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October 22, 2012

A Quince Summer

Posted by Ansley under Fruits, Murcia, Recipes: Spain, Tapas | Tags: dulce de membrillo, quince paste, veranillo del membrillo |
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Summer tends to linger well into the fall in Murcia, and this year has been no different. The Segura River valley where the city is located heats up like a sauna in July and August and does not easily yield to cooler temperatures come September. Weeks after the fall equinox, highs in Murcia remained stubbornly in the 90s. Once again, it has been a veranico del membrillo – a quince summer.

This expression, a version bearing the Murcianized diminutive –ico (in other parts of Spain, the saying is veranillo del membrillo), is the equivalent of an Indian Summer, when unseasonably high temperatures assert themselves in early autumn, just when ripened quinces are beginning to appear in the markets.

Up until several years ago, I admittedly would not have known a quince had I seen one. This curious fruit was certainly not a Florida childhood staple, although it would not have been out of place on my grandmother’s New England table. In my mind, the quince evokes Colonial America and sensible Yankee desserts, preserves and ciders. Its roots, however, extend much further back. In fact, many botanists believe Adam and Eve’s Forbidden Fruit may have actually been a quince.

Even if it was one day a sinful temptation, the quince nonetheless fell out of favor, at least in the US. Its irregular shape and hard and astringent flesh that must be cooked to be eaten made it an outcast in a grab-and-go world.

Yet these are the precise qualities that have contributed to a quince renaissance in recent years. The humble quince has become a lovable poster child for champions of slow food and opponents of perfectly round fruits without character.

In Spain, quince has remained relatively common over the years. Here, it is typically cooked down with sugar to make concentrated blocks of dulce de membrillo, quince paste. Slices of the sweet jelly are the perfect foil to salty and tangy sheep’s milk cheeses like Manchego.

Quince became an important crop in Murcia in the Middle Ages under Arab rule, and centuries later contributed to the growth of the still significant canning industry in the city. Even though quince production has declined here over the last several decades (largely coinciding with the fateful construction boom), the fruit has not lost its power to conjure up hot fall days in the expression, el veranico del membrillo.

Little by little, the seasons are indeed shifting. Murcia’s imposing summer has finally begun to give way, allowing crisper air to seep into the night, which the sun labors to chase away with dwindling strength. Yet if experience proves me right, the heat will return at least one more, prolonging the quince summer.

Summer’s last stand calls for quince paste. Cooking down quinces into concentrated and sweet dulce de membrillo is a means to preserve the taste of warmer days for the inevitable winter to come.

Dulce de Membrillo – Quince Paste

The basic steps of this recipe are relatively straightforward – peel and core the quinces either before or after cooking; boil until tender; puree the peeled and cored fruit; mix with sugar and cook over low heat until concentrated; then pour into a mold and cool. But, as I learned through trial and error, timing can significantly influence the results.

Most recipes I came across in local Murcian cookbooks had a lot of gaps, presumably to be filled in with experience. For example, El Libro de la Gastronomía de Murcia suggests cooking the pureed fruit and sugar for 15 minutes, which was enough to make a tasty quince sauce (akin to apple sauce) but not enough to make a concentrated paste. I kept cooking and stirring for 30 minutes more and achieved satisfactory, and sliceable, results.

I have since researched different cooking methods and have come across wildly varying simmer times, from 8 minutes to several hours. I am still experimenting to find the version I like best. In any case, far worse things could happen than to end up with a delicious quince sauce.

I encourage you to visit Janet Mendel’s recent blog post on quinces for her complete and easy-to-follow recipe for dulce de membrillo. Mendel uses several techniques I am eager to try, such as adding some of the quince poaching liquid to the fruit puree and lining the mold with plastic wrap for easy removal. Mendel’s post also includes a lovely story about quince paste in Spain and a savory quince recipe with lamb inspired by several Mediterranean dishes.

To determine the amount of sugar you need, measure or weigh the cooked and pureed fruit and add the same quantity of sugar. I used three quinces, which was enough to fill a 5.5 x 4.5 x 1.5 inch aluminum container.

Quince

Sugar

Cut the quinces in half and place them in a pot and cover with water. Bring to the boil, lower the heat and simmer until the flesh is tender and easily pierced with a fork, after about 30-45 minutes. Completely drain and, once the quinces are cool enough to touch, peel and core them.

Puree the fruit, then weigh or measure it and mix it with an equal amount of sugar in a heavy saucepan. Cook over medium low heat until the puree is reduced nearly by half, stirring frequently so it does not stick to the bottom of the pan. Pour into a rectangular mold and cool. Properly concentrated quince paste will keep in the refrigerator for up to several months. Serve thinly sliced with an assertive cheese such sheep’s milk Manchego.

September 13, 2012

Crisis Cooking

Posted by Ansley under Murcia, Spanish Culture, Spanish Food
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Why frugal cooking now feels imperative in Spain.

At a market showcasing culinary traditions in Murcia, a man tends to a pan of migas, a filling dish made with flour, salt, olive oil and garlic, judiciously flavored with bits of fresh sausage and chorizo (more or less, depending on the budget). Such frugal meals born of necessity survive in part because of nostalgia, and also because they make economic sense.

Back home in the States, one hears very little good news coming out of Spain, soccer victories notwithstanding. On my most recent trip to Florida, I was often asked if I had noticed the effects of the economic crisis in Spain. Sort of, I would reply, but the quality of life remained. I thought of the countless times I had been with friends in Murcia walking through downtown past bustling restaurants and bars, so packed that patrons spilled out onto plazas, filling the streets with spirited conversation. “Crisis?” someone would inevitably ask rhetorically. “¿Qué crisis?”, “What crisis?”

