Almost seven years ago I journeyed from Santillana del Mar to Santa Maria de Lebaña via San Vicente de la Barquera. So many saints, so much devotion, that it was little surprise to learn that beyond the monastery of Santo Toribio de Liébana and through the Picos de Europe lies the hallowed ground of Covadonga.

It was at the battle of Covadonga in 718 that Christian Spain under Pelayo, King of Asturias, began the reclamation of Iberia from the Muslim Moors. Nestled deep within the Asturian mountains, Covadonga is as important to the Spanish national myth as Hastings is to the British or Lexington to Americans. However, history defies such over-simplification – the linear narrative of one thing followed by another – and it is too easy to say that simply because certain events turned out the way they did there were no other possibilities. Indeed, a sentence stating that the defeat of a Moorish army by a Spanish king at Covadonga began the reconquest of Spain – which culminated in Ferdinand and Isabella vanquishing Boabdil, Emir of Granada, in 1492 – encompasses more than 700 years and glosses over seven whole centuries of war, shifting borders, switching alliances, inter-marriage, suffering and grief.

It is with this in mind that I wonder if it’s an exaggeration to suggest that had the battle at Covadonga ended differently the whole course of western history, and therefore of the world, would have been affected. Spanish historian Claudio Sanchez-Albornoz does not believe so. “Si los musulmanos no hubiesen conquistado el España en el siglo VIII, los españoles no habrian conquistado America en el XVI.”* For him it follows that what began there in the 8th Century resulted in a militarized and battle-hardened Spain conquering much of the New World.

For me, and my own personal sense of history those seven years ago, a dinner of beans, pork belly, chorizo and morcilla suggested just as plausible a theorem: that had not the Asturian armies under Pelayo feasted on fabada in preparation for the fight the next day, there may have been another outcome. And while personal experience suggests that after a hearty meal of this kind one is utterly disinclined to remaining awake, let alone to feeling lively enough to bum rush a horde of scimitar-brandishing Berbers, I still feel that this notion has validity. After all, how could one’s sense of local patriotism and desire to defend one’s homeland fail to be stirred by such a dish? That the culinary use of saffron arrived in the far north of Spain via these same Moorish invaders and the integral ingredient smoked pimentón wasn’t to be discovered for another eight centuries following the conquest of Mexico doesn’t disprove this hypothesis, rather it merely serves to highlight, once again, the non-linear path of history.

(If the Muslims had not conquered Spain in the 8th century, the Americas wouldn’t have been conquered by the Spaniards in the 16th.”)

Those of you who raised your eyebrows at the very idea of lentils mixed with chocolate might be forgiven for thinking that we have lost our tiny minds, that too long around infant children, cooing and a-goo-goo-gooing, has softened our already mushy brains beyond repair. Indeed, had we not gone out on a limb ourselves and given this a bash, I daresay we would be right there among you sucking our teeth and rolling our eyes, but, like many foods that turn out to be extra delicious, a small leap of faith is necessary.

Rather like the sensation you experience shortly after realizing you put on your underwear inside out, eating lentils with chocolate is initially unsettling. That something as earthy and savory as lentils can work with luxurious chocolate is certainly a surprise, but a very dark, high cocoa-solids chocolate does have a distinctly savory quality, and I don’t have to remind you that until some bright spark mixed it with milk and sugar, chocolate was an exclusively savory product for centuries.

The origins of this unusual dish are unclear, or at least we were unable to discover them using Google Translate, and we cannot lay claim to being its inventors, but a recent flick through some old photos reminded me that I had been intrigued by it a while ago. Those among you with long memories, may remember that back in the fall of last year, when we made the traditional Argentine dish locro de mondongo, we mentioned having eaten some Buenos Aires’ favorite empanadas at La Cupertina, a charming little cafe in the Palermo Soho district of that glorious city. And the especially keen-eyed may have noticed that in a photo illustrating said post featuring the window of said cafe the specialties of the house were listed, including lentejas al chocolate.

Certainly not a common dish anywhere, lentils with chocolate can be found on both sides of the Atlantic in northern Spanish, especially Asturian, and Portuguese cuisine, as well as throughout Latin America. The lentils are usually served soupily with a humble garnish of fried, garlicky croutons and a good glass of red wine, but in our own unique, whimsical manner, we paired them with a monster pimenton-spiked pork chop, and attempted a strange kind of winter scene as a garnish, decorating the plate with steamed asparagus tip “Christmas trees” gaily adorned with festive ribbons made from roasted red pepper strips. In quite what role the roasted pearl onions were cast remains uncertain. Perhaps they resemble over-sized tree ornaments, perhaps not. Maybe we are going soft in the head after all.

