Spain from the Source

Spain has a remarkably varied food heritage, but its cooks snare a passion for seasonality and local produce – we bring you four authentic recipes that each embody a region’s cuisine

To a casual observer, there might seem something of a disconnect between the outward face of Spanish gastronomy – the futuristic revolution curated by El Bulli’s Ferran Adrià and his ardent, blue-sky disciples – and the largely unchanged way in which the ordinary Spaniard shops, cooks and eats. The countless dishes that can be traced back to the pastoral tradition of carrying bread, oil, vinegar and garlic as sustenance on the long days and weeks of driving sheep to pastures new; the citrus fruits, saffron, cumin and almonds that came with the Moorish invasion; and the fascination with the tomatoes, peppers, corn and potatoes that arrived from the New World in the 16th-century Columbian Exchange. These were the great seismic shifts in Spanish home-cooking, not the advent of foams, freeze-drying and cooking sous-vide.

Change is afoot, yes, but only insofar as it builds on the love and respect for what has gone before. Phrases such as ‘slow food’ and ‘food miles’ are all but redundant here, where the ready meal is an unknown concept and produce is only available for as long as it is in season. Almost every town has its weekly market, where herbs are sold in bouquets, where rice and flour come in hessian sacks, where your cut of meat is sliced from the animal before your eyes, where potatoes are muddy and apples misshapen, where chickens have heads.

The rituals, too, continue to be sacred. Families come together on Sundays for animated afternoons centred around paella. An intrinsic part of any neighbourhood fiesta is the setting up of long trestle tables for communally cooked and eaten dinners that go on late into the night. The matanza, the annual slaughtering of pigs, followed by days of feasting, is still a reality in hundreds of Spanish villages and towns.

It is exactly these deeply entrenched traditions that provide the springboard for what is happening in restaurant kitchens around the country. Something I hear over and over is: ‘What we’re aiming to do is resurrect old recipes, but bring them into the present day.’ Some of the recipes here reflect that philosophy, in which the spirits of long-passed grandmothers (and it is always grandmothers) provide the guiding hand at the stove, and inform the fundamental combinations and techniques at the heart of every innovation. You’ll find dishes that have passed down through generations of a chef s family, but in his or her hands are given a twist. We’re not pretending these recipes are simple, but with a little dedication these are creations set to impress at a dinner party.

Of course you’ll also find good, honest peasant food, of a type that anyone could make with whatever happens to be in the larder – which is exactly the attitude with which it is approached in Spain.

Madrid

Taberna La Carmencita, which once hosted poet Neruda and playwright Lorca, has been lovingly restored, along with time-honoured recipes, like this succulent baked sea bream.

At 160 years old, it is the second oldest restaurant in Madrid. It’s been through some troubled times in recent decades, including a long period of closure and an ignominious stint as a pizza restaurant. In the hands of restaurateur Carlos Zamora, it has had its old-time charm restored, and a thoroughly modern philosophy – slow food, locally sourced, with an emphasis on organic and free-range produce.

The colourful wall tiles are gleaming anew, as is the ancient zinc bar and the bronze luggage racks above the tables. Mismatched porcelain is everywhere and the old ladies who come for a cheeky morning vermouth sip it from elegant martini glasses. In one corner is the table where Pablo Neruda used to write his poetry. Federico Garcia Lorca lived in the flat above, and would come down to join the literati in late-night artistic gatherings.

The menu speaks of happy chickens and line-caught fish, artisanal cheeses and wild herbs. Classic recipes have been brought to life, among them the besugo a la madrileña, a mighty beast that lies slathered in onion, tomato and garlic, on a bed of sliced potatoes.

‘Although we have no port in Madrid,’ says chef Salvador Gonzalez Alcohol ado, ‘the besugo recipe dates back to the 19th century. It actually started out as a dish for the poor, but once it reached the ears of the nobility, it turned into a dish for royals.’ The fish comes from the market in Santander, in a specially refrigerated van.

‘For many years,’ says Salvador, ‘this has been a dish for people of every class, and you’ll find it in restaurants across Madrid. Its appeal is that it manages to be both simple and delicious at the same time.’