But upon my return to Spain in August, I have to say that I can really feel the impact now. Until recently, I personally hadn’t noticed so many specific manifestations. Yet I am beginning to sense more shadows creeping into the good life, cast by growing dark clouds of uncertainty and insecurity.

Now, people in my immediate circle are losing jobs, the stores where they work are closing, they have been forced to go to court to demand late payments from their employers who are months behind. Last week, a friend’s home in a modest neighborhood was broken into. The thieves took everything in gold they could find, worth precious little compared to the sentimental value of the objects.

Just about everyone, it seems (minus those soccer stars, perhaps), has similar stories to tell about someone they know. I hear it in the news, in conversations in markets and on the bus. Spain is a talkative place, and I sometimes wonder whether all these words and stories told again and again might actually be contributing to the dark cloud. And here I am, telling the story.

The truth is that the feelings matter and carry real weight once they are heard and spoken. And as of yet, there is no clear silver lining. I have heard and even said time and time again, “We’ll see what happens…,” as if we are all waiting.

This is not to say you won’t find the bars packed on a Friday or Saturday night. But the uncertain climate permits fewer nights on the town.

These circumstances make me particularly appreciate the frugal ingenuity of traditional Spanish home cooking. The fact that Spain is no stranger to hard times* is reflected in the seemingly endless variety of nourishing and inexpensive dishes made from stretching out the ingredients at hand.

Cooking frugally feels like one way to defy the current crisis. There will be no cloud at my table, but rather a reminder that Spain can indeed pull through.

See some of my past examples of frugal traditional cuisine in Murcia:

Guiso de Trigo – Wheat Berry Stew

Olla Gitana – Gypsy Stew

Michirones – Fava Bean Stew (as with the migas in the photo at the top of the post, the amount of meat added to the beans can be adapted to one’s budget.)

Morcilla de Verano – Eggplant Caviar

And stay tuned for my next post about a thrifty yet rich local dessert.

*For an excellent, in-depth analysis of contemporary Spanish history, I highly recommend Ghosts of Spain by British journalist Giles Tremlett.

I would love to hear your reflections and observations.

April 5, 2012

One a Penny, Two a Penny… Monas de Pascua!

Posted by Ansley under Breads and pastries, History, Recipes: Murcia
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[Murcia’s] unique Holy Week…is made up of little gestures and familiar movements, of the comings and goings of the penitents dressed in red or purple (the nazareno colorao or the nazareno morado) who step out from under the floats they carry, momentarily passing the weight to their friends, to place a beautiful mona de pascua in the trembling hands of a child. Juan García Abellan in Murcia, entre bocado y trago (1965)

These words resonate for anyone who has been to a Holy Week procession in Murcia. Here, while the pace and drumbeat of the daily marches leading up to Easter are as solemn as in other parts of Spain, a festive ambiance reigns at several of the city’s most celebrated processions, particularly for children, who, like the child in the quote, gaze up in awe and expectation at the hooded penitents. Local children know – and have known for generations – that the striking robed figures, many with their faces covered, are not to be feared, for they come bearing gifts – candies, eggs, and for the lucky few, monas de pascua.

This penitent (a nazareno morado) is not as fat as he looks – most of that bulge hanging over his belt is in fact space for treats like candy and goody bags, often containing mini monas, to be handed out along the procession route.

The mona de pascua is an Easter pastry found in several regions of Spain, most notably in Cataluña, Valencia and Murcia. (In these areas, the mona is as typical as hot cross buns, hence the title of this post.) In its most traditional version, the kind typically found in Murcia, the mona de pascua is a sweet bread roll (not dissimilar from hot cross buns, in fact) topped with a hard-boiled egg, itself topped with a cross shaped from dough.

Traditionally, the mona de pascua was eaten on Easter Sunday or the following Monday, marking the end of Lent. In the past, eggs, considered akin to meat, were among the forbidden foods of this period of abstinence. Eggs – representative of fertility, birth and resurrection – are also, of course, a powerful symbol for this time of year. It’s no wonder that eggs (especially hard-boiled – a means to preserve the inevitable yields in the henhouse) play such an important role in many Easter customs around the world.

Certain communities in and around Murcia still refer to the Monday after Easter “el día de la mona,” Mona Day, and many families ritually take to the countryside on this day for a picnic starring monas de pascua. Yet the mona has become a common treat to be enjoyed throughout the entire week leading up to Easter. Monas – either full-size with a chicken egg or mini with a quail egg – are a favorite snack for the lengthy Holy Week processions, welcome fuel for spectators and marchers alike.

As is the case with many long-standing food traditions, the mona de pascua in and of itself has become an essential symbol of the season, and not just for religious reasons. It also represents the generosity of spring, reflected in Murcia’s giving Holy Week processions.

Monas de Pascua

This is my fourth Easter in Murcia, and I have begun to feel twinges of nostalgia for this seasonal pastry, meaning Semana Santa is just not complete without a mona de pascua. This is the first year I decided to make them myself, wanting to share with friends and family near and far the spirit of the season in Murcia.

Monas really do remind me of hot cross buns in flavor and texture, and the dough is actually quite similar, although monas in Murcia are typically made with a mild-flavored olive oil instead of butter and contain a hint of orange blossom water, like a southern breeze.

The resulting pastry is characteristically dry, perfect for dunking. The recipe writers on the Region of Murcia’s website offer the following solution: “As the dough is a little dry, some kind of liquid accompaniment is appropriate. This could be mistela (a sweet wine like muscat) for adults and milk for children. Adding a bit of chocolate makes the monas irresistible.”

I found many slightly different variations on this recipe, which invites tinkering in the search for a favorite texture and flavor. So far, I have tried two different versions, one with a blend of bread and all-purpose flours and one with bread flour only. Both were good, but I preferred the denser texture of the all-bread-flour mona.

