The five best Spanish foods I never knew existed

I’m pleased to give some space to my friend and fellow Midwesterner, Katie Stearns. Our first meeting was serendipitous and mostly based around a shared interest: food. When not working in marketing, Katie is often found in the kitchen or eating out in Seville, and she’s written a post about five of her favorite Spanish food discoveries:

When I think back to my first year in Spain, and even my second, part of me cringes when I think about the things I thought I knew about the country. And when I say country, I really mean the country’s gastronomy scene – a topic that I’m passionate about no matter which part of the world I’m in.

I thought Spanish food was simple. I had this notion that Spanish food was kind of bland. And for some reason or other, I wasn’t convinced that it was anything special. If you’re only going to visit Spain for a short period of time, don’t waste any time in  making this exact mistake, and make sure you leave it to the professionals to help you discover these amazing flavors.

Thankfully, after two more years of living in Spain and thanks to my Spanish boyfriend and his family of amazing cooks, I get it. Spanish food is special. It’s steeped in both flavor and tradition. It’s made with spices and ingredients that have been around for ages and that have continuously produced spectacular food. It’s comforting and flavorful, and because food here is often cooked slowly, the flavors are inexplicably complex.

Here are five Spanish foods I wish I had known existed long before I ever did.

Espinacas con garbanzos is a dish of comfort and flavor. Although I eat spinach in salads, I never knew people really cooked the stuff until I got here, and I have to say cooked spinach is better than raw spinach on all counts. Espinacas con garbanzos starts with frying garlic and day-old bread, which becomes the base of the dish. Then, the spinach is added and cooked down with spices like cumin and a touch of pimentón until, finally, you add the fresh chickpeas. I could eat this dish anytime, anywhere, but it’s really best on a chilly day and served with a piece of crusty baguette to sop up the leftover cumin-laced sauce.

Morcilla. Okay, so I did know what it was, but I had no idea how good it was. Just do yourself a favor, and don’t think about what it’s made of and enjoy the rich and robust flavor of this incredible cured meat. It’s also a perfect touch in classic stews made in Spain with lentils or garbanzo beans.

Caracoles are another food I’d heard of, but again one of those things I chose to politely ignore. When my Spanish coworkers told me the translation of caracoles in English (snails), I felt squeamish. I think now is a good moment to note that I have always been an unbiased and adventurous eater, but after one slimy-snail-related situation at my house almost 15 years ago, I told myself I’d never go back. But I did go back, only about six months ago, and now I keep going back for more and more. Snails here in Spain are anything but slimy. The best snails I’ve ever eaten were in Córdoba, and they were bathed in a yellow cumin-spiced broth. After getting all of the snails out of the little cup, my boyfriend and his parents and I all stood over the little dish  and took turns dipping our spoons in just for that delicious liquid. And in Sevilla, it’s typical to order cabrillas, which are a bit bigger than the normal snails, and drenched in spicy tomato broth. The only regret I have about snails is that I waited so long to try them.

Huevos fritos seem simple enough. They may seem so simple, in fact, that you steer clear from ordering them at a bar or restaurant, just like I did. But to understand why that is a huge no-no while visiting Spain, you must understand that a fried egg here is nothing like a fried egg back home. Actually, when I make fried eggs at home, my boyfriend scoffs at me, and tells me it’s offensive to grill an egg in a spot of oil and still call it frying. He thinks this, of course, because a fried egg in Spain is just that. An egg gets broken into almost a full inch of hot olive oil, and instead of flipping it half-way during the cooking process, the cook simply takes a spatula to splash the hot olive oil on top of the egg. This process leaves the egg cooked to perfection and tasting nothing like the fried eggs I grew up with.

