COME ON BABY LIGHT MY FIRE
If you want to ignite my culinary passions, just say “Tapas”. Small dishes traditionally served atop a glass of wine or sherry in a Spanish tapas bar, they epitomize not only the art of the appetizer, but the flavors of Spanish cuisine; deep, slightly spicy smoked paprika, the refined tartness of sherry vinegar, lots of garlic, and fine fruity Spanish olive oil. The Spanish are fond of making an evening of travelling from tapas bar to tapas bar fueled by Amontillado or Rioja and indulging in each establishment’s specialty dish. Sounds like a great night to me.
My love affair with tapas and Spanish food in general goes back many years. When I was young, mom would sprinkle paprika, ubiquitous throughout Spanish cuisine, on her fried chicken and I’ve been salivatingly enamored with the spice ever since. During my time as cooking instructor I gave several tapas classes to very enthusiastic receptions, cementing my love for them.
A few months ago, Lisa, whose blog you’ll find at Lisa’s Culinary Atrocities, and I were asked to cook at Dazzle Supper Club here in Denver. I’ve been waiting for the right time to roll out my tapas, and this seemed like the perfect event. Our concept was NOT simple, as not only would the individual dishes be paired with wine; we’d be pairing dishes with dishes. Instead of serving one tapas with each course, we’d serve two, each paired with its companion. So over 5 courses we would plate 10 different tapas. Ambitious? Yes. Great idea? Yes! Would I have tried a menu like this without Lisa? No!
THE MENU AND VARIOUS ASIDES
Course I:
Albóndigas in Almond Sauce paired with Orange, Red Onion, and Fennel Salad
Albóndigas are typically little meatballs served in soup or tomato and or almond sauce. Meatballs? We used Quorn “meatballs”, a perfect vegetarian alternative with several plusses. They’re the perfect size, about ¾ inch in diameter, only require thawing to use, are very tasty, and approximate the real thing extremely well. The almond sauce we served them in is a recipe dating back to the 1400’s and exhibits a lot of Moorish influence in its use of whole spices. The first step involved sautéing onion, diced tomato, and cubed stale bread in some olive oil to soften the mixture and prepare it to be pureed. Next I added dry white wine, a 50/50 mixture of ground toasted and raw almonds, saffron, pepper corns, cloves, smoked paprika, baked garlic, and the onion/tomato mixture from the skillet to a blender. After a few quick pulses the ingredients became a thick, luxurious sauce, terra cotta in color and heavenly in aroma. After that, all it needed was a brief stint on the range to heat and release the flavors. We served these garnished with a little shredded Manchego cheese.
We decided on the orange salad to do two things; counter-balance the richness of the almond sauce, and cleanse the palate in preparation of the following courses. Orange and onion salad is a direct paean to the cuisine of Morocco and Algeria which are, if you know your geography, just a hop over the Mediterranean Sea from the south shores of Spain. Usually served with sliced black olives, I elected to substitute paper-thin sliced fennel instead, as we had black and green olives in the following course, and I find the liqorice-iness of fennel very refreshing. We elected to use Clementines in lieu of Valencia oranges when we saw a box of them at the market. After slicing the red onion and fennel paper-thin on my Japanese Benriner mandolin, we commenced peeling the Clementines. This was all going along swimmingly until we both experienced an almost simultaneous build-up of citrus juices under our respective index finger nails. The sensation was not far from plunging the tip of your finger into a bowl of highly-acidic orange juice mixed with micro-shards of broken glass. We performed a brief dance of exquisite pain, grimaced, rinsed our hands of the offending material, and tucked back into the task at hand. After Lisa cut each Clementine in half, she placed one on a plate, followed by a tangle of red onion and a few slices of fennel. The finale was a drizzle of one of our secret weapons for the night: the award-winning, straight outta’ Spain, Senorio de Vizcantar extra-virgin olive oil. Its fruitiness and complexity tied the salad together perfectly.
Course II:
Gazpacho Andaluz garnished with a Banderilla, paired with Pasta De Azeitonas on Barra de Pan
My arm is still a little sore from making the gazpacho. And you must make it by hand, the old-school way, because it’s so simple any little slip-up or negligence will be glaringly noticeable. Start with 20 pounds of canned plum tomatoes from Italy (unless it’s summer and tomatoes are in season, in which case you have to blanche and peel the tomatoes first), then get out your Italian hand-operated food mill and start cranking. Be sure to have your finest straining disc in the thing, as you’re making the base of the gazpacho-tomato juice. REAL tomato juice. Don’t you dare use the canned, salt-laden variety, as doing so is akin to cursing yourself with many years of bad luck, sort of a self-imposed evil eye. I will come and haunt you myself. The juice is the most important ingredient. After milling what at the time seemed a bottomless well of tomatoes, the juice is placed in a blender in batches along with a chopped green bell pepper, crushed fresh garlic, Spanish sherry vinegar, torn stale bread, and more of Senorio’s olive oil. Blend smooth and ole!, delicious fresh gazpacho. To complete the soup, I prepared a combination of diced seedless cucumber, diced yellow and orange bell peppers, and thinly sliced scallions, a spoonful being added to each cup.
