PAELLA: PANS of GOLD
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Spain's hallmark dish overcomes humble beginnings
to find its place in the sun.
PAELLA IS A DISH AT ONCE REVERED and maligned, drenched in
tradition, one that brings to mind a vision of flag-waving excess – or an
alchemy of steaming rice and the fruits of land and sea. In truth, it is
all of this, a gastronomic national emblem whose popularity in its
native land has brought with it a world of pale imitations and culinary
misunderstandings.
Strip all that away and what remains is a dish with a heart of gold, one
whose radiant saffron color embodies its origins along the sunny coast
of eastern Spain, the Païs Valenciá. Extending for miles between the
sea and the mountains, this flat land is Spain's garden, where a mild
climate, fertile alluvial soil, and a scheme of irrigation canals combine
to yield several harvests per year – from huertas, family-owned
farmsteads yielding tomatoes, squashes, peppers, and beans; hillside
honeycombs of orange groves; and the vast rice fields in the delta
region of La Albufera.
Paella takes its name from the pan in which it's prepared, cooked, and
presented: the paellera. This round skillet bears two ear-shaped
handles and is traditionally made of sturdy cast iron to hold mounds of
food without buckling (though carrying it may make one's knees
buckle). The pans are shallow, with a thin base that allows for quick
evaporation of liquids and produces the soccarat: the crispy,
caramelized crust of rice that forms on the bottom and is considered
the paella's most savory part – so much so that some chefs make a
show of serving the soccarat like they would flambéing a dessert at
tableside. In Valencia's enormous Mercado Central – with its fish
market full of spiny lobsters, plump red prawns, and wriggling eels;
tables piled high with dewy vegetables; tiny stalls specializing in beans
or spices; plus everything from herbalists to offal vendors – ferreterías
sell handcrafted paelleras of every size imaginable, from plate-size
skillets that serve two, to pans an entire family could use as a
toboggan.
In Valencia, paella is commonly cooked out in the open, over a wood
fire. Here the cook is without fail a man, a paellero, perhaps for the
simple reason of needing the brawn to handle the heavy paellera – or
the hordes that will flock to a paella feast like it was a tailgate party.
Case in point: Every September, paelleros from throughout Spain
converge on the Valencian delta town of Sueca for its Fiesta del
Arroz. For ten days they line the streets, each with booth, table, and
open fire, to engage in vigorous competition for the best paella. On
the final day, the paelleros join together to create a giant paella,
using hundreds of pounds of rice in a massive pan, to feed their fellow
revelers. But paella is more often a practical affair, one where
laborers in the orchards gather around the bonfire to cook a noonday
meal, sharing from the same pan in the very spirit of bonhomie.
Although many think of paella as a seafood dish, that is in fact only a
later variety of the original creation, which first surfaced during the
eighth-century Moorish influx into the southeastern Iberian Peninsula.
The Arabs brought with them rice; the local farmers, unsure of this
rather bland commodity, added whatever was at hand to spice it up:
waterfowl (and water rats), game birds, rabbit, garden vegetables and
herbs, plus snails, frogs, eels, and any other critter they could harvest
from their marshy locale. Even today, authentic paella Valenciana is
strictly an earthbound affair, with saffron-spiked, short grain rice
topped by a mélange of ingredients that includes chicken, rabbit,
snails, broad beans, onions, and tomatoes. It was only when the
recipe traveled out of the freshwater delta north to Catalonia that
seafood became a regular component.
In a way, the ingredients of paella represent both Spain's conquerors
and the nation's own conquests. To go along with the rice (al-ruzz in
Arabic, which became arroz in Spanish), paella includes other Moorish
introductions such as artichokes, saffron, and broad beans; vegetables
brought over from early forays to the Americas – tomatoes, sweet and
hot peppers – and those that came more than a millennium ago from
Rome, like garlic, onions, and olive oil. The paellera also functions, it
seems, as a melting pot.
Although Valencians cast the paella mold, departures from the original
abound. "The abuses committed, in the name of paella Valenciana,"
wrote Catalan author Josep Pla, "are… an authentic scandal." But you
can't keep a good thing secret for long, and as the recipe spread, so
did the variations – mussels and prawns along the Costa del Sol,
Serrano ham in Barcelona, lobster in Cádiz – until paella evolved into
one of those dishes that is continually being reinvented. Only the
basic ingredients are universally agreed upon, starting with the rice.