Whether you make larger, oblong-shaped monas with hard-boiled chicken eggs, mini monas with quail eggs, or skip the egg altogether, the procedure is basically the same, although the baking time will of course vary slightly.

For the dough:

80 ml. (1/3 cup) warm milk

25 g (≈ 0.9 oz.) compressed (fresh) yeast

500 g (≈ 3 1/2 cups *SEE NOTE) bread flour

¼ teaspoon salt

140 g (1 cup plus 2 tablespoons) sugar

3 Eggs, plus one more, beaten, for glazing

80 ml. (1/3 cup) mild-flavored olive oil

Zest of one lemon

½ teaspoon orange blossom water

For the topping:

Quail eggs, hard-boiled, as many as you want (Optional)

Granulated sugar for sprinkling

Stir yeast into warm milk. Let stand for 5-10 minutes.

Sift together the flour and salt together in one bowl. In another bowl, mix the eggs with the sugar. Stir in the yeasted milk. Then add the olive oil, orange blossom water if using and the lemon zest, stirring just until well blended. Gradually stir in the flour until a dough is formed. Turn the dough onto a floured surface and knead until dough is smooth and elastic, adding more flour by the tablespoonful as needed (the dough should be moist and slightly tacky, but not sticky). Transfer dough to a large oiled bowl and turn it to coat. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 ½ – 2 hours (it may take longer, depending on factors like ambient temperature).

Divide the dough into 12-14 equal pieces on a floured surface. Roll each piece into a ball, then flatten slightly with the palm of your hand. Arrange 1 ½ inches apart on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Cover loosely with plastic wrap for a second rise of about 45 minutes.

Towards the end of the second rise, preheat oven to 350ºF (180ºC).

Brush monas with egg glaze. If you are using hard-boiled eggs, make indents in the center of the monas with your fingers, creating a nest for the eggs. Sprinkle monas generously with sugar. Bake until golden, about 15-20 minutes. Transfer to a rack to cool.

*NOTE: I measured out the cups, but have not tested this recipe with the standard American measurements, so have put an approximate amount here. If using cups, I suggest starting with this amount of flour and adding more by the tablespoon as needed to get the consistency indicated in the recipe.

One a penny, two a penny…

HAPPY EASTER!

March 27, 2012

The Venta – Roadside Comfort Food in Spain

Posted by Ansley under Eating Out, Food, Murcia
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In the three plus years I have lived in Spain, I have come to love a good venta. Ventas are rural establishments scattered along lonely stretches of highway throughout Spain, where travelers between destinations can find hearty plates of local food and sometimes lodging. Such restaurants are roughly the Spanish equivalent of independent American roadside diners, where even if you are far from home, you can find comfort. The Venta Magdalena, a mom-and-pop establishment in rural Murcia, is a perfect example.

Like most ventas I have come across, the Venta Magdalena has easy access off the regional highway and ample parking for weekend warriors. Good ventas, you see, are often destinations in and of themselves for in-the-know locals from nearby cities and towns.

Venta Magdalena

At the Venta Magdalena, you really do have to be in the know to guarantee yourself a serving of the restaurant’s specialty, its arroz (rice). If you don’t call in ahead to place your order, you might be out of luck (although the delicious grilled lamb chops help ease the blow). Such need for forethought may be frustrating for those who prefer spontaneity. Yet, in my experience, knowing a good arroz awaits greatly enhances the morning and fuels any distance that must be traveled.

The restaurant doesn’t look like much from the outside (and there’s not much else around, either, minus a building with a flashing neon heart just on the other side of the highway, a beacon in the night for travelers with another kind of hunger). Yet on the inside, the Venta Magdalena feels like a country home, with wood paneling, dark wooden beams and walls decorated with rural landscapes, still lifes, ceramic plates and antique ladles. The day’s news flickers on a TV propped up in the corner, typical decor in a venta. You enter the restaurant through the bar, where, if you have to wait, a draft beer and a plate of locally cured meats help pass the time.

The arroz here is cooked over a wood-burning fire and served in well-blackened pans fresh off the flames. (Similar dishes are often called paella in Valencia to the north and in more touristy zones throughout Spain, but here in Murcia, a rice dish is almost always referred to as an arroz, a title which is modified with additional ingredients.) The most typical versions at the inland Venta Magdalena are arroz con conejo, rice with rabbit (pictured below), or arroz con conejo y caracoles, rice with rabbit and snails.

I took my first spoonful right out of the steaming pan, burning my tongue. Our waitress set down a plate with lemon, the only condiment befitting an arroz, which I squeezed over the dish, adding lively acidity to the smoky, tomato-based broth. The grains were just right — not too firm and not too soggy, either — the equivalent of pasta al dente. The rabbit was lean yet tender, and both Manolo and I picked up the little pieces with our hands to get all the meat off the bones with our teeth. A quick look around the dining room confirmed that we weren’t the only ones licking our fingers. Towards the end, we sparred with our spoons over the crispy, toasted rice stuck to the bottom of the pan.

It was after 3 pm on a Friday afternoon, and the dining room was just about full, with men far outnumbering women (in contrast, on weekends, the Venta Magdalena tends to fill up with families). At one table, a group of casually dressed businessmen raised glasses of local red wine to greet a colleague from out of town. At another, a quartet of silver-haired men, all with a few extra pounds around their waists, had opted for beers instead. Like me, these men eschewed their plates, digging their spoons right into the common pan of arroz that just about took up their whole table.

In fact, everyone in the restaurant was having arroz, and I imagined that all of us had come with visions of this savory golden dish in our heads, leading the way. And here our visions had been realized, which is all this hungry traveler could ask for.

Venta Magdalena
Carretera Mula. Pj. Morata 67
Los Baños – Mula
Telephone.: +34 968 660 568

Do you have a favorite venta?

