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.