Spain: Recipes and Traditions from the Verdant Hills of the Basque Country to the Coastal Waters of Andalucia

FOR MY PARENTS, BILL AND JOANNE

Text copyright © 2013 by Jeff Koehler.

Location photographs and photographs on pages 19, 110, 273 (top right), 274, 296, 319, 326, and 327 copyright © 2013 by Jeff Koehler.

Plated food photographs copyright © 2013 by Kevin Miyazaki.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

ISBN 978-1-4521-2954-9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available under:

ISBN 978-0-8118-7501-1

Designed by Alice Chau

Typesetting by Helen Lee

This book is typeset in Periódico, Block Berthold Condensed, Knockout, Duke, DuBois Block, and Rough Riders.

Chronicle Books LLC

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San Francisco, California 94107

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The list of those who helped this book in one way or another is long—especially as I began working on it officially four years ago, though in reality more than a decade before that, when I arrived in Spain and initiated my apprenticeship in its kitchen. To the vast number of butchers and bakers, farmers and fishermen, home cooks and chefs who have each offered a piece to this great culinary and cultural puzzle, I offer deep and sincere thanks.

There are a number of people in Spain for whose help I am particularly grateful: Tomàs Borràs and Rosa Ramírez; Carmina Borràs and Robert Cosials; Rosa María Borràs and Ramón Rovira; Marien Borràs and Xicu García; Tía Encarnita, Tía Angelita, Tía Fermi, Tía Rosa, and Tía Tere; Nicolas Morales and Pepe García; Albert and Jordi Asín; Antoni Cot; Natalia Reixach, Jaime Pascual, and Àvia Lola; Elisabet Ars; Mari-Luz Valero, Jesús Mansilla, Juana Ortega, Jesús Mansilla (padre), and Juan Aspas; Francisco Nuñez de Prado; Eduard Pons; Gerard Veà; David Montegut; José Manuel Arias; José Melero; Josep Ravell and Jesús Benevente; Manuel Pérez Pascuas and Juana González; Virginia Irurita and her staff at Made for Spain; Jorge González, Rúben Arnanz, and Inmaculada Casado; Apelio García Sánchez; Gregoria Carrasco Sánchez and family; Pedro Quijorna; Maria Pons and Pere Pons; Sandra Martínez; Eugenia Sarasqueta; Cesc Segura and Eli Jaso; Mark Gregory Peters and Olga Greño; Pilar Rodríguez, Cristina Chiva, and Dani Cárdenas; and Caspar.

Outside of Spain, to those in the food and publishing world who were particulary supportive, thank you: Naomi Duguid; Jodi Deleon; Leslie Jonath; Rebecca Staffel; Mary Risley; Sylvia Whitman and Heather Hartley; Mercedes Lamamie and Paz Tintoré; James Oseland and Dana Bowen; Justin Paul, Marika Cain, and Melanie Fowler; Jocelyn Zuckerman; Tina Ujlaki and Kate Heddings; Derk Richardson, April Kilcrease, and Tara Guerting; Dick Doughty and Sarah Miller; Jeanne McManus; Michelle Wildgen; Katie Workman and Mary Goodbody; and Sandy Gluck and Lisa Mantineo.

My agent, Doe Coover, and those in her office, including Francis Kennedy, deserve great thanks for their work on this from the very beginning.

And at Chronicle Books, a huge thanks for everything on this book, our fourth together. Warm appreciation to Bill LeBlond, Amy Treadwell, Sarah Billingsley, Vanessa Dina, Steve Kim, Ann Spradlin, Doug Ogan, Claire Fletcher, and Lorena Jones. Thanks to Peter Perez, David Hawk, and Alyson Pullman on the publicity side. And Ann Rolke for her copyediting. Thanks to Alice Chau for her design.

I would like to thank Kevin J. Miyazaki for his fantastic photographic work on the plated dishes. Appreciation also to Ana Torrontegui for her help in Barcelona and Dani Cárdenas in finding so much great tableware. And Rosa María Borràs and Ramón Rovira for use of their wonderful country place, which has always epitomized the best of the rural kitchen for me.

A huge thanks to my family—especially my parents, Bill and Joanne, and brother, Bill—for their support during the book.

My biggest thanks goes to my two girls—Alba and Maia—who have eaten everything in the book on numerous occasions (or as close to that as any father could ever wish). And to Eva, the reason I came to Spain all those years ago—and stayed.

