S is for Spain

S is for Spain

Well, this was an overwhelming week in terms of choice. Truly, I was in something of a quandary when I looked up how many countries start with the letter S. There are 27 to choose from – the same number of EU Member States now (sob sob sob), to give you some idea of context. And boy, are there some GREAT places in this category: Sri Lanka was speaking to me in a big way after having read a recipe for so-called hoppers (Sri Lankan crepes, if you will); Switzerland of course has the healthiest of all the foods, cheese fondue; Sweden has all kinds of spicy buns (watch yourselves, those who are thinking the ‘bluer’ definition of buns – oo-er); Syrian cuisine is brimming with many of my absolute favourite foods, and Singaporean food is a melting pot of delights I’d quite happily dive face first into and lollop around in for…well, forever. While all these places had me drooling all over my keyboard, I felt that, having spent several years of my life studying the beautiful language of Spanish, I had no other choice but to dedicate this week to España. Vamos, chicos!!!

The beginnings of the pan

I have a kind of complicated relationship with Spanish. For some reason, although I know I am quite competent in it, it requires a gargantuan effort for me to actually reel off anything more than just ‘hola’. German has a delightful phrase to describe the notion of getting over your inhibitions, which, when literally translated, becomes ‘to overcome your inner pig-dog’ (den inneren Schweinehund überwinden, in case you were wondering). Friends, the Spanish language is my personal pig-dog: for all the best will in the world, I simply freeze up when it comes to speaking it. There is a large school of thought that considers it one of the easier languages to learn, which I’m sure is true in many ways; however, having accustomed myself early on to the rigidities of the German language, the slightly simpler grammar rules of Spanish leave me floundering in a sea of sangria. That said, I still enjoy a good bit of Latin pop and am thrilled when I can actually decode what Enrique Iglesias is singing about (hint: it is often sexy Latinas and dancing).

Having a right laugh with my pepper

The Spanish cuisine is famous the world over, and with good reason. Before you even get to looking at the human history that has influenced the country’s food, you have to do nothing more than caste an eye over the geography of the country to see that it certainly lends itself well to cultivating an eye-popping array of goodies. Not only is the climate pretty darn good for growing all kinds of treats (although global warming is making its unwelcome presence felt there, affecting growing patterns), but Spain has a full house when it comes to the physical side of things: coast, mountains, a whopping great big plateau. It even has some volcanic areas dotted around, providing some good fertile land for growing (not actual fact, just GSCE-geography-based speculation there). I’m almost certain that anyone who has visited a supermarket in another, less climatically favourable European country has come face to face with Spanish oranges, aubergines, tomatoes, artichokes and tomatoes at some point. Also, all that coast not only means plenty of space for British tourists to get burned to a crisp on day 1 of their holiday, but also an abundance of glorious seafood. As controversial as the European fishing industry is (a cursory peek into the first few Google hits is evidence enough to confirm that little statement), there is no doubt that Spain is a major player, making the most of all those little critters swimming around its waters and supplying the millions of locals and tourists with beautiful plates of paella de marisco, boquerones en vinagre (sardines in vinegar – divine) and percebes (gooseneck barnacles). The latter, by the way, is a prized delicacy which is unfathomably impractical to harvest, so you know people will be willing to pay big bucks for it (€ 100 per plate, anyone?). In fact, it is so highly prized that harvesters are genuinely risking their lives to get at the little buggers, hurling themselves into choppy waters that are littered with perilous rocky outcrops. I tell you what, though, they must taste sensational, ‘cos one look at a plate full of these ugly little alien barnacles would be enough to send me running for the hills. Seriously, look ‘em up – so gross.

Delicious but deadly: pan candeal

As we all know, the Spaniards have been pretty industrious over the last few centuries with regards to setting sail and putting their stamp on various parts of the world, so it is only natural that the fruits (literally) of that labour found their way into the food back home. Most notably, following the arrival of the Spanish in the Americas, kitchens back in España were suddenly full of new ingredients to play with, such as tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and potatoes. Fiesta time! Of course, that does not constitute the only great foreign influence in Spanish cuisine, but quite frankly, there are not enough hours in the day (or readers with sufficient patience) to go into it in great detail. What I will say, though, is that anyone who has ever enjoyed a bucket of sangria while sunning themselves on the Costa del Sol can send their thanks in the direction of Rome and Greece – it was those chaps who introduced viticulture to Spain. So yeh, cheers for that guys!