What I thought would be a fancy garnish turned into one of the most popular tapas of the night. In Spain a banderilla is both a short, colorfully decorated dart used in bull-fighting and a tapas of various pickled vegetables and cheeses skewered on toothpicks. Naturally we used the latter, which were each composed of a sweet pickled cocktail onion, a roasted red piquillo pepper (from Navarre), a cube of Drunken Goat Cheese (from Murcia), a green guindilla pepper (from the Basque Country), and an oil-cured black olive. We served these atop the cups containing the gazpacho which made for a beautiful presentation and a nice flavor accompaniment to the soup.
The olive tapenade, or more properly Pasta De Azeitonas, was a simple mixture of pitted green Spanish olives pureed with roasted garlic, olive oil, and brandy. Served on sliced baguette (barra de pan), it provided a rich, grounding umami counterpoint to the soups tangy, peppery, acidic flavor profile.
Course III:
Potaje de Garbanzos with Pan Rustico
Our initial plan was to serve the garbanzos with Basque Rice, a delicious dish of rice with sautéed onion, bell peppers, asparagus spears, and spices. Much to my chagrin, the Teflon coating in BOTH of my rice cookers began to chip at the same time, which necessitated a rapid change in plan. I couldn’t take any chances with the rice not cooking right, so I substituted pan rustico, hearty peasant-style bread that would be perfect to sop up the liquid from the beans with.
The potaje (basically a Spanish soup/stew of Cuban origin) has been a staple in my repertoire for over a decade. Potaje can be soupy or thick and stew-like, which is what I prefer. Onions and garlic are sautéed in olive oil, to which is added a blend of pureed fire-roasted tomatoes, smoked paprika, tomato paste, and vegetable stock. When all this is boiling, diced potatoes, dried oregano, and dried thyme find themselves in the pot for a good 30 minute simmer. This cooks the potatoes, develops the flavors, and reduces the sauce to a slightly thick consistency. Last in are the garbanzos for a quick heat-through. Like most stews, this dish benefits from sitting overnight to coax all the flavors out of the spices, and allow the sauce to thicken a bit more from the starch in the potatoes.
Course IV
Tortilla Española con Salsa Romesco paired with Queso Idiazabal con Membrillo
Possibly one of the most popular tapas, tortilla española is found at almost every tapas bar. A simple flat omelet of sautéed yellow onion, steamed or boiled potato, and egg cooked in a deep sauté pan until golden brown on the bottom. After flipping the entire tortilla over, the opposite side is browned and the tortilla cooled. You must serve these either cooled or at room temperature so the tortilla will hold together and not crumble. The usual accompaniment is Salsa Romesco, an uncooked sauce, Catalonian in origin, consisting of roasted red peppers, ancho chilies, garlic, sherry vinegar, olive oil, toasted almonds, toasted hazelnuts, and smoked paprika, all pureed together into a thick brick-red sauce. Its vinegary-peppery kick is the perfect foil to the relative mildness of the tortilla, and I recommend letting the Salsa Romesco warm a bit before serving to release its flavors.
We paired the tortilla with another very traditional tapas, cheese topped with quince paste, or membrillo. The most common cheese for this dish is Manchego, but we elected to use the slightly more obscure but equally more flavorful Idiazabal, a sheep’s milk cheese from the Basque Country. It has a creamier texture than aged Manchego, and is slightly more complex in flavor. It is common to serve it sliced with a topping of membrillo, a paste made from cooked-down quince and sugar. Dulce de Membrillo (its official name) is not overly sweet and has a slight tang that goes well with the cheese. Preparation involves cutting equal slices of cheese and membrillo, then placing the membrillo atop the cheese.
Course V
Rice Pudding paired with Marzipan-Stuffed Dates
Rice pudding (Pudin de Arroz) is an extremely popular dessert in Spain. It seems as though every Latin grandmother in every corner of the world makes a version of this dish, and it’s associated with a good deal of nostalgia and comfort. Our version was quite traditional, rice cooked in milk along with vanilla extract and orange and lemon zest, finished with a bit of heavy cream. It was delicious, but didn’t hold up overnight due to the starch in the rice. By the time we got to the restaurant, the pudding had congealed into a solid mass. Fortunately, our friend at Dazzle, Hannibal, was free to reconstitute the pudding with copious amounts of milk and heavy cream over a low heat until the starch dissolved and the pudding was once again pudding! Thanks Hannibal, mi hermano de cucina! The pudding was finished with cinnamon-brown sugar and chopped toasted almonds, presented beautifully, and seemed to be enjoyed by everyone. Whew!
The Marzipan-Stuffed Dates (Datiles con Mazapán) is another very old dish taken from North African cuisine. We found some wonderful, plump Medjool dates from California and hand-pitted them. The marzipan was kneaded with a bit of imported Lebanese orange flower water to tie in with the citrus flavors of the pudding, and Lisa stuffed about half a teaspoon into each date. The dark richness of the dates perfectly balanced the creamy pudding and looked beautiful when plated together. The dates, old and Moorish, tied the end of the meal into the meatballs we served at the beginning, and so we found ourselves full-circle.
I think the dinner was a smashing success. The guests were happy, we were happy, and Lisa and I once again found we are literally made for each other in the kitchen.