December 27, 2011

A Welcoming Trail of Stews

Posted by Ansley under Excursions in the Region, Food, Murcia, Sites
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This is a tale of a village and a spoon, which to me perfectly reflects the spirit of the season.

The village in question, Cehegín, appears in the photo above. I had often admired this perched vista from the highway that connects the city of Murcia with the rugged northwest corner of the region. But until recently, I had never stopped to explore.

And here’s where the spoon comes in. Much to my delight, the day I picked to visit Cehegín, there also happened to be a culinary event, the Puente del Puchero, or Bridge of Stews.

The idea was similar to that of the itinerant Tapas Routes I wrote about several weeks ago. But this time, instead of small plates, participating bars and restaurants were serving mini portions of traditional soups and stews, all dishes meant to be eaten with a spoon, hence the tagline (which I adore), ¡¡Viva la Cuchara!!, Long live the Spoon!

This praise for a simple, comforting and nourishing way to eat seems a perfect slogan for for the times. I chanted these words in my mind (and sometimes out loud) throughout the day, imagining all the bottomless pots of stew gurgling on stove tops throughout the village. This made the quiet streets feel more welcoming and took the chill out of the wind.

A bit of history

I love this part of the region of Murcia, both for the striking landscape and for the evocative human history. Cave drawings thought to be over 4,000 years old have been found in the area, as well as traces of Romans, Visigoths, Arabs, and, of course, Catholic conquerors. All of these peoples had their reasons for staking a claim on this land, like its geographical advantages (protected caves and extensive lookout possibilities) as well as its strategic importance in terms of religion and politics (often one in the same).

As far as I can gather, none of these people had it easy. Throughout this long history, not only were there marauders and rivals to contend with, but also indiscriminant diseases like the Plague. Nonetheless, the will to survive has left a rich legacy in Cehegín, whose old center was declared Historic-Artistic Site by the Spanish Ministry of Culture in 1982.

Today, tourism is key to the survival of local monuments and traditions, not only in Cehegín, but also in much of rural Spain, which, for me, was extra reason (as if I needed it) to grab a spoon and dig in.

Without further ado, here is our day on the Trail of Stews in Cehegín:

Our first stop was the no-frills Bar Fernando, which was quiet minus a few regulars who’d stopped by for an aperitivo. We were the only out-of-towners there, but this didn’t seem to make a difference to anyone, and we took a place at the bar without any obvious turned heads. In fact, it took several minutes for the owner to take our order, as he was busy chatting politics with the man next to us who had dropped by alone for a beer and a snack of several fat anchovies drizzled with olive oil. We eventually got to order our puchero, and were served alubias con perdíz, a vibrant stew of white beans, partridge and a good dose of pimentón. The little ceramic bowls made for the occasion were perfect for warming cold fingers.

Our second stop, La Bodeguica (“the little bodega” –ica/-ico is a common diminutive in Murcia, often used instead of the –ita/-ito predominant in the rest of Spain), was more modern in decor than Bar Fernando and also had a younger crowd. An array of creative canapés – mini slices of baguette topped with different meats, cheeses and spreads – displayed on the bar caught our attention, but we decided to stick with the spoon route and were served Murcia’s traditional olla de cerdo, a pork-laden stew which literally (and understandably) translates as “pig pot.” In spite of the small dish, the portion (as you can see), packed with meat, garbanzos and bits of celery, was far from skimpy. I followed Manolo’s lead and stirred the morcilla in with the rest, which gave each spoonful a warm hint of cinnamon and clove.

We decided we had room for one more stew, so made or way to the Bar-Terraza Cine Alfaro, a little place on the Plaza of the same name in the historic center. We grabbed two stools at the bar, which gave us a direct view into the kitchen and of the walls plastered with photos of the Real Madrid soccer team over the years. Here, they were serving cocido con pelotas, a meatball stew. As evident in the photo, they did not skimp on the goods here either, and loaded our bowls with tender meatballs, chicken, garbanzos, carrot, turnip, potato, and yes, a bit of broth, too. By now, the chill I had felt before my first spoonful of the day was a distant memory.

In between bowls of stew, we visited historic Cehegín, where restoration is a work in progress. Several crumbling corners serve as a reminder that this part of Spain was largely isolated and poor in the grand scheme of history.

Yet thankfully, there are many signs of a growing determination to preserve the town’s architectural heritage, like the lovingly restored 17th century Council Chambers and 18th century Fajardo Palace, which house the Archaeological Museum of Cehegín, pictured below. Here you can see remnants and objects left behind by the different peoples who have called this land home.

These buildings and the display below from the 19th century are evidence of more prosperous times in Cehegín, when certain tables were set with china and silver according to the dictates of royal etiquette. Apparently, all these knives, forks and spoons were for one diner.

The craftsmanship was admirable, yet I found myself asking, who needs all those utensils when all you really need is one big spoon?

Happy Holidays to everyone! Eat lots of soup, and savor tradition, wherever you are!

The Basics:

When: This was the second annual Puente del Puchero, and hopefully there will be many more to come. The event takes place around the 8th of December, a national holiday, which, when it falls on a weekday, typically turns into a long weekend, as folks “make a bridge (puente)” to Saturday and Sunday.
Where: This event is a joint effort between several villages in Northwest Murcia, so you could easily spend a whole weekend trying different stews. This year, the following villages participated: Cehegín, Moratalla, Mula and Pliego.
How: Pick up an event map/guide at a local tourist office or at any of the participating bars, which tells you who’s serving what. This year, the price was 2.50 € for a serving of stew and a drink, which is quite a bargain considering the amount of hearty ingredients that get packed into those little bowls.