Sitting around the table last night with gusts of strong breath coloring our domestic atmosphere, Amy and I were considering the profound effect garlic has on Spanish cuisine, and we wondered aloud whether any other national cuisine makes such abundant and varied use of the perfumed rose. Certainly, French and Italian food incorporate garlic with spectacular results, as do Greek, most other Mediterranean cuisines, as well as Chinese and Indian, but if there’s a cuisine that, to us, is characterized by garlic, it’s Spanish.

All of which is great, unless you happened to be sitting next to us this morning on the subway, as last night we ate two of the most highly odoriferous dishes in the Iberian canon – patatas a lo pobre and pollo al ajillo. The humble, peasant roots of both these dishes (the former translating as poor man’s potatoes) rely heavily on large quantities of garlic to elevate the otherwise prosaic ingredients to a higher plane. The garlic somehow acts both as a spice and an acid, flavoring the dish while simultaneously cutting through and balancing the olive oil.

We recommend you make enough of both these dishes to share, not just because they make delicious tapas-style small plates, but because you’ll want to surround yourself with similarly pungent folk to avoid people covering their faces and shuffling away down the train as if you had the plague. On the other hand, you do far worse than gain a little extra personal space in this congested city of ours. Maybe we’ve hit on a smart new commuting tactic?

I remember the night in Madrid Jonny and I thought it would be a good idea to do a tapas crawl after having many, many drinks. We weren’t yet at that “I’m so drunk I must shovel food in my mouth now” place, but were maybe a few bottles of Mahou away. It was a great idea at first, but as the drinks piled on, the tapas were looking smaller and smaller and smaller to me. This girl was getting hungry!  But we had to soldier through. We had to follow the pact we had made after that bottle of rioja that we would have a drink and a tapa, then move to the next bar and have another drink then a tapa.  We would never surrender to buying dinner that night.  Tapas and drinks. Tapas and drinks only.

After the fourth “drink and tapa” run I began to have that feeling in my stomach. You know how it goes. The feeling that if a whole pizza was put in front of you you’d eat it all in one sitting. Or that you could die for some double crispy fries with a vat of blue cheese dressing (as a dipping sauce, of course… come on, it’s good!). Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll get to that next tapas joint only to find that the raciones are four times as large as they usually are?

Well, we stumbled upon the next bar and my prayers were answered. There on the tapas menu was everything I was searching for – a bit greasy, a bit spicy and a bit crunchy with a bit of starch and plenty of protein. Soon a rather large cazuela was placed in front of my salivating mouth containing Picadillo de Carne con Huevos y Patatas. Happy happy joy joy, happy joy joy.

Like two rabid dogs attacking a carcass, we dug in. It was amazing. A flavor sensation. But as quickly as it was put on the table it was just as quickly  lapped up and in our bellies. I still remember that day well and we love to make our own version of that tapa at home. Of course, we eat it as a Saturday brunch dish instead of a drunken bar snack. We substitute the beef picadillo for minced chorizo and use the rendered fat to cook the potatoes in. Yes, not the lightest meal to start a Saturday, but you’ll definitely smile while you’re eating it (and then crawl back into bed to sleep it off).

No, friends, let me reassure you that you have not accidentally stumbled upon some weird, faux-rustic “pron” site. For good or bad, the only p0rn you’ll find here is daring, ultra-close-up pics of the juicy, young flesh of pasture-fed Argentine cattle. And the only things being roasted (or stripping for that matter) are long strips of beef ribs, or tira de asado.

The setting for this particular Argentine skin flick was El Establo, (meaning the stable), a famous old parilla in the Retiro district of Buenos Aires.

Arriving at this restaurant after another long walk across the City, we found ourselves salivating even more than usual at the sight of giant hunks of meat sizzling over glowing coals because the previous night’s meal had been so disappointing. We’ll devote an entire post about why our experience at Casa Saltshaker was such a let-down another day, but suffice it to say for now, that this chastening experience was beneficial because we learned that disappointment can be an excellent appetite-whetter.

Greeted enthusiastically by our ebullient waiter Javier, we were presented with a large menu, including a range of steaks and pasta, as well as a wide variety of northern Spanish classics – the restaurant’s founder being an immigrant from the Gijon area of Asturias. After a good ten minute study of said menu, we looked up and noticed our surroundings: a high-ceilinged whitewashed room with thick, dark wood beams, somewhat reminiscent of a stable, with the exception of the giant barbecue, and behind us, an intimidating old liquor cabinet packed with all manner of head-splitting firewaters in knobbly green and brown bottles.