Coquinas are tiny little clams that are collected on the coast of Andalucía. I suppose this is a good moment to mention I was born and raised Midwestern. I ate meat of all kinds, while fish and seafood were rarely served at my house. When I moved to Spain, I started learning Spanish words for fish while simultaneously learning them in English, but I rarely ordered fish at restaurants and, in general, had no idea how many delicious things I was missing out on. When I first started dating my boyfriend, we’d go out to dinner together and he’d always gravitate toward the fish on a menu. And as first dates and shyness go, I could never say no. And thus began my love affair with fish and seafood in Spain, and coquinas are number one on my list. The little clams are cooked with olive oil, garlic and parsley until they open right up. They are sweet and soft, and the perfect meal after a day spent at the beach. Like many Spanish dishes, the leftover sauce from the cooking process is the perfect place to dip your bread, soaking up every last drop.

Katie Stearns lives, eats and breathes life in the South of Spain, where she’s going on her fourth year of life abroad. What started out as a nine-month stint teaching English as a foreign language has spun into a career of writing and marketing for Andalucía Inside, a luxury tour guide company located in Seville. All photos are her own.

Tapa Thursdays: Castañas

cred where cred’s due

I never knew that ‘chestnuts roasting on an open fire’ was actually a thing until moving to Seville.

When the weather turns crisp (which finally happened last week), peddlers wheel out large carts that have a hole cut in the middle, under which coals are heated, and the chesnuts, called castañas, are roasted.

Castaño trees are all over Southern Europe, and the prickly nut is making a comeback in the gastronomic world. During the winter months, they’re picked up off the ground, roasted and scooped into paper cones. I always see kids reaching for them under the sheen of Christmas lights along Avenida de Constitución. I’m reminded of when I was a kid and my mom would take us to downtown Chicago to see the lights and windows at Field’s, and then treat us to Frango Mints and Garett’s Popcorn.

What they are: European chestnuts.

How they’re made: You can easily pick up a half kilo of chestnuts in the produce section of a supermarket and roast them at home by sliting an X into the hard shell and baking them for 30-35 minutes on 220°C. Or, if you’re lazy like me, you can just buy them from a vendor.

Goes great with: Chestnuts are a fantastic snack on the street (and they’re probably the only things you can eat on the run and not have a sevillano stick up their nose at you). They taste smoky and a tad sweet at the same time.

Have you ever eaten chestnuts?

 

Tapa Thursdays: My Most Memorable Spanish Meal

I squinted, trying to make out the words on the menu as the sunlight reflected off the bay near Mogán, a small port on the southern end of Gran Canaria island.

Enrique gave me a quick tsk and a shake of the head as he signaled the waiter over effortlessly. As if they’ve previously spoken, a mug of cold beer was slammed down on the table in front of me. We toasted, giggling as the clinking of the glasses caused a bit of beer to splash onto my wrist and over the basket of bread we’d been brought.

We were at Restaurant El Faro, an unassuming snack bar shaped like a lighthouse. Wide white umbrellas shielded us from the sun, though the heat of midday irritates our pink skin, covered in sea salt from a morning spent on a nearby beach. The waves lapped gently at the rocks, causing the nearby sailboats to bob up and down. Fisherman passed close to our table, giving us a quick salute with their long fishing poles on their way to the wharf. I wondered if their catch would end up on someone’s plate tomorrow.

I picked up the menu again, but Enrique snatched it from my hands, calling out an order to the waiter without even glancing at the specials of the day. One parillada of grilled shellfish, a plate of hot baby potatoes accompanied with spicy mojo picón sauce and a fresh mixed salad. For once, I was on his turf, and I let him make the decisions.

The small potatoes, called arrugás for their crispy skin, arrived first, drizzled with rock salt and olive oil. I watched Enrique peel off the jacket and dunk it into the mojo picón, a spicy sauce typical to the island, and did the same. The dish was simple – paprika, garlic and cumin – but tasted fresh and local. The large stone slab of seafood didn’t disappoint, either. The breeze from off of the port ruffled Enrique’s hair as he spoon-fed me the last bit of potato.