CONTENTS

Introduction 10

Before Turning on the Stove 16

CHAPTER 1

SOUPS, BROTHS, STEWS, CREAMS, AND PULSES

The Ritz’s Madrid-Style Cocido 20

Catalan Two-Course Soup 22

Castilian Garlic Soup 25

Basque Leek Soup 26

Creamy Artichoke and Leek Soup 27

Velvety Menorcan Fish Soup 28

Basque Fresh Tuna and Potato Stew 31

Beef Stew 32

Cream of Seasonal Mushrooms 35

Spinach with Garbanzo Beans 36

White Beans with Clams 41

Pinotxo’s Garbanzo Beans with Blood Sausage, Raisins, and Pine Nuts 42

Stewed Lentils with a Nutty Chocolate Picada 43

CHAPTER 2

SALADS, COLD SOUPS, AND GAZPACHOS

Curly Endive with Xató Sauce 47

Belgian Endive with Cabrales Blue Cheese Sauce and Anchovy Fillets 48

Winter Green Salad with Fresh Cheese and Pomegranate Seeds 49

Marinated Seafood Salad 50

Salt Cod, Orange, and Olive Salad 53

Catalan Shredded Salt Cod, Tomato, and Olive Salad 54

White Bean Salad with Bonito del Norte Tuna 55

Spanish Potato Salad 56

Melon or Fresh Figs with Slices of Dry-Cured Jamón 57

Chilled Melon Soup with Crispy Jamón 58

White Gazpacho with Grapes 59

Classic Andalusian Gazpacho 60

Córdoba-Style Salmorejo 62

CHAPTER 3

TAPAS AND APPETIZERS

Country Bread Rubbed with Tomato and Olive Oil 68

Catalan Flatbread with Roasted Red Peppers 70

Roasted Red Peppers, Eggplant, and Onions 72

Padrón Green Peppers 73

Cádiz-Style Potatoes in Vinaigrette 74

Dates Wrapped in Bacon 75

Trout and Dry-Cured Iberian Jamón Croquettes 76

Chicken Croquettes 79

Pork Ribs in Adobo Sauce 81

Spicy Marinated Pork Skewers 83

Empanada with Marinated Pork and Roasted Red Peppers 85

Salt Cod Brandade on Toast 87

Fresh Anchovies in Vinegar 88

Galician Fair-Style Octopus with Paprika on Potatoes 91

Deep-Fried Squid 92

Garlicky Shrimp in Olive Oil 93

Clams with Shrimp 94

Mussels in Vinaigrette 95

CHAPTER 4

VEGETABLES

Sautéed Wild Mushrooms 100

La Mancha–Style Sautéed Onions, Zucchini, Tomatoes, and Peppers 102

Stuffed Tomatoes 103

Balearic-Style Baked Stuffed Eggplant 104

Fried Eggplant Strips with Salmorejo 106

Green Asparagus in Vinegar Marinade 107

Fresh White Asparagus with Crispy Shards of Dry-Cured Jamón 109

Spinach with Pine Nuts and Raisins 110

Tender Spinach Leaves with Spanish-Style Poached Eggs 112

Roasted Artichokes 113

Roasted Beets in Vinegar 114

Baker’s Oven-Roasted Potatoes 116

Galician Boiled Potatoes with Paprika 116

Puréed Potatoes with Extra-Virgin Olive Oil 117

La Rioja–Style Stewed Potatoes with Chorizo 118

Smashed Potatoes and Cabbage Topped with Streaky Salt Pork 119

CHAPTER 5

EGGS

Potato and Onion Egg Tortilla 124

Artichoke Egg Tortilla 126

Salt Cod Egg Tortilla 127

Eggs Scrambled with Tender Green Garlic Shoots, Asparagus, and Shrimp 128

Eggs Scrambled with Mushrooms and Dry-Cured Jamón 130

Fried Eggs with Fried Potatoes and Slices of Dry-Cured Iberian Jamón 132

CHAPTER 6

RICE, PASTA, AND MIGAS

Rabbit Paella with Artichokes and Red Bell Peppers 138

Shellfish Paella 141

Black Rice with Allioli 144

Soupy Rice with Lobster 148

Soupy Rice with Free-Range Chicken 150

Mountain-Style Rice with Chicken and Fresh Sausage 151

Fideos in the Cazuela with Pork Ribs 152

Seafood Fideuà with Allioli 153

Pyrenees Mountain–Style Penne Pasta with Ground Meat and Pâté 155

Penne Pasta with Tomatoes and Fresh Sausage au Gratin 156

Cannelloni Stuffed with Meat 157

Cannelloni Stuffed with Mushrooms and Pine Nuts 160

Shepherd’s Migas with Grapes 161

CHAPTER 7

FISH

Andalucía-Style Deep-Fried Fish 164

Fisherman’s Suquet 165

Monkfish Steaks with Saffron 166

Galician-Style Hake with Garlic Ajada Sauce 169

Fish Braised in Romesco Sauce 170

Baked Turbot with Basque White Wine 173

Salt-Baked Gilt-Head Bream 174

