From Jellied Eels to All-i-Pebre

Standing in the Dasi Dasi kitchen, I feel deliciously content. In front of the house, sweeping through the pine forest, you hit the Mediterranean sea. Open the back door and the albufera stretches out ahead, a great lagoon of fresh water teeming with life. It gets better. The kitchen remains as it stood when their restaurant was open. A huge range with scarlet tiles, a closet for a fridge, and gigantic pans hanging amongst strings of cured sausages, bunches of chillies and laurel leaves. We are in El Saler, just south of Valencia, and whatever you want, from land, sea or lake, it’s sure to be at its tastiest here.

The Albufera is the heart of fertility, feeding rice crops for paella, but also making a home for eels. Maria Angeles Dasi Dasi, invited me to learn how to cook the dish people drove across Spain to eat in their restaurant, All-i-Pebre (garlic and chilli). As an Essex girl I am no stranger to eels. I’ve come across them jellied and stewed, on the side of pie and mash, and let’s just say, we weren’t the best of friends. However I trust Maria Angeles, she’s fed me some of the best meals of my life in her home and I’d eat whatever she put in front of me.

A kilo and a half of anguillas (eels), metallically fresh and ready cleaned. It’s not surprising that this is another dish men like to have a stab at. Like paella you can cook it over a fire, but the whole process of wrestling and killing live eels might appeal to the alpha male. Maria Angeles, very wise indeed, plumped for pre-cleaned eels from her local fish vendor - heads and tails removed and scored into bite sized pieces. They have one bone that runs throughout the body which is easy to remove when eating. You get the fine flesh of white fish but without the palaver of filleting.

The spearheads of this dish are garlic and chilli, hence the name. When two whole cabezas de ajo (garlic) fall into the pestle and mortar, daughter Maria Jesus laughingly recounts the infamous complaint of Victoria Beckham that Spain smelt of garlic. I love it that a bulb of garlic is called the cabeza, literally the head, and the cloves are referred to as deintes, the teeth. Maria Jesus has inherited from her Grandma, the difficult job of pounding them to a pulp. She tells me that when washing your hands afterwards you should let the water run over them and resist rubbing them together as this prevents the smell from lingering. Later she adds a whole dried red chilli, seeds and all, and blends the heady mixture steadily with precision and patience.

Meanwhile Maria Angeles shows me how to cut the nine peeled potatoes. She half cuts and half rips them, a system which delivers ragged chunks maintaining the best possible flavour. My Galician friends nod vehemently, that this is the best way to prepare them. During the war years, potatoes were a staple in Spain and weren’t cooked with any less passion than fancier food stuffs.

A low flame is lit and the garlic and chilli pulp is slowly bathed in olive oil, taking care not to burn it but to endow it with the lightest of golden tans. Two generous spoons of pimienton dulce (sweet paprika) is added, painting everything with a deep crimson glow. The smell at this initial stage is enough to ignite the fiercest of hunger and, when golden bubbles flutter, add the potatoes swiftly followed by a lid. Let them semi-cook for 15 minutes.

Then introduce the silver eels to your smoky golden broth. The nervous systems might cause the eels to jiggle in the pan, initially unnerving as we looked with curiosity, but I was pleased to be eating something so fresh. Lower the heat and cook for a further 40 minutes, until all the ingredients have meshed together forming a powerful allegiance!

Sitting with the grandfather Jaume we looked through photos of the restaurant in its heyday before his well earned retirement. He told me how he met people from all over Europe and how the English liked to have an ice cream first and then a jamon tortilla. I don’t think they ever got as far as this Valencian speciality. 

To tease our stomach Maria Angeles treated us to local delicacies. Lightly fried moist little boquerones (large fresh anchovies) disappeared from one plate and tender sepia a la plancha  (grilled cuttlefish) from another - hunks of crusty bread wiped through the ink spilled olive oil with pleasure. Next the most perfectly selected salad glimmered with freshness in the centre of the table. We picked into it with our forks, discussing the best combinations (ripe tomatoes and sweet onions) and praised the flavour of these crops picked from their allotment. To me this salad, so simple but accomplished in construction, illustrates that Maria Angeles is sure of everything she does - the attention and passion shows no sign of fatigue.

Then the dish we had all been waiting for arrived...

The smell alone was worth getting the bus for. I had the honour of the first plate, golden potatoes coated in sumptuously spiked garlic liquor, with the tender eels on the point of perfection. I was instructed in two methods of eating them; the first, all in one, pulling the bone out as if it was an olive pip. You really get a full on taste of the sweet, delicate meat with this method, soft and infused with flavour but still holding its own. The other way (and my favourite) is to tear a chunk of bread and mush the eel till the bone falls away leaving you with a wonderfully flavour-soaked morsel to delight on. We ate and we ate, and we drank……

I love that kitchen. I loved that while we were cooking away, members of the family flowed through, keeping the newsreel of the family turning. Then a pinny donned neighbour stuck her head in, to ask advice about the lunch she was cooking. It resembled a Chekhov play - though perhaps the first act, when the melancholia was yet to set in. And later, as the family gathered to sit and eat together, it’s hard to imagine a feud could last past the next family lunch, as I wouldn’t want to miss any of the meals from Maria Angeles kitchen.