Famished by our walk and the meager offerings of the night before, we ordered the heroically proportioned ensalada del Establo (containing almost every vegetable you can name plus potatoes and boiled eggs), and what turned out to be a giant order of lengua a la vinaigrette (cold, boiled beef tongue with garlic, hot pepper and vinegar sauce) as appetizers, and somewhat conservatively, we figured, a half order, respectively, of entraña (skirt steak) and tira de asado.

Tira de asado (roast strips) is one of several uniquely Argentine cuts of beef that are perfectly suited to the high-heat charring (al carbon)of a traditional parilla. Beef ribs are cross-cut so that long narrow strips of inter-costal meat are interspersed with knots of rib-bone, which serves to shorten the often tough fibers of this part of the beast and allow them to be grilled instead of cooked using the long, low & slow method for the typical beef ribs barbecue familiar to Americans.

The juiciness and wonderfully gamey flavor of beef ribs is also retained brilliantly with this method, creating an irresistible contrast in texture to the crust formed on the outside by the searing heat from the charcoal.

Similar cuts of meat are available from some butchers in the US, the closest probably being the flanken rib, which is a short rib cut across the bone. From what we know from visiting several local butchers in Brooklyn, these are delicious, but generally thicker and meatier than those we ate in Argentina, bringing us to the conclusion that they’re cut from higher up the steer. Of course, as we plan to do at several points over the summer, you could quite easily buy yourself a rack of beef ribs and a fine-toothed saw (or heavy cleaver) and cut your own meat to order. I expect that satisfying thwack of steel on bone will be one of the signature sounds of the season.

We were delighted with our lunch at El Establo in all respects, and the playful friendliness of Javier interjecting his Argentine-inflected “you’re welcome”s as he brought more and more food to the table, only complemented our general sense of well-being. Like many professional waiters, he did his job expertly without either writing anything down or seeming to be in a hurry. Strolling around, gracefully hefting heavily-laden iron meat trays, and pausing now and then to chat and joke with our fellow diners, Javier seemed to be enjoying himself as much as we were. In fact, the only time I saw him frown was when, casting a wary eye over the meaty wreckage on our table, he tapped his nose, and, winking, advised us that we would need another half-bottle of wine if were going to properly enjoy the remainder of our steak. You can’t argue with service like that.

We ate tira de asado on at least three occasions during our week in Argentina, and so hooked were we that for our first steak meal in the month since returning home we trekked all over Brooklyn looking for an appropriate cut of meat. Ultimately, we didn’t quite find an exact facsimile of what we’d eaten in Buenos Aires, but the ribs we made and grilled at home were still very, very good all the same. And, when accompanied with lashings of sweet-vinegary-spicy condiment salsa criolla (creole sauce), a hearty Malbec, and a bowl of the highly addictive side dish that is papas fritas a la provenzal (french fries with fried garlic and parsley), it didn’t take an enormous mental leap to be back at El Establo listening to Javier expound his theory of why Fernet-Branca is the most popular digestive in Argentina. (it burns through steak the best)

And it was because of this humbling reminder of mortality that we were unable to visit a very tempting restaurant that lay just across Calle de Campomanes from our hotel (the curiously-titled Roommate Mario) in the Opera district of the city. Every day for a week, we walked (or, as our stay progressed, waddled) past this restaurant (it didn’t appear to have a name), re-reading and salivating at the names of dishes advertised on the sunshades overhanging the windows: paella marinera, paella bogavante, arroz al horno, paella valenciana, arroz atianda, and arroz negro.

At the time, we convinced ourselves that this was no big deal since we were in Madrid to eat Madrileño food, not rice dishes from the Levante (eastern Spain, around Valencia/Murcia, so-called because that’s where the sun rises), and certainly not in the chilly depths of winter when rib-sticking dishes like cocido madrileño and callos a la madrileño were the order of the day. Of course, we flagrantly disobeyed this rule on a couple of occasions (see our previous posts on Canarian papas arrugadas and Galician arroz marinero), and during our current lengthy bout of winter-induced, home-bound funk, we found ourselves, in our related regret-filled nostalgia, wishing that we’d made one more exception.

So, to appease these feelings, what we were unable or unwilling to eat in Madrid, we decided to make ourselves right here in Brooklyn. A couple of sachets of cuttlefish ink, some D.O. Calasparra rice, and a little help from Penelope Casas’ The Foods and Wines of Spain resulted in a quite magnificent traditional Murcian arroz negro.