Valencian short grain rice, or arroz bomba, is an emphatic must – its
chewy texture and ability to soak up flavors make it vital for a true
paella. (If you can’t find it – and it's not readily available in the United
States – the next best thing is its risotto-making cousin, arborio rice.)
Saffron, too, is essential – especially the saffron grown in the central
plains of Spain; known as the "gold of La Mancha," it originates from
the hand-harvested stigma of the crocus flower. While quality saffron
sells for upwards of $40 an ounce, a pan of paella requires only a
pinch of the precious spice. Garlic, parsley, and olive oil round out
the fundamentals.
Paella mixta and paella a la marinera (aka de mariscos) are the most
typical varieties you'll find outside of Valencia. Mixta may incorporate
monkfish, shellfish, lobster, chicken, spicy chorizo, ham, vegetables…
and possibly whatever else the chef has on hand. This embarrassment
of riches also goes by the name of paella parellada, or "rich man’s
paella." A la marinera piles the seafood on, usually mussels, clams,
prawns, and shrimp. Paella huertana, invoking the Spanish word for
"market garden," is the vegetarian version, which eschews animal
products in favor of broad and butter beans, artichoke hearts,
tomatoes, green peas, onion, and garlic. Paella negra, dark with squid
or cuttlefish ink, becomes all the more dramatic with a hefty dollop of
creamy-white alliloli, the Catalan version of the garlic mayonnaise
from Provence.
Today, in the restaurants of Barcelona and Madrid, you can find such
creations as curry paella, pasta paella (made with fideuá, a short,
narrow noodle), shiitake and portobello mushroom paella, calamari and
crab paella, and Chinese-style paella – all guaranteed to delight the
seeker of novel tastes and appall the purist.
Like the tapas invasion into the Western gastronomic arena, paella
currently ranks among the trendier plats du jour in the United States.
Eclectic, ethnocentric bistros are adding paella to their menus, as are
Nuevo Latino, pan-Mediterranean, and fusion restaurants. Even World
Wrapps offers a Spanish paella wrap, for paella-on-the-go. But for all
its faddish appeal, paella remains at heart a humble dish, one that is at
its best when shared at fiestas, beach parties, and family gatherings.
© 2002 Lisa Costantino, as first published in VIRTUOSO LIFE magazine.
to find its place in the sun.
PAELLA IS A DISH AT ONCE REVERED and maligned, drenched in
tradition, one that brings to mind a vision of flag-waving excess – or an
alchemy of steaming rice and the fruits of land and sea. In truth, it is
all of this, a gastronomic national emblem whose popularity in its
native land has brought with it a world of pale imitations and culinary
misunderstandings.
Strip all that away and what remains is a dish with a heart of gold, one
whose radiant saffron color embodies its origins along the sunny coast
of eastern Spain, the Païs Valenciá. Extending for miles between the
sea and the mountains, this flat land is Spain's garden, where a mild
climate, fertile alluvial soil, and a scheme of irrigation canals combine
to yield several harvests per year – from huertas, family-owned
farmsteads yielding tomatoes, squashes, peppers, and beans; hillside
honeycombs of orange groves; and the vast rice fields in the delta
region of La Albufera.
Paella takes its name from the pan in which it's prepared, cooked, and
presented: the paellera. This round skillet bears two ear-shaped
handles and is traditionally made of sturdy cast iron to hold mounds of
food without buckling (though carrying it may make one's knees
buckle). The pans are shallow, with a thin base that allows for quick
evaporation of liquids and produces the soccarat: the crispy,
caramelized crust of rice that forms on the bottom and is considered
the paella's most savory part – so much so that some chefs make a
show of serving the soccarat like they would flambéing a dessert at
tableside. In Valencia's enormous Mercado Central – with its fish
market full of spiny lobsters, plump red prawns, and wriggling eels;
tables piled high with dewy vegetables; tiny stalls specializing in beans
or spices; plus everything from herbalists to offal vendors – ferreterías
sell handcrafted paelleras of every size imaginable, from plate-size
skillets that serve two, to pans an entire family could use as a
toboggan.
In Valencia, paella is commonly cooked out in the open, over a wood
fire. Here the cook is without fail a man, a paellero, perhaps for the
simple reason of needing the brawn to handle the heavy paellera – or
the hordes that will flock to a paella feast like it was a tailgate party.