Toledo

Adolfo is nothing short of an institution, a social hub for Toledo residents and a place that madrileños will drive to just for lunch. Locally caught game is where it excels.

‘In terms of hunting,’ says chef Adolfo Munoz Martin, ‘the most important region in all of Europe is Castilla-La Mancha. You’ll find deer, wild boar, turtle doves, partridge, wood pigeons, thrush, rabbits and hare.’

The star of the Toledo kitchen, however, is the red partridge. Adolfo’s signature dish is a different take on the stewed toledano classic, steaming the thighs and searing the breast on a hot plate. He then places them on a plate with a smear of deep-red onion sauce and a bright yellow quenelle of sweet potato, an artist’s palette of colour, texture and taste, on which a pipette of the reduced stock rests, for the diners to add themselves.

These are unexpectedly modern touches in these venerable dining rooms, where blood-red walls hung with 15th-century oil paintings meet polychromatic coffered ceilings and ancient beams. Within these hallowed spaces, and considering his respect for the classic recipes of old, Adolfo is not hidebound by tradition as one might expect. His obsession with eating healthily goes back a long way: ‘I’ve always felt food should be prepared in the simplest way possible,’ he says. ‘Find alternatives to sugar, use less salt, and buy the very best olive oil you can. Your body will thank you for it.’

San Sebastián 

The purrusalda (or porrusalda, from the Euskera for ‘leek’ and ‘broth’) has been in the Basque canon for centuries, though there is a lot of disagreement about how it should be made and whether or not it should contain cod – and there is even more debate about its correct form.

It can be served as a thick, robust stew, the vegetables left in chunks; it can be creamed, as in this recipe; or it can be served like a minestrone, a thin soup with diced vegetables. It’s this very versatility that makes it so popular.

‘It’s a comforting dish, a winter dish,’ says Patricio Fuentes, head chef at the San Sebastian Food cookery school. ‘It has always been a dish of survival, too, something that could be rustled up with whatever vegetables were to hand in the caserios.’ Caserios are the traditional half-timbered small holdings that dot the Basque hillsides and still make up an essential element of local life. It is here that the best leeks are to be found, according to Patricio. ‘Leeks should be line, not thick. You only find those in the caseríos – those that are bred for mass production don’t taste of anything.’

‘The leeks are all-important, but aside from that the purrusalda can be whatever you want it to be. Add cod or chicken, or keep it simple. Serve it as a soup or a main course, or spoon it alongside some fish.’

A chronology of culinary history, the purrusalda reflects the changing tastes and availability of ingredients. Potatoes have not been around all that long in Spanish cooking, and carrots were only recently introduced into the dish.

‘When I teach this recipe I am giving a little lesson on Basque social and rural history,’ Patricio adds.

Santiago de Compostela

The tarta de Santiago is something of a mystery, given that Galicia is not really an almond-growing region, but recipes for it date back to the Middle Ages. It was only a century ago, however, that the cake gained its distinctive cross, etched into the icing sugar, and it was then that it changed name from torta real (royal cake) to honour Galicia’s patron saint. That this cake has gained so much popularity outside Spain probably comes down to the international presence on the Camino (pilgrimage route), and these days it’s often chosen as the one that most represents Spanish desserts.

‘I remember when I did the Camino de Santiago,’ says chef Koki García, ‘and the tarta was everywhere. I think it must have started out being popular on the walk for practical reasons, because it’s fairly resilient, easy to carry in your pocket, and unlike most cakes is still good to eat after a couple of days. You could even eat it on the fourth or fifth day, so it’s ideal for pilgrims.’

The tarta de Santiago is just one of the Galician specialities to come out of Meson de Alberto, the restaurant founded by Koki’s father in 1975. Photos of eminent patrons line the walls, including Pope John Paul II, who presumably can only have approved of this ecclesiastically named tart.

‘It’s pretty simple to make,’ says Koki. ‘There are no tricks – it’s a recipe that’s been used for centuries. You just need to follow the measures fairly closely, or it will be too dry or too liquid to cook properly. And test an almond before you buy – they shouldn’t be too bitter.’ Because of its unique texture, Koki recommends serving with ‘something creamy, or liquid’. A fruit or chocolate sauce would go well, or a papally approved holy wine.