Barbate-Style Tuna in Caramelized Onions 175

Grilled Sardines with Slushy Celery and Lemon Granita 176

Grilled Swordfish Steaks with Piriñaca 178

Pan-Fried Trout with Thyme and Walnuts 179

Navarra-Style Trout with Dry-Cured Jamón 181

Marinated Salmon on the Grill with Galician Potatoes 182

Biscay-Style Salt Cod with Choricero Pepper Sauce 183

Grandma Lola’s Lenten Salt Cod with Raisins 185

Salt Cod Baked in the Tin 187

Piquillo Peppers Stuffed with Salt Cod Brandade 188

CHAPTER 8

SHELLFISH

Grilled Razor Clams 195

Clams in Green Sauce 196

Clams with Oloroso Sherry 197

Steamed Cockles 198

Mussels in Sweet Sofrito Tomato Sauce 199

Baked Scallops in the Shell 201

Grilled Shrimp 202

Lobster in a Nutty Chocolate Sauce, Costa Brava Style 205

Small Squid in Their Own Ink 206

CHAPTER 9

POULTRY AND RABBIT

Duck with Pears 210

Chicken Braised in Saffron, Almond, and Egg Yolk Sauce 212

Chicken with Shallots and Orange and Cinnamon Sauce 214

Chicken with Samfaina 216

The Mayoress’s Stewed Christmas Chicken 217

Roast Chicken with Prunes 220

Grilled Rabbit with Eggplant, Zucchini, and Allioli 221

Torre del Bosc Braised Rabbit with Carrots 222

CHAPTER 10

GAME AND SNAILS

Grilled Marinated Venison Steaks 226

Toledo-Style Partridge 229

Grilled Quail with Garlic and White Wine 230

Pilar’s Cazuela with Snails and Rabbit 231

New Year’s Day Snails in Spicy Tomato Sauce 232

CHAPTER 11

MEATS

Roast Shoulder of Kid Goat with Potato and Shallot Confit 236

Shepherd’s-Style Lamb Chops with Potatoes and Zesty Vinegar-Garlic Sauce 239

Grilled Lamb Rib Chops with Quince Allioli 240

Grilled Lamb Chops with Honey 242

Chilled Pork Loin 243

Salt-Baked Pork Loin with Two Sauces 245

Pork Tenderloin with Purée of Chestnuts 246

Pork Tenderloin in Orange Sauce 248

Fresh Pork Sausages with White Beans and Allioli 251

Seared Morcilla de Burgos with Roasted Green Peppers and Fried Eggs 252

Menorcan Meatballs in Tomato and Pine Nut Sauce 257

Stewed Meatballs with Cuttlefish 258

Grilled Beef Tenderloin with Blue Cheese Sauce 259

Braised Veal with Dried Mushrooms 260

CHAPTER 12

INNARDS AND EXTREMITIES

Roasted Pig’s Feet 265

Veal Kidneys in Sherry 267

Veal Tongue with Capers 268

Galician-Style Tripe with Garbanzo Beans 269

Braised Oxtail Stew 271

CHAPTER 13

DESSERTS, SWEETS, AND FRUITS

Toasted Bread with Chocolate, Extra-Virgin Olive Oil, and Sea Salt Flakes 274

Creamy Vanilla Custard 275

Creamy Rice Pudding 276

Basque Walnut Pudding 277

Citrus-and-Cinnamon-Scented Flan 278

Spongy Yogurt Cake 279

Spongy Cake with Pears and Walnuts, Sinarcas Style 280

Country Muffins 282

Galician Crêpes with Fresh Whipped Cream and Honey 285

Galician Almond Tart 286

Flatbread with Pine Nuts, Sugar, and Anise 289

Marzipan Cookies Rolled in Pine Nuts 291

Oranges with Extra-Virgin Olive Oil and Honey 292

Early Spring Strawberries with Red Wine Vinegar 293

Pears Poached in Red Wine 295

Baked Figs 296

Musicians’ Dessert 297

Menorcan Gin Sorbet 299

Fresh Cheese with Honey 301

CHAPTER 14

DRINKS

Spanish Cinnamon-Scented Drinking Chocolate in the Cup 306

Meringued Milk 308

Slushy Lemon Granita 309

Summer Red Wine Sangria 311

White Wine Sangria with Fresh Berries 313

Menorcan Gin Cocktail with Fresh Lemon Juice and Lemon Soda 315

Orense-Style Coffee Liqueur 316

CHAPTER 15

SWEET AND SAVORY HOMEMADE CONSERVES

Christmas Cherries in Aguardiente 320

Creamy Quince Paste 323

Creamy Lemon Curd 325

Dried Apricots Macerated in Sweet Wine 326

Tomato Marmalade 327

Sweet Preserved Tomatoes with Thyme 328

Sweet and Sour Preserved Onions 329

Quail in Escabeche Marinade 330

Fresh Sardines in Escabeche Marinade 332