Do not be confused about it, the rice is, and should always be, the star of the dish. Do not be tempted to listen to the voices in your head telling you to add more seafood: this is not a black paella (though traditional Valencian paellas contain no seafood). Rice, in this case, is not just a starchy canvas on which the more tasty and colorful protein displays itself, as it is commonly thought of in the American and British mind. Use only the amount specified below, otherwise you risk distracting your tastebuds from the point that is the extraordinary manner in which the squid (or cuttlefish) ink, together with pimenton, saffron and a hint of garlic, delicately perfumes the rice. A crisp white wine (as called for in the recipe) or a dry rose would make a perfect match.

Our good friend Nuría of Spanish Recipes Pic by Pic made what is, by any measure, a superior arroz negro on her third attempt. Having been unable (at least for now) to find squid or cuttlefish complete with their ink sacs, we’re not optimistic that we’ll be able to mimic the wonderful inky blackness of Nuría’s dish, but next time we try, I think we’ll add an extra packet of dry ink to see if we can get closer to that beautiful color.
Arroz Negro Murciano (Murcian-style Black Rice) with Garlic Sauce
(adapted from Penelope Casas’ The Foods & Wines of Spain)

Ingredients

• 500 grams Calasparra, Valenciana, or Bomba rice (only use Italian arborio or carnaroli, if you are absolutely desperate)
• 2 pounds octopus (with tentacles)(ab0ut 8 squid), sliced (if you find them with their ink sacs you’re very lucky, and use these in place of packets listed below)
• 1/2 pound small shrimp/prawns, shelled and chopped into pieces
• 1 large onion, chopped roughly
• 1 medium tomato, roughly chopped
• 1/2 medium green pepper (capsicum), chopped
• 1/2 jar piquillo peppers, julienned
• 8 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 2 small, dry chorizos, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
• 2 packets squid or cuttlefish ink (nero di calamari/seppia)
• 1 pinch saffron threads
• 1/4 cup dry white wine
• 3 tsp pimentón dulce (sweet paprika)
• 4tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
• 3 3/4 cups (1.5ish liters) fish broth or clam juice (make 4 cups in case you need a little extra)
• 3 tbsp olive oil

For garlic sauce:

• 3 cloves garlic, crushed
• 1/2 cup olive oil

Recipe

1. Preheat oven to 325F (160Cish)
2. Clean the squid, cutting bodies into rings and chopping up tentacles.
3. In a wide 2-3inch deep casserole dish (preferably earthenware), or paella (pan), heat oil and saute onion and green pepper until both are wilted.
4. Add squid rings and tentacles and saute for around five minutes before adding chorizo, garlic, tomato, parsley, salt, pepper, saffron, and pimentón. Cover and simmer gently for around 30 minutes.
5. Meanwhile, follow directions on packets for reconstituting the squid/cuttlefish ink, and pass black liquid through a sieve to remove impurities. Mix ink with wine.
6. After 30 minutes, stir in rice and when well combined, add broth (boiling hot) and stir in ink/wine and toss in shrimp.
7. Bring to a boil and stir occasionally until rice is no longer soupy, about 10 minutes. Decorate with pimento strips and put dish in oven and bake uncovered for around 15 minutes until all remaining liquid is absorbed.
8. Remove from oven and cover tightly and allow to sit for 10 minutes.
9. While rice is resting, add garlic in a food processor or blender, and with motor running gradually pour in olive oil until well combined and golden.
10. Place dish in the middle of the table and encourage diners to stake their claim. Serve garlic sauce on the side.

The most popular ways to serve classic Romesco with vegetables is with the famous Spanish calçots. Calçots are a variety of longer, thicker and sweeter scallions that are also grown in Tarragona, Catalonia (a perfect local pairing!) and are produced in a very specific and time-consuming way with a season lasting only from January to March. Every January or February the calçots are harvested and many Catalonians celebrate this with a huge calçotada or a kind of calcot fiesta. At this big party, Catalonians sit at long tables and consume pounds of calçots which have been charred on a grill of burning vines and then wrapped in newspapers in order to finish cooking in steam. The participants dip the fleshy, sweet insides of the calçots into romesco and wash it down with copious amounts of red wine. Meat and bread are often grilled right after the calcots are. I am hoping to one day taste these beauties but mostly I’m excited to one day be part of a calçotada.

If you’re interested in learning a bit more about the festivities of a calçotada, check out this great YouTube video. You don’t need to understand Spanish to understand it.

