Last year, on May 14th, I was on my way to Roses for my last and possibly best meal at elBulli. It was the chef’s birthday.
Happy 50th Ferran.
Wearable edibles
A bumper crop of mini fruits and vegetables arrived by post from Israel the other day. Before you get on my case about not supporting local producers and being all KM 0 please note that these little beauties are made of clay and not destined for gazpacho!
Tel Aviv based artist Shay Aaron makes detailed mini food sculptures, that are tiny yet implausibly intricate. Over the years, I have collected lots of kitchen related jewelry–whisk earrings, fork pendants, spoon rings (Ha! Remember those from Junior High!). Some I’ve unearthed in my travels; some have been given to me; others I have laboriously fashioned. When I came upon Aaron’s work, the hard part was choosing from such a bounty. And when they arrived, it was like Christmas at my house. They are all unique. Each earring is slightly different form its companion: the tomato is sliced with one side being a cross section and the other the rounded top of the fruit complete with stem. I got them to give as presents but may have trouble parting with a single morsel.
I am still coveting the Mojito earrings! Maybe he needs to make a San Sebastian style Gin and Tonic set….
La Foire au Jambon – A French Ham Fair
What a day! We’ve been to the world’s oldest ham fair! It’s in Bayonne, 27 miles north of San Sebastian, in the French Basque Country. King Louis XI gave the city the right to celebrate the fair back in 1462 and they have been doing it every Easter for the past five centuries.
The star of the fair Jambon de Bayonne, is made from any of eight breeds (including Euskal Txerri – the Basque pig) raised in a designated area of southwest France. The pigs are usually slaughtered in November. The hams are cured with salt harvested in the Adour River basin and hung to dry through the coldest winter months. In February, producers rub the hams with a mixture of pork fat and flour which keeps the meat from drying too quickly through the warmer spring months. Many producers also rub the hams with a mixture containing the tangy spice Piment d’Espelette, a dried ground pepper which certainly makes them prettier and gives a tiny bit of a bite. The drying process is usually finished by July. The locals eat the ham in thin slices by itself, on salads. Sometimes they cut a bit thicker and cook with it. A recipe for Pipérade au Jambon de Bayonne calls for cooking the ham in goose fat! Want to know more? There’s an app for that.
The French feel strongly about their history and tradition. And they’ve preserved many of the most folkloric aspects of Basque culture as their own. They love the music, dances, and costumes. Today they put on their berets to celebrate their ham. Many were decked out in the cheery red and white associated with the Bayonne’s feast days. Like most of the festivals in this part of France, The Foire au Jambon was filled with color and music. There was a brass band in the market that delighted a dapper gentleman choosing oysters from his fishmonger. On the far side of the River Nive, marching bands roved among shoppers and strollers. In the main ham tent, a duo singing Basque standards calmed the nerves of producers who competing for the title of meilleur jambon fermier
The ham producers vied to have visitors taste their wares in the hopes that they would be buying — and they were! The festival offered more than just ham. The stands were filled with sausages of every conceivable shape and flavor, sheep’s milk cheeses, duck products, honey, Rillettes, piment d’Espelette, and for dessert, Gâteau Basque. Long tables were set up for a community lunch and some people had already started eating 11:15 in the morning! (On the Spanish side of the border we have barely had our second coffee by that time.) Long lines led to the Talo stands where a rustic corn cake, kind of like a Mexican tortilla but thicker, was cooked on a griddle and filled with crispy bacon. It was a feast of pork!
Me and my Thermomix
My Thermomix is in the shop. It’s no real cause for alarm, folks! Nothing serious, just a check up and a recalibration. But I feel at loose ends.
“What is she talking about?” most of you will ask. Anyone who spends any time with me in the kitchen or has taken a cooking class with me will know. I tend to be discreet about it in public but once the apron is tied on the cat is out of the bag.
I’m obsessed with a machine. The Thermomix is a fancy German food processor. It weighs, grates, cuts, mixes, blends, juices, kneads, emulsifies, steams, stirs, melts, heats…. Why don’t you have one? Because you have to buy it direct from a member of the worldwide sales force who will go to your house and prepare everything from lemon sorbet to lasagna without ever having to wash the bowl! And after a long history of snake oil and vacuum cleaner salesman being shown the door, though, Americans are wary about direct sales. I certainly was and as such resisted for years, but then I borrowed one. It was perfectly fine. I made great croquettes but how many croquettes would I ever need in my house? I did not buy.
But I was still curious. I kept seeing it in the kitchen of every chef worth his salt in Spain. I watched demos at cooking conferences. Finally, I bit the bullet and bought one at a conference but without the home visit. My presenter came to drop it off, made me enough food for a week, and left the kitchen spotless.