A Glossary of Basic Recipes and Techniques 334

Selected Bibliography 344

Sources 345

Index 346

INTRODUCTION

Spanish cooking has never been more in fashion, nor has it ever elicited such interest as it does now. Magazines, newspapers, and TV programs have all tapped in to this cuisine that, apart from a handful of well-known dishes, remains relatively unknown to the average cook. And even tapas and paella, surely the two things that most people associate with the Spanish kitchen (along with molecular gastronomy foams), are largely misunderstood. Master chefs such as Ferran Adrià, Joan Roca, and Juan Mari Arzak have been instrumental in drawing attention to Spain and its gastronomy. At times, these culinary alchemists practice something more akin to chemistry in the kitchen, yet in many instances they are deconstructing or riffing on the most rustic of Spanish dishes, striving to elicit emotions frequently rooted in childhood.

I remember some years ago taking a visiting English friend to eat in one of Barcelona’s temples of Catalan avant-garde cuisine headed by a prodigy of Adrià. The dazzling two-hour tasting menu ended with a finale of toasted bread topped with fruity, aromatic olive oil, swirled mounds of soft chocolate, and some flat flakes of sea salt. My friend was exuberant at such an original combination. I laughed. It was a barely disguised spin on the Friday afternoon snack that my youngest daughter was getting in daycare, the one my wife’s school served when she was a girl (this or with quince paste—guess which disappeared first), the one her father ate in the countryside of Lleida as a boy.

Now, I am not suggesting that molecular gastronomy is a modern take on grandma’s cooking, but rather that even at this level, with some of world’s most celebrated chefs, many of the dishes, drawn on the flavors of memory, have their roots in the traditional Spanish kitchen. And the traditional kitchen in Spain is the country kitchen.

I moved to Spain over fifteen years ago and not long afterwards married the local girl I had followed here. (We met in London, in a residence hall for foreign graduate students, where we had, somewhat fittingly, shared a kitchen.) One of the things that I have learned during my time eating and cooking here, and traveling to all but one or two of Spain’s fifty provinces, is that the country kitchen begins firmly with las materias primas, the fresh, high-quality ingredients cooks call the raw materials. These are often simply prepared and presented, with usually just a few other components to draw out flavor. It’s a largely straightforward cuisine, rarely overly laborious or complex (which isn’t to say unsophisticated or lacking imagination), and more about ingredients than techniques or sauces. Meat, seafood, and poultry are not just vehicles for other, stronger flavors, nor simply bits of texture drowned in an overpowering sauce, but rather cooked for their own flavor. Sometimes that means quickly grilling, other times slowly cooking down to concentrate flavors. What’s the point of buying a good sea bream if you aren’t going to taste it?

To put that another way, if you are going to taste that sea bream—purely taste it and not the sauce—then it had better be a good fish, fresh, with the right texture, and cut or cleaned for the specific dish that you are preparing. When shopping, be ready for how you will cook it, because the fishmonger will want to know. A bream baked in the oven is cleaned differently than one baked in a salt crust. Butchers ask the same kinds of questions. Different dishes demand different cuts: a rabbit for a rice dish is trimmed into smaller pieces than rabbit for grilling, and so on.