December 9, 2011

Guiso de trigo de Murcia – Murcia’s Wheat Berry Stew with Squash Aïoli

Posted by Ansley under Food, Murcia, Recipes: Murcia, Soups and Stews, Spanish Food | Tags: vegetarian stew, wheat berry stew |
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El guiso de trigo es humilde y sencillo, una muestra más de lo mucho que puede lograse disponiendo de poco. (Murcia’s wheat berry stew is humble and simple, yet another example of how much can be achieved with little at hand.) From Gastronomía Regional Murcia, a newspaper supplement published in the mid-1980s.

Like many expats and emigrants, I often rely on foods from my past to nourish connections with people and places far away. This is why, for example, I always have homemade granola in the cupboard and enough butter and brown sugar to whip up a batch of cookies when a longing for home swoops in. Yet over time, I have also come to crave local foods in Murcia, which I see as a sign of rootedness and contentment in my relatively new home. As the days turn colder and my third winter here begins, I find I am hungry for traditional Murcian stews like the guiso de trigo.

This hearty (and meatless) stew with wheat berries, vegetables and beans is one of Murcia’s staple dishes, whose ingredients reflect the city’s agricultural heritage. For centuries, Murcia has been a center of fruit and vegetable production in Spain, which has resulted in a vegetable-rich cuisine out of necessity.

For me, the guiso de trigo is a perfect example of local culinary thrift, of coaxing maximum nutrition and flavor out of available raw materials. One trick is the sofrito, a building block in many dishes in Murcia as well as in the rest of Spain. By sautéing the onions and tomatoes in olive oil in a separate pan with salt and sweet pimentón – instead of just throwing everything uncooked into the pot with the beans and wheat – you significantly multiply the flavor potential.

A sprinkling of mint, dried or fresh, contributes a cooling contrast to the warming pimentón, which stimulates the senses. Saffron threads, if you have them, are like red lipstick, adding a touch of color and intrigue.

The squash aïoli is a stroke of genius. With four thrifty ingredients – squash (of course), garlic, salt and a ribbon of olive oil – you get a luxurious condiment. Swirling in a spoonful not only adds zing to the stew, but also lends a touch of sophistication, proving that frugal does not have to mean austere.

Even though far more ingredients are available today in Murcia than in the leaner times when the guiso de trigo became a local tradition, the stew remains popular. It can be found on weekday lunch menus in long-established bars and restaurants throughout the city, and commonly appears on grandmothers’ tables. In both settings, it is typically served in wide soup plates with country bread on the side for dipping and soaking up the last traces of broth.

On a cool day like today, when the sun probably won’t quite make its way through the clouds, it is easy to imagine adults and children throughout Murcia hovering over steaming bowls of guiso de trigo. This satisfying stew is not only nourishing and economical, but also familiar and comforting.

I, too, will be having bowl of guiso de trigo today, enjoying the warmth and flavors which root me in Murcia.

Guiso de Trigo de Murcia – Murcia’s Wheat Berry Stew with Squash Aïoli

Adapted from two principal sources: A recipe in the cookbook Memorias de la cocina murciana, written by Carmen Peréz, and a recipe from the Hotel Rosa Victoria in Murcia as seen on the national TV program España Directo in 2009 (you can watch the video here) .

I’ve doubled the quantity of pumpkin in order to make the aïoli and because I love pumpkin. (In other words, the exact vegetable quantities are a matter of taste.)

As the guiso de trigo is a classic peasant dish, real saffron, an expensive ingredient, is not always included, and that is why I say it is optional. Many locals use a natural yellow food coloring, commonly used in paella, because the result is warming and visually appealing. Yet I find that the pimentón and golden olive oil lend sufficient color if you do not use the saffron. The saffron threads of course add complexity to the dish, and I have included them, toasted and mashed with garlic, according to the recipe in Memorias de la cocina murciana.

The key factor in drawing full flavor from the ingredients is time, and all the little steps do make a difference.

For the stew:

1 ¼ cups (250 g) wheat berries, soaked for 24 hours

3/4 cup (150 g) garbanzos, soaked overnight

3/4 cup (150 g) white beans, soaked overnight

10 cups water

5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 medium onions, diced

2 medium tomatoes, peeled and diced or grated (*See note)

Salt to taste

1 heaping teaspoon sweet pimentón

A pinch of saffron threads (optional)

1 clove garlic (optional)

1/3 pound (150 g) Italian flat beans, cut into 1-inch pieces measure for cups

1/2 pound pumpkin or other orange-fleshed winter squash like butternut, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch chunks

1 medium potato (a waxy or “in-between” variety would work best – see Cook’s Illustrated Potato Primer)

Salt and fresh-ground pepper to taste

1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint, plus more for serving

For the squash aïoli (ajo calabaza): (Make about 10 minutes before the stew is ready.)

1 clove garlic, roughly chopped

A pinch of fine sea salt

Several chunks of cooked pumpkin from the stew

A swirl of olive oil

For the stew:

Place the soaked and drained wheat berries, garbanzos and white beans together in a large soup pot (I used a 6-quart pot) and add water. Bring to the boil and skim off any foam, reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for about 1 hour. The beans and wheat berries should be partially tender at this point.

While the beans and wheat berries are simmering, prepare the sofrito and the saffron, if using. For the sofrito, heat the 4 tablespoons of olive oil in a sauté pan over medium heat and add the onions. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are soft and just beginning to turn golden. Add tomatoes, bring to the boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is thickened, about 25-30 minutes. Add salt to taste toward the end, since the flavor becomes more concentrated as the sauce cooks down. Add pimentón and sauté for another minute. Remove the sofrito from the heat and set aside.

To toast the saffron threads, warm a small, dry skillet over low heat. Add threads and stir frequently so they do not burn. Once the color has deepened and the threads are aromatic, remove from heat. Then pound the toasted threads in a mortar with a clove of garlic. (See here for more information about toasting saffron.)