I shouldn’t have skipped the demo. For years I used it as a very effective food processor. Until, feeling slightly guilty that I was using something that costs about the same as a new stove to just cook rice, I thought to go to the local Vorwerk headquarters for some classes. The problem wasn’t the machine. The problem was me! The Thermomix is a pretty sophisticated piece of equipment but still, it takes a human to program it.
I issued myself a challenge. I would cook exclusively with the Thermomix for a month. I would make real recipes, not just chop and mix. The only other machine I allowed was the oven because the Thermomix will not brown a crust. I ground flours for homemade breads. I made glossy meringues during a short lived macaron phase. I steamed whole fish, churned butter, stewed chicken, made fabulous Basque fish soup, risottos, Vitello tonnato, puff pastry! I even made omelettes. (OK, I do not whole-heartedly endorse that usage) I cooked up a storm. I could have made any of those things on my own without the Thermomix. I know how to cook. But while the machine was slowly stirring and gently heating my lunch I had time to shower, exercise, get some work done, even waste time on Facebook. And my kitchen was perfectly orderly and clean. No splatters, no extra pots, pans, measuring cups or waste.
Did I mention that it cleans itself?
White Asparagus has arrived! My head just popped off and flew to the moon.
The first delicate white asparagus from Navarra are in the market. Milder than their green cousins, white asparagus are grown without sunlight. In some places Asparagus is grown year round but here April is the prime month. As the spears grow, they are covered by soil or, more likely these days, by black plastic. If the tips break through, they become tinged a soft violet. Harvesting is done by hand with a special tool, which has a shallow V shaped notch at the end to pierce the soil and cut the stalks off at the most tender point. They are either brought to market fresh or canned to be sold during the rest of the year. There are some very good brands of canned asparagus such as Viuda de Cayo but none holds a candle to fresh.
Serve them steamed with a poached egg and a bit of Maldon salt on top for a simple and immensely satisfying first course. I also like them slivered on the mandolin, then grilled with a drizzle of this season’s olive oil. In the Basque Country, they are most often steamed and accompanied by a vinaigrette or home-made mayonnaise.
But today I tried a version of Dave Chang’s recipe for asparagus with poached egg and miso butter. I am spoiled for life.
To make miso butter: MIX equal parts miso and unsalted butter (I used a raw cow’s milk butter that I found in Bayonne the other day) together with half that of sherry vinegar. Make extra. It’s addictive.
It’s Cider Season!
It’s cider season! At this time of year large groups of families and friends throw over restaurants in favor of cider houses where they congregate for grilled meats and a taste of the new vintage of apple cider.
Officially the cider house season, or as it is known in the Basque Country Txotx, runs from January 20th to early April. The usual weekend eating schedule is completely disrupted and all discussion of restaurants is shelved because the choice is clear: SIDRERIA.
Reservations are necessary. The most popular cider houses fill up fast. While the burst in popularity in the last few years has given rise to more comfortable dining rooms, the classic sidreria bears little resemblance to a restaurant. They are cellars where the cider is made and aged so, by definition, they are cold and slightly damp areas of the cider mill. People stand around high tables or wine barrels. Upon arrival, each person is issued a glass and a fork. Each table receives one knife and a designated steak cutter quickly emerges.
The menu is always the same: cod omelet followed by enormous ox chops. (When I first arrived in the Basque Country in 1989, you had to supply your own, and most likely you’d grill it yourself over an open fire.) Dessert is made up of quince jelly, walnuts and cheese. Unlike in traditional restaurants, the meal is often eaten while standing and food is taken from a common platter. Eating this way is convivial and it allows for frequent breaks in the courses so that no one is left with cold steak because they trooped off to the barrel room for more cider.
The cider master calls out “Txotx” to indicate that he is going to open a new vat, and most people leave their tables and move to the barrel room to try the new offering. It’s a time to discuss the cider and socialize with other groups. People who are sitting down are less likely to want to get up every few minutes to try a new vat of cider.
Why subject yourself to a cold barebones dining room and having to stand up through dinner? The cider, of course. You are surrounded by the stuff! Later in the year the unfiltered fermented apple juice will be served from bottles but in the winter you get to drink free running cider from 20,000 liter oak vats. Spanish cider is fruity and refreshing. It tastes of mature apples sometimes with a hint of pear or even citrus notes, like grapefruit. It is also alcoholic: less so than wine but more so than beer.
Theoretically, my friends and I go to a cider house for tasting not drinking. The custom originated in the 16th century when many Basque farmhouses or caserios were built around an enormous press. Most caserios made their own cider for the extended family’s consumption. Those who didn’t would have to buy barrels and later bottles from a larger producer. Needless to say they had to try all of the different vats before choosing! Families would go early to be able to debate the merits of the different lots. Eventually they started to take a bit of food to sustain themselves through all of this deliberation, and the cider house tradition was born.