This is one reason why the tradition of covered food markets and small specialty shops remains so important—and intact. Large supermarkets, of course, exist, but the butcher and fishmonger, the vegetable and fruit shop, the place on the corner selling cured jamón and cheese, the bakery beside it—these still dominate, even in cities. (Within two blocks of my residential Barcelona flat, I have five fruit stores—and three others that sell fruit—and six bakeries.) Small villages generally have a weekly mercado that gathers on the central square, usually on the open plaza fronting the church. These traveling markets act as a rural lifeline.

Markets also offer markers to the seasons and the seasonality of ingredients is always clear. What is most numerous is cheapest but also tastiest. It often feels like feast or famine regarding cherries and figs; tiny, crunchy mid-June pears (no bigger than the figs); asparagus and artichokes; wild mushrooms; certain fish, game birds, and fresh wild boar. Those who work in the markets and small shops are experts. They know their products. Their goods are usually marked with plenty of details, but if not, then ask where the fish was caught and how (in the Atlantic? the Mediterranean? line caught? netted or trawled? farm raised?). Look for freshness in the gloss of its eyes, the deep redness of its gills, the firmness of its flesh—but don’t touch.

A guiding kitchen principle is this: The best is used—but nothing is thrown away. Spanish cooks have learned to eke everything they can out of their often undernourished land. What the garden, market, or refrigerator offers up must be utilized. Bones for stock, a pig’s ear for flavor, kidneys to stew in sherry, the rabbit liver pounded with nuts and garlic and stirred into the dish at the end. Trotters, tongue, tail, tripe, even the blood (sangre frita with onions!): You name it, it’s devoured somewhere by someone—with gusto.

Traditional Spanish cooking is flavorful but frugal, and many of its finest dishes originated not in palace kitchens, but as country fare. Take the iconic paella. Born in the fruit and vegetable fields around Valencia, it was a dish for farmers who could not make it back home for lunch. Vegetables from the fields, a few snails (or a sprig of rosemary), and perhaps some rabbit on a lucky day were sautéed and then simmered in a wide, flat pan until tender. Rice sprinkled into the pan absorbed the flavors and offered a filling, starchy base. The pan itself acted as a communal plate (who wanted to carry plates into the field, or wash them?) and the rice was eaten with spoons carved from boxwood crates. Even if paella can be gussied up like a princess with wallet-emptying red shrimp and saffron, or served in restaurants among velvet curtains, patinated silver, and a black-tied maestro on a baby grand piano in the corner, it is at heart a simple country dish where rice remains the star.

But what exactly is la cocina española—Spanish cooking? I can offer dozens of examples, but not one tidy definition. The country, and its kitchen, is simply too diverse, the range of flavors it produces too great. The gastronomy, like the landscape, like the country itself, is blessed with the riches of distinct regions.

Historically, Spain as a country has only been a reality since 1492, and in these five centuries it has resisted complete gastronomic unification. There are deep and distinct differences on many levels between Andalucía and the Basque Country, among Castilla, Galicia, and Catalunya, between the Balearic Islands and Cantabria. These are undeniable. There are the historical, social, and cultural differences that have produced four official languages—Castilian Spanish, Catalan, Basque, and Galician—and a handful of dialects, not to mention very distinctive ways of celebrating with food.

The diversity of the Spanish countryside is, in Europe, without rival. Ranging from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea, the Pyrenees mountains that run along the northern border and the Sierra Nevada range in the south, the dry plateau that dominates the center of the peninsula, the rocky, fjord-like inlets of Galicia, the verdant greens of the Basque Country and Navarra, the olive-covered southern Andalucía, the spacious pasturelands studded with holm oak trees in Extremadura (where black-footed Iberian pigs roam semi-wild eating acorns) . . . the vast geographical cornucopia offers it all.

First and foremost, then, Spanish cuisine is regional, and the cooking of each region directly reflects the landscape, and changes as the landscape does. It is the landscape that, in many ways, has dictated the cuisine.

And there lies the pleasure in Spanish cuisine, the distinctive cooking that comes from different hamlets and corners, each with their own traditions, products, and dishes. Regionalism is a defining element of la cocina española.