We doused the enormous prawns, crab legs, fried calamari and fried baby squid in lemon, each eagerly squeezing the last drops onto the plate. As a Midwesterner, I was shocked to find that I actually liked almost anything from the sea, so I went about mopping up the remains with a hunk of bread, satisfied both in body and spirit.
It was one of those meals where we didn’t exchange many words – we focused on our food, at stealing clandestine glances at the other. Enrique congratulated me on learning to peel shrimp with my hands as he’s showed me on our fourth date, and I kicked him gently under the table, mouth so full of the plump, grilled meat that I couldn’t speak to counter his teasing.

I can’t recall how much the bill was or who paid, but I will always remember the shade of pink that Enrique’s nose had turned, what he was wearing, and breathing a sigh of relief knowing that I really did love him, that they weren’t wasted words simply because I was merely having fun.

This is my entrance to the Trujillo Villas Food Blogging Competition. Trujillo Villas are a collection of luxury accommodation in the beautiful region of the same name, famous for its castle and for being the home of several conquistadores. For more on the region and their stunning offers, follow them on twitter, @trujillovillas.

Have you ever been to Trujillo? What are your recs for eating and visiting? And what’s your favorite Spanish meal?

Eating Coruña: The City’s Best Restaurants

Galician food makes my heart flutter – the piping hot pimientos del padrón, raxo smothered in roquefort sauce, fresh-caught shellfish displayed  in every window of every bar on every street.

There are two reasons I spend my summers in Coruña, crossing my fingers that there will be little rain: one is because it’s way cooler, and the other because the food is incredible.

Even though I spend the majority of time eating in the camp cafeteria, the other teachers and I get the chance to actually go out and get some good food in our bellies. Before I tell you where, you need a primer in typical coruñés fare:

polbo a la feira – boiled octopus served over boiled potatoes with olive oil and paprika

navajas – razor clams that are pan seared and often served with lemon

pimientos del padrón – flash-fried green peppers. As the saying goes, some are spicy, others are not

empanada gallega – a pasty, most often stuffed with tuna or ground beef with peppers and onions

percebes – goose barnacles. I didn’t like them on my first run and now love them!

raxo – marinated pork loin, typically served with potatoes

zorza – spicy ground pork, treated with paprika and marinated in other spices

queso tetilla con membrillo – creamy ‘tit cheese’ served with a quince paste for dessert.

La Bombilla

Javi picked us up from the airport high above Coruña’s city center and promised us a surprise. We elbowed our way up to the counter, toasted to new friendships and chose tapas of off the short menu – tortilla, milanesa and croquetas the size of a baseball. La Bombilla, with its turn-of-the-century-esque bar and cheap thrills (aka tapas for just a euro apiece), is a staple in Coruña and one of my favorites. Locals sidle up to the bar at seemingly all hours of the day, so be sure to arrive early for lunch or dinner, or you’ll be forced to grab a plastic plate and find a place to sit on the ground outside. Calle de la Galera, 7

update: I read the sad news that La Bomilla will be closing on December 30th. Rumor is that it will re-open, but likely without the same encanto. Really bummed I didn’t get one last giant croqueta.

O Renchucho de Mayte

Far and away my favorite in Coruña, this little corner bar is always packed for its cheap, home-cooked food and exceptional service. You can’t miss the raxo con roque or the crispy calamares, and the bar now features takeout, too. I am a sucker for their croquetas and cheese, and the tapas are generous and inexpensive. The bar is closed Sundays. Portico Andrés, s/n

The cafeteria at the Yacht Club with no name

Oftentimes, a menú del día, the Spanish equivalent of a three-course meal, is too much for me to eat. But everytime I’m in Coruña, I’ll skip breakfast in favor of the views of the port and across the bay to Santa Cristina beach from the yacht club. While the food is often billed as generic (think caldo gallego or a mixed salad for firsts), it’s served fresh and in heaping portions. What really makes the meal is the atmosphere, with the sea breeze ruffling your napkin and the sun peeking around the enormous glass building. Located in the Club Náutico on Avda. del Puerto.

Parillada Alcume

After all those rounds of pulpo and empanada, I need meat. When it comes down to it, I am a corn- and beef-fed Midwesterner, so I can’t pass up on a parrillada, or a restaurant where meats are grilled over open coals. I’d passed Alcume loads of times, as it’s just off the shopping district, but it wasn’t until a camp vegetarian suggested its mixed plate of meaty good that we decided to try it.