These days, the cider master, armed with a long metal skewer, will periodically open vats throughout the meal. He pokes the skewer through the animal grease that seals the tiny wooden hole that stems the flow of the cider. When a barrel is opened, patrons line up with wide mouthed glasses to catch the stream as it spouts from the barrel. The second person in line angles his glass behind the one in front of him so as not to let a drop hit the ground when the other pulls away. Four feet is a respectable distance to stand from the barrel, assuring that the cider is properly aerated as it hits the inner edge of the glass.
There will be a lot of singing. The Basques love to sing, and in large groups, the men usually take turns soloing. Cider houses are found in rural areas and do not serve coffee. So after dinner, the group will pile into several cars (going to dinner with twenty people is not uncommon) and–still singing–head off to the nearest village center. Songs range from ditties learned in the military service to folk songs and spontaneous epic poetry, and they are sung at high volume all the way to the previously agreed upon coffee bar. After coffee, the group is again transferred to another spot for after dinner drinks. A night at a cider house would not be complete without a nightcap.
The ideal drink after such a meal is a digestive called Patxaran, the local anise flavored beverage distilled from sloe berries and drunk cold but without ice from a brandy snifter. As a Cuban cigar gestures above the glass, the story telling begins.
Photo credit: I usually take my own photos but the last time I was at a cider house I had camera problems so this one is by Marisol Yaben. Thanks to The Basque Cider Museum: Sagardoetxea www.sagardoetxea.com. Visit them the next time you are in the area.
Corkbuzz
Every time I return from New York I’m bursting to tell friends about old favorites and new places that I have discovered. My list is constantly evolving. On my last trip I stopped into Corkbuzz, Laura Maniec’s just opened place at 13 East 13th Street, and have been sending everyone there ever since.
Part wine bar, part restaurant with long communal tables, Corkbuzz www.corkbuzz.com does unpretentious wine education. They have classes for wine professionals, serious oenophiles and those just looking for a change of pace on a Sunday evening. You can learn to pair wines and cheeses or try the latest offerings from a Washington state winemaker over a plate of Bucatini with Brussel Sprouts. The wine list is varied with up to 35 interesting wines available by the glass at any given time and a couple hundred more by the bottle.
At Corkbuzz, they pay attention to the people behind the wines – those who make it and those who love it. The list showcases a fair sampling of small family run vineyards, natural wines and lesser-known regions. And they like Spain. My friends and I shared a Camins del Priorat 2009, Alvero Palacios’ latest, made with younger vines from his well known estate in the Priortat region.
Caviaroli makes its debut in Madrid Fusion
One of the coolest products to debut at Madrid Fusion, was Caviaroli, extra virgin olive oil caviar by Los Ramon(e)s. Not the band, but a family from Cataluña who took Ferran Adria’s specification technique and ran with it. Mixing a liquid with sodium alginate and using a syringe to drop it into a calcium bath produces tiny caviar like balls. It is a painstaking process and as far as Ferran Adria was concerned not really viable on a large scale or for mass production.
The Ramon family took three years to stabilize the technology. A thin membrane of gelatin surrounds each liquid drop of oil. They look great and burst in your mouth releasing fresh clean olive flavor. After supplying a select group of restaurants, including the recently closed elBulli, for a year Caviaroli is ready to reach out to a wider audience. Madrid Fusion ,the 10 year old food fair and chef”s conference, was the perfect spot for its targeted crowd.
Caviarolli is beautiful – perfect for amuse-bouches and tapas. It adds texture color and subtle flavor to a dish. The current product is made with Picual olives from Jaen. Picual, unlike Arbequina, is stable throughout the year and complements just about anything: Seafood, Iberian ham, melon. They even served it with Nutella and spicy microgreens at the fair. And I might too.
It’s still only available for restaurants but hopefully they will have it in stores soon or you can can try to cajole them into sending you some. A little goes a long way.
Rubbish Menu Translations
Many of my friends are translators and we can always spot (and sometimes get sucked into fixing) someone’s menu that was clearly translated by their upstairs neighbor’s teenage daughter. One of my favorite Spanish travel writers the tireless Annie Bennett sent this out on Twitter the other day under the #rubbishtranslations hashtag: Iberian feather to the coal. Any guesses?
I’m pretty sure the dish referred to is Pluma Iberico a la brasa which is Grilled Iberian pork. Clearly you may need your handy Iberian pig diagram to find where the pluma is (hint: is just above and a little behind the shoulder)
Like many sought after cuts in Spain it’s not even listed on English and American pork charts because most butcher’s don’t even bother with it. It’s very fatty but for some better then the loin. You hear so much about Iberian ham and with good reason but the fresh meat is amazing as well. This porky little fellow deserves his own post. More soon.