The tastes of those rural landscapes, I have learned from living here, are not easily lost. They are still felt in the connection to the land and the cycles of the seasons: the seasonality of food; not wasting anything, whether yesterday’s bread or the head of a fish (for stock!); long, multicourse meals; unfussy cooking styles and often unfussy flavors; the love of stews and hearty soups, of long-cooked pulses, game, salt cod, of roast suckling lamb and pig, of dishes with innards and extremities; in the tradition of curing and preserving that borders on obsession . . . these remain, making sure that the countryside is never far from any table in Spain, even in the cities.

Take my own in-laws. Tomàs and Rosa were part of a midcentury wave of urban migration that shifted the population, and workforce, from rural areas to the city. In the 1920s, 57 percent of the Spanish population was engaged in agricultural work. In 1960, a decade into an economic boom that was sending a massive influx of people into the cities, that number was steadily falling but still hovered at a whopping 42 percent. Although the percentage of those working in agriculture these days is down to a single digit, the shift came too abruptly for the traditions of the countryside to disappear, especially in the kitchen.

Tomàs grew up in the arid hills of inland Catalunya near Lleida and moved to Barcelona to study engineering; Rosa was born in Barcelona, but both her parents had come not long before from a small village surrounded by vineyards and cereal fields about an hour inland from Valencia on the Castilla–La Mancha border. Rosa’s mother died when she was very young and, with her father owning a colmado (corner grocery store with staples) in Barcelona’s dense Gothic Quarter, she spent large chunks of her childhood with the aunts back in the village. She and Tomàs married, had four girls, and spent their summers and holidays visiting family. They would return home laden with the plunders of the countryside. From one side of the family, they brought cases of wine—rough-edged table wine, but from the family grapes and thus drunk with stoic pride—and home-cured sausages from pigs butchered in the courtyard of an aunt’s house and stored in lard-filled ceramic pots; from the other side of the family, jars of preserved tomatoes and stewed vegetables, quince paste made with the season’s first fruit from the tree in the yard, home-brined Arbequina olives, even large jars of mallard duck legs preserved in olive oil, plus boxes of apples and peaches.

Like so many similar stories, Rosa’s cooking—and Tomàs’s palate—continues to reflect their roots: the long-simmered soups, the snails in spicy tomato sauce, even her weekend family paella. When she was a girl in the village, her aunts prepared paella of rabbit, chicken, snails, and green beans over vineyard cuttings in the courtyard of the house every weekend—and they still do. Sure, Rosa uses seafood in her paella now and cooks it over a wide gas burner on the stove, but the essence is the same, an anchor not just for the meal, but the family. Such tastes, and their accompanying recipes, have been passed down, and my wife—like her sisters, like most Spaniards—can scarcely imagine anything better.

Nor can I.

REGIONS

THE REGIONS OF SPAIN

las regiones de España

The Spanish countryside is ample and diverse, and its 200,000 square miles (518,000 sq km) range from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea, the Pyrenees mountains to the Sierra Nevada, and dry plateaus to sprawling river deltas. First and foremost, Spanish cuisine is regional, and the cooking of each region directly reflects its landscape.

The northwest part of the country—Galicia, Asturias, and Cantabria—is generally green, hilly, and, in some places, mountainous, with an important dairy industry and one of the world’s largest fishing fleets. The rugged, inlet-etched coastline of Galicia offers the country’s finest fish and shellfish (clams, scallops, oysters, spider crabs, prawns) as well as much of its potato crop, while the valleys of Asturias produce celebrated cheeses, ciders, and white beans. Cantabria has its own culinary fame with its seafood canning industry (especially bonito del norte tuna and anchovies) and, in Potes, distillations of orujo (pressings of grape skins like grappa).

To the east of this lies the Basque Country, with its exquisite seafood; opulent, almost cultish cooking (exemplified in txokos, men-only gastronomic societies); obsession with salt cod; and pintxos, small and often highly creative tapas mounted on pieces of bread. Farther east are the nourished hills of Navarra, where asparagus and piquillo peppers grow, and mountain-river trout are cooked wrapped in slices of dry-cured jamón. Sitting snug on the south side of these provinces is the famed wine region of La Rioja, with its simple but flavorful cooking dominated by lamb and red peppers. Indeed, a plate of roasted peppers steeped in garlic-infused olive oil, a slowly roasted leg of suckling lamb, and a full-bodied bottle of Rioja red wine are some of Spain’s unfailing gastronomic pleasures.

