 again.

For a sweet kick Torrijas rock. Another fine way to use up unwanted food (erm I should be getting some kind of EU commission for this blog me thinks). Got slices of unwanted bread? I have a solution. Torrijas, a kinda French Toast, harks back to the civil war, a pudding which requires very little but rewards greatly. Slice your stale bread, bath in milk then beaten egg. Add to a pan of oil, fry on both sides until golden, remove and laden with sugar and cinnamon. Eat warm with your hands, quickly and then snooze.

Fork notes:

• to test when the oil is ready chuck in a tuft of bread, it should fizz about when good to go.
• don’t fry in extra virgin olive oil no matter how loaded you are.
• Huevos Fritos are also known as Huevos Rotos. Huevos revueltos are scrambled eggs, commonly served with vegetables or shrimp.
• With croquetas you can be as adventurous/lavish as you like, think salt-cod and raisins, softened red peppers and goats cheese, or just plain chicken.

These Mussels aint from Brussels...

...they are from Galicia, a heaven of molluscs and crustaceans! Look on a map and you’ll understand why. A coastline more jagged than a Stegosaurus, pounded by the fierce Atlantic, and harbouring an abundance of estuaries that are perfect for growing mussels (mejillones). I’m lucky to have made two very good Galician friends, Raquel and Sandra. Raquel hails from A Coruña, a city bracing the mighty ocean, and naturally she has pangs for a taste of home, so once a week we head to the market, put a euro in each and buy a fix of mussels. In truth I used to be a bit scared of the fishmonger, it’s not the smell, it’s the fear of being busted as a novice. Thankfully I’ve only experienced the opposite, traders offering advice on recipes and rounding prices down. 

So once you have a bag of rugged mussels you need to clean and sort them, a job that is surprisingly enjoyable. There is something a bit primitive about it, knife in hand, gnarly shells, it’s all a bit survivor stylie. I got carried away scratching off every little mark, but there is no need I’m told, just remove the beard (the tug of hair that keeps them attached to ropes/rocks when growing). 

When cleaned and checked they are the incredibly simple to cook. Put them in a saucepan with a lid over a medium heat and just add the tiniest amount of water. The vapour, not the water cooks them (unlike for example pasta), and they have the most brilliant natural flavour and produce their very own cooking liquid. Once all the shells have opened, drain, and save the liquid (this will do ever so nicely as a stock for cooking rice another day).  

Then as quick as you can set to removing one half of each shell and lay them down on their backs over a dish. As you go, pour over a little of the cooking liquid and a fresh squeeze of lemon, keeping them hot and flavoursome. I rate this way of serving them, as you get to see the delicate pearly inner shell which acts a nifty natural spoon, making them quick and easy to eat. 

Don’t get me wrong I am a huge fan of Moules Frites, with wine, with cider, but if you can get your hands of Galician mussels I don’t think they need any help, they are divinely smooth, lip smackingly tasty and ever so good for you.

Fork notes:

• Galician mussels are much bigger than their Mediterranean counterparts, the stirring Atlantic delivers more nutrients and enables them to grow larger. Though Clochinas from the east coast of Spain, harvested in Spring are another delicacy altogether and I look forward to eating them soon.
• Mussels are alive and they should close when touched or submerged in water, it’s their defense system, so if they don’t react, they could have died, or even worse, have been dead for a few days. Not worth risking it, we say bin those that won’t close when aggressed.
• They are a good source of zinc, zinc is good for the immune system, hurroo hurrah.
• The estuaries where they grow are called rias in Spanish and las bateas are the wood and rope structures that they grow from.
•  Great for a starter but we like to eat them with a hefty salad and some bread for lunch.

Oh Paella!

It’s true the Spanish love a party. And party means redonkulously good and plentiful food, so I love that Spain loves a party and was overjoyed to be invited to one. The gorgeous Dasi Dasi family who used to run a restaurant in El Saler, a Valencian seaside village situated slap bang next to the Albufera, an expanse of fresh water perfect for growing rice, and henceforth they are the Spanish authority on what makes a killer paella. Of course I said yes. Fortunately the family still own the restaurant building complete with a huge kitchen, mandatory leg of jamon, and intimidatingly sized paella pans. Twenty of us filled the former dining room, now decorated with taped up family photos and an appealing reclining chair for post lunch siestas. Imagine a medley of immense starters, as I’d go on for too long describing them, so there I am and everything starts disappearing from the middle of the table, this is a good sign I think, and then carried betwixt two burly men like a hero, it arrives. 

Our traditional paella valenciana is heaving with joints of rabbit and chicken, snails, green beans, garrofon (a special bean from the region whose nearest cousin I think must be a butter bean) and artichokes (with its natural dye painting everything in an earthy tone). I’m ladled the first plate (SCORE) a little bit of everything, even rabbit liver which I once read contains vitamin c so totes game for a bit of that. 

What I like about Spain is everyone gets stuck in straight away, well amongst family, and it’s not rude, it’s honouring the food when it’s at it’s peak moment, and well I respect that. So I dive in with a spoon, and that rice is delicious, buttery not greasy, it has a nourishing meaty quality and a depth of flavour that only comes from cooking slowly whilst bathing next to flavour giving ingredients. The meat falls of the bone, the snails are surprising little taste bombs, not just garlic carriers as I’d first thought and the vegetables are so fresh, uplifting and those beans just melt in your mouth. I’m convinced they must have spent the week before making some kind of intense immense reduction but no, no stock needed, the meat is fried in the paella (also the name of the pan), then the vegetables, little bit of tomato, then add water and rice, leave to cook over a gentle heat till done. Some opt to fry the rice, they didn’t and what we had was perfect succulent grains with a toasty crust waiting at the bottom to be scoured off by eager spoons.

I can still taste the last mouthful it was that flipping gorgeous. Muchas gracias.

Fork notes:

• Spaniards only eat paella at lunchtime.
• I’ve heard it’s traditional that men cook paella but I’ve asked the women in Spain who replied they only want to if it's over fire in the countryside (similar male pyrotechnic bbq type tendencies)
• In the Valencian region it’s unusual to mix seafood and meat, you can they just don’t dig it and Valencia is the inventor of the paella, so there.
• It’s all good to eat straight from the paella with your spoon.  
• There is a saying that the best paella is missing the rice, so think thin layer of rice equals way more flavour.