Anyways, back to the meal we made. Earlier I mentioned that I called my sauce a Romesco-esque sauce because I kind of was forced to use what I had in my kitchen. I did not have any of the dried sweet peppers called nyora which are normally used but that was probably because they are very hard to come by here in America. In fact, I didn’t even have the substitute that is often used here such as an ancho pepper, so I used what I had (and, purists, I know you’ll kill me because Romesco should never be spicy but I needed to use up a half of salmonella-free jalapeno). Also, Romesco should always be made with fresh tomatoes and I didn’t have any so out came the jar of crushed tomatoes. I also decided to thinly slice some fennel and an onion and sweat them down slowly in a pan with some olive oil. After a half hour of slowly sweating down, you get the sweetest most delicious “relish” which I topped our grilled fish with as well.

In the end, all the flavors melded together perfectly. Maybe it was the crunchiness of the grilled trout skin, possibly the moist trout flesh mixed with the smokey, sweet and nuttiness of the Romesco-esque sauce or it could have been the bliss of having a bit of crunchy potatoes with the moist fish along with the sweetness of the onion/fennel relish? Whatever it was, this meal was a homerun. I hope you try your hand at making Romesco and maybe you have a good story of attending a calçotada?

Feel free to check two of our good blogger friends version of Romesco – Kalofagas, Nuria’s and Michelle’s.

GRILLED RAINBOW TROUT WITH ROMESCO-ESQUE SAUCE AND FENNEL-ONION RELISH – serves 2

Ingredients for fish and fennel-onion relish:

• 1 whole rainbow trout, gutted and cleaned
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
• salt and pepper
• 1 fennel, thinly sliced (use a mandoline – it’s easier)
• 1 onion, thinly sliced (I used vidalia onion for it’s sweetness

Ingredients for Romesco Sauce:

• 6 tablespoons crushed tomatoes (or 4 roasted tomatoes)
• 2 tablespoons Spanish sweet pimenton (or sweet paprika)
• 10 Marcona almonds (if using other type of almond, make sure they have been pan-roasted for a minutes and the skin is removed)
• 1 piece of toasted white bread (crust removed)
• 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
• 1/2 of a pepper, traditionally a dried red pepper (I used jalapeno – not traditional at all, but gave it a little kick)
• 1/2 head of roasted garlic
• 1 sprig of mint
• olive oil
• pinch of salt

What to do:

1. Heat about 1/4 cup of olive oil in a pan and on medium to medium-low heat, cook your onions and fennel down for about 20 to 30 minutes until very soft and translucent. Do not let them brown and make sure you stir every few minutes.
2. Roast your 1/2 head of garlic in a 475 degree oven for about 15 to 20 minutes (or until soft inside). Allow to cool before using.
3. Make your Romesco by adding the bread, almonds and pepper first and grind up finely in the food processor. Next add the other ingredients (don’t forget to squeeze the roasted garlic out of the skins!) except the olive oil and salt. Blend until smooth. Finally, with the food processor going, slowly add the olive oil in a slow stream until the Romesco is thick and fully emulsified. Taste for salt and add to your liking.
4. Rub your whole fish with the butter and season inside and out with salt and pepper. Throw on a hot grill and cook until firm on both sides (about 5 to 7 minutes per side depending on size of fish).
5. Eat fish whole or fillet the fish and top with some romesco sauce and a tablespoon of the onion/fennel relish. Serve with greens or crispy roasted potatoes. Drizzle some olive oil all over before serving.

Check out some other posts you may enjoy:

• SPANISH (ASTURIAN) OXTAIL WITH FRIED POTATOES
• FUSILLI WITH SALSA DI NOCI AND MUSHROOMS (WALNUT PESTO)
• BRAISED PORK CHOPS WITH LIME AND OLIVES
• Cabrales Cheese: It’s a Bit of an Animal
• Daily Bread: Still Eaten Daily In Some Parts

Not long ago our good friend Nuria at Recipes Pic by Pic offered to do a food exchange with us, knowing both how obsessed we are with Spanish food and their comparative scarcity over here in the States. In return she asked that we send her some typical American products of our choice as well as a Cuisinart food processor. We were delighted to oblige.

Nuria wasted no time and recently posted about a hummus she made with her shiny new toy and including a photograph of the rather idiosyncratic selection of foods we sent her. Amongst them Franks Hot Sauce, two kinds of dried Mexican chiles, Reeces Peanut Butter Cups (cause you know how much Americans love Peanut Butter) and, perhaps most amusingly, a packet of Silvia’s seasoned fried chicken coating.