The Mediterranean coast, with its ancient seaports and wealthy Levantine fields of rice, vegetables, and citrus fruits, offers lively, diverse cooking. The marvelous Catalan and Valencian kitchens mix flavors with baroque abandon—seafood and meat are often found in the same dish; a piece of pork or cuttlefish can add flavor to about any savory dish—yet always strive to highlight the principal ingredients. A night’s ferry ride away are the Balearic Islands, a stunning and rural archipelago that includes, in descending order of size, Mallorca, Menorca, Ibiza, and Formentera. Their Mediterranean cuisines are rich in olive oil and herbs, enlivened with a number of unique specialties, including silky fish stews, spiral ensaïmada pastries, cheeses, a spreadable paprika-red pork sausage called sobrassada, and even, on Menorca, gin—a legacy from the centuries when the English fleet harbored in the island’s capital.

The south of the country is dominated by Andalucía; tough, dry, undulating hills—red-soiled, blanketed in olive groves, punctuated by tidy white villages and ancient Phoenician seaports. The base of the cooking here is olive oil, vinegar, and garlic, and incorporates plenty of lamb and pork, game, salt cod, and, along the coast, all manner of delicately fried fish. Tapas are a way of life, and often enjoyed with a local dry sherry. The lingering Moorish influence on the cuisine of Andalucía is clear in such typical dishes as garbanzo beans and spinach with cumin, lamb with honey, and monkfish with saffron, all calling on ingredients introduced during the 800-year-long Moorish reign of the region. (Its iconic gazpachos and salmorejos—thickened with bread in the purée—came later, incorporating tomatoes and peppers from the New World into already existing cool soups.) As well, dishes here tend to have more spices—not that they are spicy, as in hot—than elsewhere in the country, and the tradition of sweets is particularly pronounced. For dulces, Andalusian chefs still use a base of sugar, eggs, lemon, and almonds to create countless delicacies.

To the northeast of Andalucía is Murcia, split between the glittering Mediterranean sea, with its delicious seafood dishes (gilt-head bream baked in a salt crust is a specialty) and the rural, often isolated mountain interior, where lamb dominates. To the northwest of Andalucía, landlocked on the inside of Portugal, is Extremadura, with its ancient monasteries, vast pastures of holm oak trees (dehesas) where black-footed pigs eat fallen acorns and wild grasses, and rustic, serious cooking. The valley of La Vera, where red peppers from America were first cultivated, dried, and ground into powder for cooking, produces the finest pimentón (smoked paprika), one of Spanish cooking’s most important spices.

At the center is the vast central plateau known as la meseta, the dominating geographical feature of the Iberian peninsula, occupying nearly half of its land. Ringed with a turret of mountains, and commanding respect (or at least awe) in its vastness, it is a place of extremes—scorching summers, freezing winters, wind, and little rain. It is pale, austere, more pastoral than agricultural. Here, a windmill turns, sheep graze lazily in the sight of a shepherd, and, in the distance, a church steeple rises above a dun-colored village built around the ruins of an ancient crusader castle: the land of El Greco and Cervantes, saffron fields and honeybee hives, partridge hunts, migas (a dish made with breadcrumbs), sopa de ajo (garlic and bread soup), and aged Manchego cheeses. This is rural Spain at its purest.

In the dead middle of it all like a bull’s-eye is the country’s capital, Madrid. Urban and highly cosmopolitan, sure, but still dominated by the tastes of the countryside that is never far away.

BEFORE TURNING ON THE STOVE

A NOTE ON AMOUNTS, TIMES, AND TEMPERATURES

Apart from baking, cooking is for the most part lenient and generally forgiving in regards to precise amounts and times. Ingredients here are organic, which is to say not industrial (pasta aside), and exact times differ from cook to cook, kitchen to kitchen, product to product. Most Spanish cooks smile indulgently when prodded for specific times and measurements, and view such numbers, if given, as guidelines. Their advice: Watch, taste, and adjust as you cook. That’s pretty good advice.

A NOTE ON INGREDIENTS

Unless otherwise specified, it is assumed that ingredients are cleaned, washed, peeled if needed, and so on. A few particular ingredients are worth highlighting:

Olive oil: While I acknowledge that extra-virgin olive oil is superior and should be used in just about every case, the reality is that many Spaniards often cook with a lighter (refined) olive oil called suave (soft) on bottles or 0.4° (also written as 0’4) referring to the degree of acidity, or else a lighter extra-virgin olive oil, by which I mean one that isn’t too expensive or too heavy. But they will always reach for the good stuff in the pantry to dress salads, use in certain sauces (especially cold ones), drizzle over bread and fish, and so on.