Feeding more than five thousand: Fallas Fare

I’m writing from bed. I’m halfway through Fallas, Valencia’s beyond EPIC festival, and I’ve already eaten (and drunk) enough to last me till summer. As I type, Falleras and Falleros, members of social clubs (Fallas) from the region of Valencia are promenading outside my window. They are part of the Ofrenda de Flores, and they are taking flowers to the Virgin, an enormous wooden Virgin Mary whose dress is currently being constructed of these bouquets. Brass Bands are thundering away and the sun picks out every sequin on the ornate traditional costumes. Day and night spectacularly impressive firework displays make your heart pound and mouth fall open. It’s as if Gandalf was employed by the City Council to add some sparkle. The air swirls with gunpowder, music, and the smell of fried dough.

 

I was astounded at the number of Churros stalls that appeared one morning. They flank every corner (I’m serious) and they all serve the same thing. Though it's beginning to become clear to me, if you want to party like a Valencian you need to eat like one. Here is my breakdown of fallas food (in order of preference).

Buñuelos:

A doughnut cross churros hybrid, so evolved it takes the best of both. A puffy soft centre flecked with pumpkin and a crispy fried outside covered in sugar. They sell them by the dozen or half dozen. You can dunk them in chocolate, and they are delicious freshly fried like churros or cold like a doughnut. Hands down my favourite.

Porras:

Like one enormously thick churro, curled like a serpent, which is then cut into easier to eat pieces. Dense, rich and delicious. Made for dipping into hot creamy chocolate. (see one being made in the photo below)

Churros:

Lighter crispier tubes of fried dough. Perfect for dunking, and disappear too easily. After eating the others, you will think of these as the healthier version.

Churros Rellenos:

A giant churro filled with flavoured cream, so intimidating, I haven’t even tried one yet. Though if I continue in this fashion, I’ll be all over them by Monday.

Fork notes:

• You can get buñuelos with or without pumpkin, but the pumpkin ones are extra amaze.
•  Be careful when ordering porras, as porros is marijuana. Just saying.
•  Quality varies from stall to stall. I tend to follow the grannies, they are wise about such things. The oil should be fresh, any doubts, walk on.
• There will be mountains of churros etc ready to go but if you have time ask for a fresh batch, it will be worth the wait.
•  A bit like buying chippy chips you’ll be asked if you want sugar. No brainer, though a pinch of salt in the mix goes down a treat.
• I saw a gluten free stall today.

You say Potato. I say Tortilla de Patatas.

The happiness felt after flipping a tortilla, will never grow old on me. And there is even more to love. Filling yet cheap, limitless options of ingredients, and nothing, I repeat, nothing is as comforting as a tortilla baguette. Yes, I too was suspicious at first. A wedge of egg and potato, stuffed between a fluffy bocadillo. Carboverload! I hear you cry. But it works, like a chip butty works. It’s like a hug from a best friend and it's pepped me up on many a tired afternoon and hungover morning.

For a tortilla to serve four you just need three eggs. No surprises that the better the eggs, the better the tortilla. Once we were gifted eggs from the farm of our friend’s grandma in Galicia, so good I almost ate the mixture raw. Here you can buy white eggs, the shells are more delicate and break easily (explaining why they aren't in English supermarkets), but they have a lot going on inside and make good for this dish. A bit like scrambled eggs you can make your tortilla to taste. Like it runny, cook it for less, or if you prefer a firmer texture then add some minutes.

Today I made tortilla de patatas y espinacas (potato and spinach tortilla, because the spinach tricks me into thinking it's healthier). For three eggs you need three large potatoes. Peel, slice, and generously fry. In a bowl, beat your eggs, chop in raw spinach and then add the freshly fried potatoes. Give it a good mix. You’re beginning to cook the eggs at this point so move as quick as you can. 

Use the pan you fried the potatoes in, but remove the oil so you just have a thin glaze remaining. Any more and you run the risk of a hot oil accident down your arm. Pour in your lovely mixture. Leave over a medium heat, until the sides start to firm or for a few minutes. Next put a plate on top of the pan, hand on top of the plate, and flip. (Today I  have demonstrated the flip via video if you are unsure). Slide the tortilla back in the pan to cook the other side for a couple of minutes. And that is all.

With this basic formula you can run and run. I recommend patata y cebolla because the onion brings a terrific sweetness. The other day we went on a hike and my friend Carmen had bought an AMAZING alcachofa tortilla (artichokes), using them instead of potatoes. She prepped them as if for a la plancha (see A Veducation: The Return) but continued as with a regular tortilla. It was nutty, earthy and perfect for eating in the countryside.  Your options my friends, are endless.

So one last rhapsody for the tortilla. You can eat it at every meal of the day, take it for a picnic, put it in a sandwich, or cut it up as tapas at a party. People that don’t like food like this. It's warm, buttery and mouthwatering. I think it will make you smile.

Fork notes:

• For the health conscience among us, I once made a tortilla by slicing pre-boiled potatoes. I can't deny it does the job (I just haven't mentioned this to my Spanish friends).
• If you feel like your tortilla doesn't have enough egg in to bind it altogether, you can always add another once everything is in the pan. Just crack it over the top of the mixture and relax.
• Remember not to cook the flipping stage with a lot of oil in the pan, the flip could be fatal.
• Tortilla makes a great lunch when served with salad, fried pimientons de padron and of course jamon.