Her package to us, however, contained rather more sophisticated ingredients: jamon iberico de bellota, chorizo de bellota, and some piquillo peppers. Those of you who read our Jamon, Jamon, Jamon, Jamon post back in January when we had just returned from Madrid will know how we feel about iberico ham – the finest grade of the wonderfully delicious range of Spanish cured hams made from black-footed pigs raised amidst the statuesque holm oaks of Extremadura in central west Spain near the Portuguese border. So you can imagine our delight at having a generous racione of it arrive vacuum-packed from the famed Mercado la Boqueria in Barcelona.

However, we were cautious, looking for an opportunity to savor the ham and give it the attention it deserves, we had to wait until earlier this week for the moment to finally breech the packaging. Following Nuria’s instruction we allowed it to come to room temperature – yes, there is a right way and a wrong way to enjoy iberico – and laid it out on a plate just as we had had it in Madrid, accompanied only by a couple of pieces of pa amb tomaquet (see recipe below) in a Catalan homage to both Nuria and the ham’s provenance in Barcelona.

And, how was it, you ask? Well, it was bliss. The ham’s fat was soft and almost unbelievably buttery and rich, yet strongly flavored with the scent of the acorns on which the pig was fed. The ham itself was gamey and powerful while being at once smooth and calming on the tongue. It was, in all honesty, swoon-inducingly good and provoked tearful memories of our last taste of iberico in the fug of a bar in Madrid back in January when we had sighed and wondered aloud when we might eat iberico again.

Thank you so much Nuria – muchissimas gracias a usted – for both offering to do the exchange in the first place and then trusting two complete strangers to respond in kind. It’s not only reserved you a very special place in our hearts (and stomachs) but also made us think very kindly about the rest of this wonderful food community that we’re getting to know and the fascinating and generous people who inhabit it. Buen provecho y salud a todos!  Oh, and also, thank you for giving us the Blogging with a Purpose award – much appreciated!

P.S. – After the iberico we made another tapa with some of the delicious piquillo peppers Nuria also sent us. Riffing off something Jose Andres made on his show Made in Spain, we put thick slices of Manchego cheese (or you can use any other type of hard cheese that melts like Provolone, Cheddar, Piave, Gouda, etc.) into the piquillos and lightly fried them in good olive oil and served them with a sprinkling of pimenton dulce or sweet Spanish paprika. So easy and so gooey and delicious.

For other ideas for tapas and for a delicious recipe for Spanish tortilla, check out an older post of ours.

Pa amb Tomaquet (Catalan toasts or bread with tomato) – serves 2

Ingredients:

• 2 thick slices of hearty Italian or country-style French bread
• 1 fresh and very ripe tomato (this is key – it should be ruby read and soft)
• 1 clove garlic, sliced lengthwise
• some extra virgin olive oil
• salt

What to do:

• Grill the bread pieces until toasted.
• While bread is still warm from the grill, rub the openly cut side of half a clove of garlic on each face of bread. This allows the scent and flavor of the garlic to melt into the warm bread.
• Cut tomato in half and rub each face of bread with the tomato. Rub hard and don’t be afraid if you feel it’s a bit messy – you want all the juice and pulp of the tomato to get on the bread.
• Drizzle some olive oil on both pieces of bread and then sprinkle a bit of salt on top. You can add some optional toppings of anchovies or olives or tuna for fun and a heartier tapa. MMMMMMM – enjoy!

Check out some other posts you may enjoy:

• Unusual Tapas We Ate in Madrid
• Chorizo and Clams with White Wine
• Squid with Golden Potatoes
• MORCILLA (SPANISH SAUSAGE) STUFFED GRILLED SQUID WITH A SPICY SAUCE
• ARROZ MARINERO (SPANISH RICE WITH SEAFOOD AND SPICES)
• Fabada: A Mortal and Corporal Sin – But Worth It!

A lot of people love Jamie Oliver for his informal, cheekie-chappie attitude and antics, which they welcome as a nice break from the seemingly unapproachable TV chefs of the past. Personally, I find his mockney styles and instant familiarity grating, and have let this issue influence my opinion of his cooking. However, I’m big enough of a man to concede that, off-screen, he’s almost certainly a guy I would like, that I have great admiration for his efforts at giving low-income, disadvantaged kids opportunities to work in his restaurants, and, more recently, I’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s a pretty good cook too.