Salt: Salt opens up flavors and accentuates them. The amount needed depends on many factors (including one’s own personal level of saltiness), and specific quantities are given in only a few cases. When I call for salt, I mean sea salt. I have specified flaky sea salt where the texture of the flakes can be fully appreciated, usually for finishing a dish. In a couple of cases, I have listed both salt and flaky sea salt in the ingredient list. There is no point in adding exquisite flor de sal to boiling water; use plain salt for that. Spanish brands of high-quality flaky sea salt may be harder to find than English Maldon salt, French sel gris or fleur de sel, kosher salt, and other fine options.

Dried red peppers: There are a number of mild, sweet dried red peppers whose pulp is soaked and scraped out before being used. Romesco and the slightly smaller ñora peppers are the most popular. Both are available outside Spain; see Sources, page 345. Darker, more earthy ancho chiles make a good substitution. They tend to be just slightly larger than romesco peppers. Romesco pulp is sold in jars (labels generally read "carne de romesco"). Choricero is a similar one popular in the Basque Country. Calculate about 2 teaspoons of pulp per dried pepper.

Dry-cured Spanish jamón: There is an entire world of Spain’s legendary cured legs of ham. For the purpose of cooking with jamón in these recipes, use the least expensive options of Serrano ham (jamón serrano or jamón del país), or Italian prosciutto, which is often easier for many outside Spain to get. Eating a slice of jamón alone, though, is a different matter. In that case, go for jamón ibérico (from the black-footed Iberian pig; see page 133) and choose the best you can find—or afford.

Onions: Unless otherwise specified, medium onions can be either Spanish, yellow, or red. One of the finest onions in Spain—particularly nice in salads because of their mild, almost sweet taste—is the reddish purple, slightly flattened, and medium-size variety called Figueres.

Green peppers: Spanish pimientos verdes are long, tapered, and pointed, and about half the weight of a green bell pepper, with much thinner walls. In season, they can be found under the name sweet Italian green pepper or something similar. They are not hot! Do not confuse these with Anaheim chile peppers.

Stock: When using commercial stock in dishes that will simmer and reduce, dilute it with fresh water so that the stock doesn’t overpower the other ingredients.

Vinegar: Dishes that include a significant amount of vinegar should be prepared in nonreactive cookware, such as stainless steel, glass, enamel, and so on; do not use copper or aluminum, as they will discolor.

A NOTE ON LANGUAGE AND TRANSLATIONS

While I have for the most part stuck to Castilian Spanish, certain dishes and products do carry their Catalan, Basque, or Galician names, from Spain’s other three officially recognized languages. I have tried to offer the original names for dishes, traditions, and the like where possible. I would love to see these become more a part of the popular culinary lexicon in the manner of many Italian and French words now so commonly used.

Place names follow local versions and not Anglicized ones (so Sevilla and not Seville) or ones rendered into Castilian Spanish (so Lleida and not Lérida, A Coruña not La Coruña). Some names in the Basque Country are mentioned both in Basque and Castilian, such as Donostia (San Sebastián). These reflect not just standard usage, but what is found on both Michelin and Google maps.

All of the translations from Castilian and Catalan in the book are mine and I take complete responsibility for word choices and any errors. The handful of refrains, jingles, and songs included here—nearly all of them rhyming—I have translated more or less literally, getting their meaning but not necessarily their rhythm in English.

CHAPTER 1

SOUPS, BROTHS, STEWS, CREAMS, AND PULSES

cocidos, caldos, estofados, cremas y legumbres

Soup is surely the most fundamental of all of the country dishes. But as basic as it can be—and some soups are basic, so much so as to consist on a few bucolic occasions of little more than herbs, olive oil, a pinch of salt, and hot water—they tend to be nourishing, filling, and adaptable to what is in season or in the pantry.

For Spaniards, sopa usually means a broth made from boiling some bone-in meat or chicken, maybe beef or salted pork bones, chorizo, a handful of garbanzo beans, a couple of root vegetables—turnips, parsnips, carrots—and fresh herbs. These are cooked with patience, and given time for their goodness and flavors to seep into the caldo, or broth.

And then some fine fideo pasta noodles are tossed into the broth. But that filler can be even simpler—just a spoonful of chopped hard-boiled egg and cured jamón to give the soup some body. At the fullest, the