You know it’s good when even the veggie-lover wants to go. We often have to wait to sit down, particularly at the wooden tables outside, but filling ourselves to the brim with sausages and flank steaks makes it worth it. And it’s a lot easier to identify the parts than it is in the camp cafeteria. Calle Galera, 44-46

Pan de Lino

I heard a rumor that there were bagels in Coruña. I gasped, horrified that there would be a place that sells my favorite breakfast food in a small port city before my beloved Seville.

As it turns out, this was merely a rumor (though I did have a bagel sandwich in Cafetería Vecchio, near the Casino), but Pan de Lino’s inviting bakery counter, beautifully mismatched furniture and organic menu is a nice change from the old man bars I usually frequent. The service is terrible, but as long as you’re accompanied with friends and something delicious, you can let it go. Calle Rosalia de Castro, 7

O Mesón Galego

The cream of Galicia’s crop is, without a doubt, its shellfish. As has become tradition, we take our camp cash to the nearest marisquería for a mariscada, or a seafood smorgasboard. I’m sure there are places that are much better (and thus more expensive!), but we group into three and split a 46€ heap of shellfish with a bottle of crisp albariño wine. The kitchen is open, and you can watch the robust cook hack away at crab legs like it ain’t no thang. I’ve also had their pimientos and empanada and approve. Calle de la Franja, 56.

Asiayu Japanese Restaurant

I thankfully have a few friends in Coruña who are always quick to point out new finds and tear me away from Mayte and Bombilla. When Julie and Forrest discovered an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet next to the beach, half of the teaching staff went down to pig out on something other than carbs. The dinner menuú runs 13,95 plus a drink, and you can choose two hot plates in addition to everything that comes around the belt. The sushi was hand rolled right in front of us, but I was too busy pouting about sitting at the end of the loop and not being able to grab the fried sushi or the dumplings before the greedy hands of the other Ts got them (though this did distract them from my terrible chopstick skills). Calle Buenos Aires, 7 Bajo

There are loads of other places I’ve tried – a hidden Mexican joint with great margaritas, an Indian place with an affordable menú, nondescript holes-in-the-wall whose names I’ve long forgotten. Then there are the places I’d love to try, like Spoom’s creative cuisine. But, somehow, the appeal of one euro tapas, a sushi conveyer belt and the tried and true always win out. But really, I’ll go anywhere I see an upturned octopus in the window.

Have you ever been to La Coruña and have any places to recommend? If you liked this post, you can download an offline version of the article with the GPSMyCity app!

Tapa Thursdays: Gazpacho

I have never been one to stand up to the hot summer sun in Seville. I made the poor decision one year to cycle home from my friend Stacy’s house at 3pm. In August. Trying to beat the Sevici’s 30-minute limit.

I was shaking by the time I got home, and the Novio had to stick me in the shower, clothes on, so that I’d cool down. After that, it was a cold glass of gazpacho and I felt immediately better.

When the temperatures start to rise in Seville, I find that my only defense are cold showers, the AC in our living room and an always full glass of gazpacho.

What it is: A cold, tomato-based soup made of little more than tomatoes, green peppers, cucumber, salt, garlic, olive oil and vinegar. It’s not only a simple dish, but it’s simple to make! Often, a garnish or onions and cucumbers is sprinkled on top, and some choose to eat the dish (well, drink it, really) with croutons on top, too.

Where it comes from: Gazpacho is said to have been invented by the Arabs, but it’s now a staple in Andalusian gastronomy, thanks to the hot summer days. Variations are numerous, including gazpacho manchego, which I tried in Calpe, or by substituting tomatoes for anything else. My favorite? Watermelon gazpacho!

Goes great with: The Novio and I usually use gazpacho as a primer to just about anything we’ll eat. It’s also perfect for practicing the Spanish habit of hacer el barquito, or mopping up the remains with a piece of bread.