From the first, fateful occasion I ate morcilla I was hooked, and since finding a reliable source of it close by us in Brooklyn, I’ve been looking for ways of including it in my cooking. So, giving credit where it’s due, Jamie Oliver’s recipe for squid stuffed with black pudding was just the inspiration I needed. To the naked eye what follows might look like a simple execution of his recipe, but as I say, his recipe was just inspiration. I read the recipe, but did not follow it. I added a degree of chipotle heat to the sauce and switched the white wine for plenty of lemon juice, and to my mind, the addition of some spiciness and acid is what elevates this dish beyond its already delectable level, cutting, as it does, the richness of the blood sausage.

Where this dish would sit in terms of global cuisine, I’m not sure. Its inspiration was British, its sauce Mexican-influenced, and its stuffing almost Spanish in flavor, but the dish really worked well regardless of its provenance. We made it as a tapa, but it would work perfectly as a first course, as a light main course, or even cold as part of a salad, and because the squid look really cool, but are really simple to make, they’d impress the hell out of dinner guests, providing, that is, they were adventurous enough to eat blood sausage.

Morcilla-Stuffed Squid (Calamares Rellenos con Morcilla)

Ingredients (serves 4)

8-10 squid (bodies, not tentacles)

2 small morcilla links, or 6oz of your favorite black pudding/blood sausage, casings removed

1/2 spanish onion, diced finely

2 cloves garlic, crushed & chopped

1tsp sweet paprika/pimenton dulce

1tbsp lemon juice

1tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf (Italian) parsley

1tbsp olive oil

8-10 toothpicks

For the sauce

2 plum tomatoes, diced finely

3 tsp chipotle powder

1/2 clove garlic, finely diced

2 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp water

1 pinch salt

1 squeeze lemon juice

Recipe

• Rinse out your squid with cold water and remove any cartilidge or other crap if you bought them whole.
• Add oil to saute pan and, when at medium heat, add onions. Allow to sweat for 3-5 mins until soft.
• Break up morcilla/sausage with your fingers and add to pan. Continue to break up with a spoon while it cooks.
• When onions and morcilla are well combined, add garlic and paprika/pimenton, and mix well.
• Increase heat to medium high and add lemon juice.
• When ready, mixture should be well-combined and pretty coherent rather than loose or solid.
• Allow to cool enough so you can handle it.
• Fire-up your grill/barbecue to medium-high.
• Salt interior of squid lightly and stuff with mixture and “sew” top closed with a toothpick.
• Do not overfill. Squid shrinks when cooked and too much filling will cause it to leak and make a mess of your grill.
• Oil your grill so squid don’t stick and grill them for 2-3 minutes per side or until grill-marks have developed and squid are nice and firm.
• Remove from grill and allow to come to room temperature.
• Slice and serve with sauce.

The sauce

• Heat saute pan to medium. Add half olive oil and garlic.
• When garlic is lightly colored, add tomatoes.
• Tomatoes should melt into a sauce texture with a little stirring.
• Add water, salt, parsley and chipotle powder. Combine well.
• Reduce heat. Add lemon juice and remaining olive oil.
• Serve over and under the stuffed squid.
• Enjoy!

Usually if I’m trying to make an authentic dish, I always try to make it just that – authentic. That means that I want to use traditional ingredients and I attempt to research the many traditional ways to make that specific dish. I then decide how to combine the best bits from all those traditional recipes and create one recipe. Well, this traditional, old Castillian dish is always made with almonds – more specifically the beautiful Marcona almonds which are bigger and sweeter and more delicious (to me) than the almonds we know here in America. As Penelope Casas writes, “(Pollo en Pepitoria) combines all of the ingredients most often associated with Spanish cooking – garlic, saffron, sherry and almonds – into an unusually savory sauce.” DOH! As I began cooking, I could have sworn I had a fresh bag of almonds to work with only to find that it was a bag of fresh hazelnuts. Could I swap? Yeah… could I call it authentic on my blog… nope. What I can tell you is substituting hazelnuts in this dish for almonds does not actually change the flavor all that much. But the thing that I really decided to do to completely different from the traditional dish was to actually coat the pieces of chicken in hazelnuts and lightly saute them until crispy on the outside and finished them in the oven to keep it moist inside. You all like it moist, right? But, dear readers, you must know that traditionally you would just roll pieces of chicken with the bone in in some seasoned flour and saute them just like that in olive oil.

So, do I have a right to really call this dish Pollo en Pepitoria? Probably not. Do I hate when idiots like Rachael Ray and Sandra Lee completely remake an authentic classic an continue calling it by it’s authentic name but it doesn’t even resemble the original dish? YES. Am I being a bit of a hypocrite right now – uh-huh. Do I care? Not really. It’s only because I’ve been wanting to post this recipe for about 2 months now and it’s 75 degrees and sunny and I want to get outside. Creative juices ain’t a-flowing.