Spanish cuisine, more so than other places I’ve come across, is a battlefield of regional cuisines. Sure, the food you get down in Provence in France is going to be different to what you’ll get up in a traditional Breton restaurant, for example, but it appears that the Spaniards really take their regional food seriously. Again, there simply isn’t enough time to get down to the nitty gritty of it all, but I reckon you could get into a nice ‘healthy’ debate with a few Spaniards about who has the best food: the Andalusians, with their zealous use of olive oil; the Basques with their otherworldly pintxos (Basque tapas), or the Asturians, serving up mega pots of bean stew and honking cheeses. Needless to say, I was slightly overwhelmed when it came to deciding what to cook. Maybe I should have headed to Saudi Arabia and made a trusty rice, meat and veg dish, after all.

Viva Espana!

I guess for a lot of people, the go-to Spanish food is paella: a properly generous pan of saffron rice, vegetables, chicken, seafood, chorizo – whatever takes your fancy, really. Me, I was still suffering from a bit of rice fatigue, so decided to delve into a cookbook of European peasant food (sounds like a laugh a minute, eh?) to see what it could offer me in the way of less obvious Spanish treats. While I may be a bit tired of rice, I will never bore of bread – the one true love of my life – and so it was that I found myself writing down the ingredients for pan candeal and migas del pastor. Pan candeal is described as Andalusian sourdough bread, the rounded edges of which are well-suited to being lugged around on the back of a donkey. Granted, I don’t make a habit of heading to work on a donkey these days, but nevertheless, I am a fan of the more rustic food in life – it is infinitely more forgiving if you have a slightly heavy hand in the kitchen or, in my case, have a tendency to get distracted by pigeons flirting in the tree outside the kitchen window (the saucy devils). I’ve never made sourdough before, but I did have some vague notion that it requires a few days to really get going, but my God, this bad boy took it to another level: I started it off on Friday and it was MONDAY NIGHT before I had my first crumb of the damn thing. According to the recipe I used, the longer-than-average time scale makes this bread basically a guaranteed success, light and fluffy like a little floofy cloud. Um, well, I am living proof that this is absolute codswallop. Although the mixture was all bubbly over the few days it was sunbathing in my flat, something mysterious happened when it came to the actual baking, producing something that could legitimately be considered a dangerous weapon in the hands of an angry Spanish housewife. The flavour, actually, was delightful – very intense and savoury – but the texture definitely left more than a little to be desired. Luckily for my jaw and teeth, I had other plans than the simple consumption of my pan candeal: migas del pastor.

Shepherd's crumbs!

So guys, migas means crumbs in Spanish, and a pastor is a shepherd: shepherd’s crumbs. That was what I chose for Spain. No paella, no patas bravas, no churros¸ no tortilla. No. Instead of choosing any one of these flavoursome feasts, I, in my infinite wisdom and love of the unusual, decided to make shepherd’s crumbs. *Sigh* The story behind this dish is that it was what shepherds whipped up with the meagre remains of their supplies after days of chasing sheep around the Andalusian countryside. Another, perhaps more fanciful notion, is that it came about during the days of Al-Andalus (back when the Moors were checking out what Spain and Portugal had to offer), the crumbs acting as a substitute for North African couscous. The Christians in the area got wise to the dish and then decided to throw in some manifestation of pork to differentiate it from the food of the Arabs and Jews. But really, no one seems totally sure of the origins of the dish. Oh well, onwards and upwards. If you decide to forego the waiting game of making your own pan, this is not a tricky dish to make: basically, fry up some onions, garlic and red peppers, then chuck in a bit of old bread. If you’re feeling extra fancy, top it all with a fried egg. That’s it. I have to say, despite the slightly inedible quality of the pure, unadulterated bread, it was marvellous fried up a few days later – the fact that it had been stewing in its own juices for the best part of the week meant it was so savoury that I barely needed to add any salt or anything to produce flavour. And of course, the egg was a happy addition, as eggs almost always are. All in all, I’d say the following: pan candeal is a bothersome lump that was not worth the effort, but the migas were pretty delish…just save yourself the fuss and buy the bread instead.