Add the sofrito and saffron to the pot with the partially cooked wheat berries and beans (after the first hour of cooking), then add the green beans, pumpkin and potato to the broth, which is now a vibrant red color. Season with salt and fresh-ground pepper to taste. (If you are using dried mint, add now as well.) Bring to the boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until the wheat berries, beans and vegetables are fully tender and the broth has slightly thickened, about 45 minutes. If you are using fresh mint, add it now, and adjust seasonings as necessary. Allow to sit off the heat for 5-10 minutes before serving.

For the squash aioli (ajo calabaza):

About ten minutes before the stew has finished, mash a clove of garlic in a mortar with a pinch of salt to make a smooth paste. Remove half of the cooked pumpkin or squash from the pot and pound to a purée with the garlic in the mortar. Stir in a swirl of extra virgin olive oil.

Serve the stew in soup plates garnished with a sprinkling of fresh mint. Add squash aïoli until your bowl has as much garlic flavor as you like.

Yield: Six to eight servings.

* NOTE: Grating is a quick and easy way to peel tomatoes, and is a favorite method of many cooks I know in Murcia. Cut the tomato in half, and gently grate over a bowl, flesh side down, using the large holes of the grater. The tougher skin will not pass through the holes, and you will be left with a tomato purée perfect for sautéing in this recipe.

November 3, 2011

A Day on the Tapas Route

Posted by Ansley under Eating Out, Murcia, Spanish Food | Tags: Laurie Colwin, Ruta de la tapa, Tapas |
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In my last post, I ran through the basics of the organized Tapas Route phenomenon in Spain (the where, what, when, why, how). Here, with a preface, is a sample day on the Tapas Trail in my neighborhood.

Preface: Right around the time I started writing this post, I read Friday Night Supper, an essay by the late novelist and food writer Laurie Colwin in her endearing collection, Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen (1988). Friday Night Supper, for those of you who haven’t read it, laments the decline of the hearty, leisurely meal with family and friends. This emphasized for me what is different about eating in Spain, where time during weekend meals with friends is but a hazy backdrop. Colwin’s essay begins:

“We live in a decade that worships speed: fast food, one-minute managers, sixty-minute gourmets, three-minute miles. We lace up our running shoes and dash off to get on the fast track.

These days we are surrounded by overabundance but admire the minimal: cuisine minceur, high-tech deign, thinness. We are far too busy to linger over a long, languid meal. Instead, we bolt a pint of yogurt and suit up for a five-mile run or a corporate takeover.”

As I read this passage, I could feel two phases of my life in parallel. I recognized the fast-paced world Colwin described, and in the past, would have fully felt a part of that collective “we.” Yet I realized I no longer fully belonged in this “we” after three years of living in Spain.

Here, I have learned, it’s best not to have afternoon or even evening plans when meeting with friends at 1 pm for an “aperitivo,” an “appetizer,” which tends to prolong itself into lunch, coffee and drinks. And then, what do you know, it’s time for dinner again (I’m talking 10 pm). Dinner in this case is often improvised at a friend’s home, like thin slices of pork loin a la plancha, a salad and wine.

As I wrote in my last post, on days such as this, I have been learning to ignore “that little internal voice suggesting perhaps I’d had enough.” I do still have that little voice, a bit of Colwin’s “we.” But the Spanish we is different, and, the good thing is, it’s not exclusive. Anyone can join, the more the merrier.

Meals in Spain are not necessarily the languid affairs Colwin wrote about, especially when they involve tapas. Lively would be a better word. But boy can they be long, but who’s counting? No corporate takeovers or five-mile runs for me (i.e. us), at least not on meal days with friends.

A Day on the Tapas Route

At 2 pm, my friends and I enter our first bar on the Route and seize the only remaining elbow space at the chrome counter. We must yell our order to be heard over the din. Here, we begin our day with a literal bang, biting into queso explosivo (pictured at the top of the page), a thick wedge of mild, fresh goat cheese dipped in an “explosive” batter loaded with snap-pop candies and deep-fried. The mini combustions in my mouth surprise, yet the syrupy sweetness of the quince marmalade leaves the final impression. I would have appreciated more salty contrast in the batter, but nonetheless enjoy this playful version of fried cheese on a stick.

We order another tapa that catches our eye at the bar, tender pulpo al horno, oven-roasted octopus, which is entirely savory minus a tart squirt of lemon.

Fried ham and cheese rolls

At the next stop, we are lucky to snag an outdoor table. The tapas here are more standard and set the themes we’ll encounter throughout the day – fried finger food and canapés, various toppings on thin slices of baguette.

The crisp crepe wrapped around the fried ham and cheese rolls crackles as we bite in. What could be better than flavorful ham and melted cheese?

The pork tenderloin canapés with salty, tangy roquefort and sweet roasted green peppers quickly disappear. In fact, my two beers have outlasted the two-bite tapas and time pressure creeps in (I tend to be a sipper, not a guzzler), if only to catch up with my friends. Due to the itinerant nature of the organized Tapas Route, time is more of the essence than in other meal situations. There are so many bars to try, and so many stamps to get on the Tapas Route passport (see last post). Yet these are only immediate pressures, for the end of the day is nowhere in sight.

The next tapa, which we eat standing, is my favorite on the Route – a canapé spread with zarangollo, Murcia’s sweet zucchini and onion scramble, topped with local fennel-flavored sausage.

After another stop not worth mentioning (every Route has a dud or two – this one involved a long wait, an unapologetic staff and a forgettable tapa), we meet up with more friends at Carmica, a creative neighborhood restaurant, which isn’t on the official Route, but has joined in spirit with a 2 euro tapa and drink menu.

Carmica is serving canapés with international flavors, topped with bite-size slices of tender beef filets in a creamy sauce with hints of Worcestershire and curry.