So here’s Pollo en Pepitoria “Kinda”. That’s as creative as it’s gonna get today, kids. Have a beautiful weekend!

If you’re interested, please check out one of our favorite blogs about Spain, all things Spanish and life in Spain – Notes from Spain – a few years ago they posted a recipe for Pollo en Pepitoria.

POLLO EN PEPITORIA “KINDA” – CHICKEN IN A SAFFRON, FINO AND HAZELNUT SAUCE (serves 6)

Ingredients:

• 6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 1 cup flour (seasoned with a bit of salt)
• 2 eggs, beaten + tablespoon of water
• 1 1/2 to 2 cups chopped hazelnuts (to coat chicken) + 1/4 cup of finely ground hazelnuts (to add to sauce)
• olive oil or vegetable oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 2 cloves of garlic, minced or sliced
• 1 carrot, chopped
• 1/4 cup of dry sherry (fino)
• 1 bay leaf
• 3/4 cup chicken broth
• pinch of fresh grated nutmeg
• pinch of saffron
• salt and pepper
• Optional: 2 hard-boiled eggs, chopped, for garnish

What to do:

1. Heat your oven up to 425 degrees and season your chicken breasts with salt and pepper.
2. Make sure you slightly crush or run a sharp knife through your hazelnuts (the 1 1/2 to 2 cups called for to coat the chicken) in order to make sure they are able to stick to the chicken breasts. Have your ‘coating station’ ready by putting flour on the first plate, the beaten egg mixed with water on the second plate and the chopped hazelnuts spread out on the third plate.
3. Heat up about 1/4 inch of oil in an oven-safe pan or skillet on medium heat. Dip each chicken breast first in the flour (dust off any major excess), then the egg and finally roll around in the crushed hazelnuts. Add to your hot oil and cook on each side for about 1 to 2 minutes on each side. You want the hazelnuts to seal on to the chicken, but not to burn. Check after a minute and then, if necessary, continue to saute for another 30 seconds or so. If there’s not enough room in your pan to cook all the chicken breasts at once (don’t overcrowd!!), do it in batches and just reserve the chicken on the side until all are sauteed.
4. When the chicken has been cooked on both sides and the hazelnuts have adhered, put in your 425 degree oven and allow to cook for another 10-13 minutes, depending on the thickness of your chicken. If the chicken is done before you sauce, just remove from oven and allow to chill out on the side for a bit. It’s ok if it gets cool.



5. Make your sauce by adding the chopped onion, garlic and carrot to some olive oil in a pan and allow to saute on medium to medium-low for about 4 or 5 minutes till they get a bit soft.
6. After they cook till they are a bit softer, add your fino and scrape up some of the bits on the bottom of the pan. After about a minute, add your chicken broth, nutmeg, saffron, bay leaf and a pinch of salt and pepper. Simmer for 10 minutes.



7. While the vegetables are busy getting soft, in a blender or food processor (or with a good old mallet), blitz the 1/4 cup of hazelnuts till finely ground… I mean finely kids! Remove to a bowl until they are needed.
8. Optional: Boil two eggs for 8 minutes to hard-boil. When done, remove and place in cold water, allowing them to cool. De-shell and chop up for the garnish.
9. When 10 minutes or so has passed and you’ve tested the carrots for softness, REMOVE THE BAY LEAF and add everything from the pan to a blender or food processor. Blitz this mixture until smooth. Add the blitzed sauce back to the pan and keep warm on low-medium heat. Add the finely ground hazelnuts to the sauce and stir in – this will act as a thickener.

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10. Add your hazelnut-coasted chicken breast to the sauce and place back in your oven for 4 minutes to allow the chicken to come back to temperature if necessary. When it’s out of the oven, sprinkle the top with the chopped hard-boiled egg and enjoy!

Check out these other posts you may enjoy:

• WATERCRESS & RICOTTA RAVIOLI WITH A RADICCHIO BUTTER SAUCE
• GNOCCHI DI PATATE WITH A BROWN BUTTER, SAGE, BREADCRUMB SAUCE
• ITALIAN-STYLE SLOW ROASTED PORK SHOULDER WITH SALSA VERDE
• Truffled Butter: A Prince Among Ideas
• Pork Roll and Scrapple – The Dirty Culinary Pride of South Jersey/Philly
• Diversity Finally Comes to The Food Network