Case in point: Every September, paelleros from throughout Spain
converge on the Valencian delta town of Sueca for its Fiesta del
Arroz. For ten days they line the streets, each with booth, table, and
open fire, to engage in vigorous competition for the best paella. On
the final day, the paelleros join together to create a giant paella,
using hundreds of pounds of rice in a massive pan, to feed their fellow
revelers. But paella is more often a practical affair, one where
laborers in the orchards gather around the bonfire to cook a noonday
meal, sharing from the same pan in the very spirit of bonhomie.
Although many think of paella as a seafood dish, that is in fact only a
later variety of the original creation, which first surfaced during the
eighth-century Moorish influx into the southeastern Iberian Peninsula.
The Arabs brought with them rice; the local farmers, unsure of this
rather bland commodity, added whatever was at hand to spice it up:
waterfowl (and water rats), game birds, rabbit, garden vegetables and
herbs, plus snails, frogs, eels, and any other critter they could harvest
from their marshy locale. Even today, authentic paella Valenciana is
strictly an earthbound affair, with saffron-spiked, short grain rice
topped by a mélange of ingredients that includes chicken, rabbit,
snails, broad beans, onions, and tomatoes. It was only when the
recipe traveled out of the freshwater delta north to Catalonia that
seafood became a regular component.
In a way, the ingredients of paella represent both Spain's conquerors
and the nation's own conquests. To go along with the rice (al-ruzz in
Arabic, which became arroz in Spanish), paella includes other Moorish
introductions such as artichokes, saffron, and broad beans; vegetables
brought over from early forays to the Americas – tomatoes, sweet and
hot peppers – and those that came more than a millennium ago from
Rome, like garlic, onions, and olive oil. The paellera also functions, it
seems, as a melting pot.
Although Valencians cast the paella mold, departures from the original
abound. "The abuses committed, in the name of paella Valenciana,"
wrote Catalan author Josep Pla, "are… an authentic scandal." But you
can't keep a good thing secret for long, and as the recipe spread, so
did the variations – mussels and prawns along the Costa del Sol,
Serrano ham in Barcelona, lobster in Cádiz – until paella evolved into
one of those dishes that is continually being reinvented. Only the
basic ingredients are universally agreed upon, starting with the rice.
Valencian short grain rice, or arroz bomba, is an emphatic must – its
chewy texture and ability to soak up flavors make it vital for a true
paella. (If you can’t find it – and it's not readily available in the United
States – the next best thing is its risotto-making cousin, arborio rice.)
Saffron, too, is essential – especially the saffron grown in the central
plains of Spain; known as the "gold of La Mancha," it originates from
the hand-harvested stigma of the crocus flower. While quality saffron
sells for upwards of $40 an ounce, a pan of paella requires only a
pinch of the precious spice. Garlic, parsley, and olive oil round out
the fundamentals.
Paella mixta and paella a la marinera (aka de mariscos) are the most
typical varieties you'll find outside of Valencia. Mixta may incorporate
monkfish, shellfish, lobster, chicken, spicy chorizo, ham, vegetables…
and possibly whatever else the chef has on hand. This embarrassment
of riches also goes by the name of paella parellada, or "rich man’s
paella." A la marinera piles the seafood on, usually mussels, clams,
prawns, and shrimp. Paella huertana, invoking the Spanish word for
"market garden," is the vegetarian version, which eschews animal
products in favor of broad and butter beans, artichoke hearts,
tomatoes, green peas, onion, and garlic. Paella negra, dark with squid
or cuttlefish ink, becomes all the more dramatic with a hefty dollop of
creamy-white alliloli, the Catalan version of the garlic mayonnaise
from Provence.
Today, in the restaurants of Barcelona and Madrid, you can find such
creations as curry paella, pasta paella (made with fideuá, a short,
narrow noodle), shiitake and portobello mushroom paella, calamari and
crab paella, and Chinese-style paella – all guaranteed to delight the
seeker of novel tastes and appall the purist.
Like the tapas invasion into the Western gastronomic arena, paella
currently ranks among the trendier plats du jour in the United States.
Eclectic, ethnocentric bistros are adding paella to their menus, as are
Nuevo Latino, pan-Mediterranean, and fusion restaurants. Even World
Wrapps offers a Spanish paella wrap, for paella-on-the-go. But for all
its faddish appeal, paella remains at heart a humble dish, one that is at
its best when shared at fiestas, beach parties, and family gatherings.
© 2002 Lisa Costantino, as first published in VIRTUOSO LIFE magazine.