My first glass of wine is served in a plastic cup, much to the horror of a nice gentleman (a friend of a friend’s cousin – everyone’s a friend here) who later buys me another wine, this time in a glass. There always seems to be someone making sure your hands are not empty on the Tapas Trail. And I’d just told myself I’d had the last.

It’s nearly 8 pm, six hours after we began. So much for ultimatums. The corporate takeover, so to speak, will have to wait.

October 21, 2011

Anatomy of a Tapas Route

Posted by Ansley under Eating Out, Murcia, Spanish Food | Tags: Tapas |
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A Few Words on Tapas

¡Vámanos de tapas! – “Let’s go for tapas!”

These are some of my favorite words to hear or say in Spain, where going for tapas is not only an opportunity to try an intriguing array of small bites, but is often an exhilarating social experience, as well. There is an element of adventure in a tapas excursion – you never know where you might end up or who might join in along the way.

In fact, I have found that tapas are more fun in groups of at least three to four. With a larger number, as opposed to a pair, a group (i.e. feast) mentality takes over, fueling the collective appetite. At other times, I may be more restrained, but standing in a tapas bar, fork in hand, the group sweeps me up, handing me one more tapa and another glass of wine. Forget about that little internal voice suggesting perhaps I’d had enough.

As any of you who have been to Spain know, you can make your own tapas route just about anywhere in the country by roving from bar to bar with your dining companions and sharing several small plates at each stop. Here in Murcia, where the sun shines over 300 days a year, streets and plazas are perpetually vibrant, and tapas are a way of life. This means I happily hear and say ¡Vámanos de tapas! on a regular basis.

La Ruta de la Tapa

It thus comes as no surprise that I love the Ruta de la Tapa, with a capital R and capital T. I am not talking about any DIY tapas route, but rather an organized Tapas Route. Over the last several years, such routes have been popping up in cities and villages throughout Spain. Often put together by restaurant associations or festival committees, Tapas Routes last for a limited period, usually about a week, typically in conjunction with a town’s annual fiestas. Local bars and restaurants on the route offer a special tapa and a drink (beer, wine or soda) for around two euros.

One of the most stand-out tapas I’ve tried on a Tapas Route in Murcia was at Rincón de Pepe, a classic restaurant downtown. For my two euros, I got a draft beer and a brownie-size portion of roast suckling pig served on a mini bed of sautéed chard, pine nuts and ibérico ham, nestled in an airy potato emulsion that dissolved in my mouth like sea foam. Digging into the crisp outer layer of the pig with my fork was like breaking into a crème brûlée. Beneath this fragrant, toasted layer, the meat was succulent and tender.

Not all tapas I’ve tried have been so sophisticated, but, overall, from what I’ve seen, the Tapas Route is an opportunity for chefs to get creative. The “Wow!” factor is important, because, in Murcia at least, you get to vote for your favorite tapa. In fact, the tapa I mention here won Best in Show in 2009.

In Murcia, the Tapas Route has been a boon for businesses. For route-goers, it’s a bargain, and a lot of fun. The atmosphere in participating bars is guaranteed to be lively, and the tapas are particularly adventurous. A “passport” turns the Tapas Route into an exciting quest.

This is my passport from the third official Tapas Route in my neighborhood, a village within the city of Murcia. Naturally, I have been to all three.

Here’s my passport from downtown Murcia’s “De Tapas por Murcia,” 2010. This year, the downtown event was moved to early September to take place during Murcia’s Feria. Sadly, I missed it, which was only because I was across the Atlantic.

The passport system provides extra incentive to eat as many different tapas as you can (and drink the accompanying libations). In each bar you stop for a tapa and drink combo, you get a stamp. With enough stamps, you can enter a drawing for a prize, which is typically food- or drink-related. For example, in the 2010 Tapas Route in Murcia, the first prize winner received his or her weight in Estrella Levante, the local lager (extra reason to eat more tapas, to inflate the numbers). This year in La Alberca, the prize was a weekend getaway for two, meals included.

I have never won a prize during a Tapas Route, but have seen the numbers on my scale creep up, as well as those of my blood alcohol level. The Tapas Route is particularly perilous in this respect, because you have one drink per tapa, instead of a couple of tapas per drink. The pace is relatively quick, because there are so many tapas to try. I always plan to walk or catch a taxi home, and am always glad I did, simply not to worry, and let the route take me where it will.

¡Vámanos!

Be on the lookout for my next post, “A Day on the Tapas Route,” an account of last week’s tapas crawl in my village.

How to Find a Tapas Route

If you are visiting a town in Spain, particularly during its fiestas, look for tapas route posters in restaurants and bars. They go by different names, typically something like Ruta de la Tapa, Senda de la Tapa, or De Tapas por (the name of the town). In Murcia, each participating establishment has passports on hand.

I have found a couple of Websites with tapas-related news and events throughout Spain:

March 28, 2011

Morcilla de Verano – Murcia’s Eggplant Caviar

Posted by Ansley under Food, Murcia, Recipes: Murcia, Spanish Food, Tapas | Tags: vegan tapas, vegetarian tapas |
1 Comment

Think Spanish food, and the word vegetarian likely does not come to mind. Yet in Murcia, fabled as the “market garden” of Europe, meatless dishes starring local vegetables abound.

Take morcilla de verano, for example, or summer morcilla, a local tapa of eggplant, onion and garlic slow-cooked in olive oil until sweet and tender, seasoned with oregano and studded with toasted pine nuts.

Morcilla de verano even qualifies as vegan, yet you won’t find it labeled as such on a menu. Traditionally, vegetable-based dishes here were not so much a matter of dietary choice as they were of necessity, forming the cornerstone of local cuisine. The variety of rich, flavorful vegetable dishes in Murcia today reflects generations of ingenuity with the ingredients at hand.