Where to get it in Seville: I prefer to make my own gazpacho, though I have fond memories of my first few days in sweltering Seville, drinking it by the glass full in the original Bodeguita Romero on Antonia Díaz.

Are you a gazpacho fiend? Have  certain go-to tapa, or want to see something featured on Sunshine and Siestas? Leave me a message in the comments!

Andalusia: Off the Eaten Path

Spring is here, and while it brings all the things I love – sunny afternoon coffees over charlita, the springtime fairs and romerias and renewed ganas to trip around Andalucia, there’s one thing that I despise: my allergies. I cough and hack and sneeze my way into ERs throughout Seville thanks to being allergic to nearly everything in the air here but postureo.

The biggest culprit? Olive trees. This from my substitute to butter, the shame!!!!

I’ve been itching to visit Jaen, a province in the northeastern part of Andalucía, for years. Home to Renaissance villages, natural parks and….never-ending olive groves. While I’ll have to wait to get there, Anna Frisk of the blog Cut the Kitsch takes us on a visual journey of this oft-forgot province.

 Sniffles guaranteed.

A mesmerizing sea unfolds from the perch of Cazorla. The mountainside village in Jaen is not surrounded by water, but millions of olive trees. This ‘sea’, as its name implies in Spanish (El Mar de Olivos), is an endless dotting of green.

 

When I first came to Spain, my teaching placement situated me right in the heart of Andalusia’s olives. My previous knowledge of Spain consisted of little beyond the expected: wine, flamenco and tapas.  The region’s hefty haul of olive oil production (more than 20% of the world’s supply) hadn’t registered until I saw the blur of green from the train’s windows.

Throughout Jaen province, the sprawling pattern of olive trees gives the landscape a dual dynamism: an admirably esthetic and a pragmatic purpose. Yet in a country garnering great media attention for its culinary creations, Jaen has gotten little to none, especially outside the peninsula.

Moreover, in a world increasingly consumed by the health merits of the Mediterranean diet, Jaen holds its liquid gold, extra virgin olive oil. Enter Jaen and you enter a world consumed by the olive.

If you visit, here are a few musts to follow.

>Stock up on the liquid gold

Each town offers shops specializing in olive oil throughout the region. Walk in one, but make sure to ask. Chances are you don’t know what you should be looking for; ask the experts. They’re here.

>Taste it

Sure, it’s not wine country, but that doesn’t mean you can’t taste your way through the region.  This is perhaps my greatest olive related regret of Jaen; I never did a proper tasting. Google search “olive oil tasting in Jaen” and myriad of favorable results pop up.

>Tapa crawl through the UNESCO World Heritage jewels

The region represents more than its principal fruit. Tucked within the heart of Jaen are two UNESCO World Heritage cities, Baeza and Ubeda. I had the fortunate of living in the former. While the rest of Andalusia flaunts its Moorish details (of which the two small cities still have), Baeza and Ubeda proudly tout Italian Renaissance architecture, some of the best in Spain, too.

Moreover, it’s a tapas haven. If you’ve traveled through Spain before you may have realized that free and generous isn’t the rule, but the exception.

>Hike Cazorla

This is wild Spain at its arguable best. With a park profile that includes alpine meadows, mountain ridges, pine forests, waterfalls, wild animals and more, Cazorla (nearly) has it all. In fact, as Spain’s largest protected land tract, it quickly beckons those with any inclination toward nature.

It’s also tagged with the prestige of an UNESCO biosphere reserve, which means it gets additional international importance. If you visit, make time for a post-park stop at its namesake, a mountainside village that sits picturesquely beneath a castle.

After snapping a photo, sit down, order a beer, and enjoy the region’s favorite aperitif, fleshy and fresh olives.

Anna Frisk is a blogger and photographer who considers herself a vagabond with a day job. Anna first found the world via Okinawa, Japan. Since then, she’s trampled through mountains, temples and deserts to arrive here. Check out her blog at http://annafrisk.wordpress.com. 

Have you ever been to Jaén? What should I visit when I go out there?

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