In fact, many grandparents in Murcia refer to this meatless eggplant dish as morcilla de guerra, wartime morcilla. As the name suggests, this was considered a substitute for the other morcilla — a pork blood sausage — during lean times. Or during the summer – in the past, morcilla was made in the fall, just after the slaughter. (Murcia’s meat morcilla, like the eggplant version, is flavored with onions, oregano and pine nuts.)

Today, morcilla is available year-round, yet morcilla de verano remains a popular dish, one of many traditional vegetable-based tapas served up in bars throughout Murcia, whose cuisine has been shaped by the market garden harvest.

Morcilla de Verano – Murcia’s Eggplant Caviar

This olive oil-rich recipe is nothing short of unctuous, perfect for slathering on a thick slice of country bread. Serve as an appetizer or as a light meal accompanied with a salad and a plate of sliced manchego cheese.

3 medium eggplants, peeled and diced into ½-inch cubes

2 tablespoons pine nuts

1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

3 medium onions, thinly sliced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon dried oregano

Salt and fresh-ground pepper

Soak diced eggplant in a bowl of salted water for ½ hour to temper any bitterness. Drain and pat dry.

Meanwhile, lightly toast pine nuts in a dry sauté pan over medium-high heat.

Heat oil in a deep sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook, stirring frequently, until they begin to turn golden. Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes more. Toss in eggplant, sprinkle with a pinch of salt and reduce heat to low. Cook partially covered, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is thoroughly tender, about 45 minutes. Drain any excess oil, then stir in oregano and toasted pine nuts. Season with salt and pepper. Serve warm.

YIELD: 4-6 servings

February 25, 2011

Michirones – Fava Bean Stew with Bacon, Serrano Ham, Chorizo and Garlic

Posted by Ansley under Food, Murcia, Recipes: Murcia, Soups and Stews, Spanish Food, Tapas | Tags: Tapas |
[2] Comments

When I first heard the word michirones, Manolo and I were strolling through Murcia’s historic center trying to decide where to stop for tapas. He casually suggested we try michirones at El Pepico del Tío Gínes, and I, having been in Murcia for less than one month, literally had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing sounded familiar, which is not surprising in retrospect, for you can’t get much more local than this.

Michirones, I would find out, are fava beans stewed with cured ham, bacon, chorizo, garlic, a good dose of sweet pimentón and bay leaves. This classic Murcian tapa is rustic and hearty, packed with sustenance and a deep cured ham flavor. The pimentón and chorizo turn the broth a vibrant red color that is both warming to look at and to eat.

Michirones are typically served in an earthenware dish strategically placed within reaching distance of everyone at the table. As is the case with many tapas, eating michirones is a communal experience. You help yourself to the beans and meat in the central dish with your fork, and try to get them to your mouth without leaving too much of a trail. (This distance seemed precariously long to me at first.)

This is not to say that the delicious broth goes unconsumed. For soaking up the pimentón spiked liquid, fresh bread is the favored tool, dipped with gusto directly into the common dish.

The bar where I had my first michirones, El Pepico del Tío Gines, was founded in 1935 and is a tradition in itself, with an ambiance you’d expect in an old Spanish bodega –chrome bar, hams hanging from the ceiling, the requisite wooden barrel. I loved my first taste of michirones, unlike anything I had ever eaten, although I struggled to remember how to say what I had eaten. The word just wouldn’t stick.

I can’t remember exactly when the word michirones began flowing off my tongue naturally. I think it was a gradual process, aided by weekly dinners with friends at the cantina of a neighborhood association dedicated to preserving local traditions. We’d invariably order the flavorful michirones, some of the best I’ve had (the restaurant has since closed, sniff, sniff).

After watching Valentina, Manolo’s mom, prepare a batch, I decided it was time to try for myself.

So how about some michirones for dinner?

Michirones

This recipe is based on Valentina’s version in addition to recipes I consulted in the following books on local cuisine: Las 50 Mejores Recetas de la Cocina Muricana and Memorias de la Cocina Murciana.

The dish is traditionally prepared with unshelled dried fava beans. Peeled and split beans fall apart more easily in the cooking process, which isn’t appropriate for this dish. Keep in mind that the cooking time can vary depending on the size and age of the beans. If the skins are too tough for your liking, simply remove them as you are eating by squeezing on the shell with your fingers to release the soft interior into your mouth. In fact, you often see heaps of fava bean skins on plates when michirones have been served.

I suggest not adding any extra salt until the end, if it is needed. I have found that the cured meats provide enough.

A strong red wine from Jumilla, a wine-producing zone in Murcia, pairs well with the dish.

1 pound dried fava beans, soaked at least overnight*

3 quarts water

⅓ pound dried Spanish chorizo, cut into ¼-inch rounds

¼ pound unsmoked bacon (thick slices are best), cut into 1-inch lengths

1 serrano ham bone, if available

¼ pound thick-sliced serrano ham or proscuitto, cut into 1-inch lengths

1 head of garlic, rinsed

6 bay leaves

1 heaping teaspoon sweet pimentón

1-3 whole dried cayenne peppers (optional, if you like a little kick)

Salt and pepper to taste

Put all ingredients (except salt and pepper) together in a 5-quart soup pot. Bring to a boil over high heat. Boil, uncovered, for 10 minutes and skim off any foam. Lower heat and simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until the beans are tender but not falling apart, about 2-2 ½ hours. Add more water if necessary. (The cooking time can vary depending on the size and age of the beans.) The broth should be intensely red from the pimentón and chorizo, but relatively thin and clear in consistency. Once the beans are cooked, season with salt and pepper to taste.

*NOTE: Some recipes say to soak the beans for 48 hours, changing the water once or twice. I haven’t tried this yet, but am curious to see how much the longer soak decreases the cooking time.