Hake with Salsa Verde

When people here ask why I love food so much I tell them it's because my Mother is a chocolatier, my brother and I grew up watching the Frugal Gourmet and that our family lore often revolves around subjects like chicken stock.

When I was little, my mom didn't make her stock according to how many soups or stews it would yield but rather the number of small armies it could feed.  She boiled up these big batches in order to freeze them and always opted for ice cube trays rather than large containers for the job.  She's never been one to stand by waiting as something akin to a poultry flavored curling stone defrosted slowly on the counter.

For their third date, my mom prepared a homemade dinner for my dad.  Trying to be useful, he set to work washing dishes and the ensuing tale involves very clean ice cube trays and not a drop of stock.  When they realized what had happened they both burst out laughing and fell in love with each other even more.

Made this..

From my mom´s signature stock cubes to getting quizzed on kitchen basics while working at a restaurant in Colorado, I have always thought of stock-making as a serious project.  For me it calls to mind firing up a flame under an heirloom Le Creuset,  quartering aromatics with a few clean chops and tying up a neat little sachet of spices.  Then, lowering in the noble remains of a heritage chicken or wild fish and standing sentinel by the stove, wooden spoon at the ready to skim off foam at the slightest gathering of bubbles.

When I headed to the other side of Murcia for my first lesson in paella, my friend Maria del Mar explained that the very first step, and one of the most important, is preparing a pot of stock (caldo en Español) that corresponds with the principal protein in the dish.  We were making a seafood paella so it would be our fish stock that lent an essential layer of flavor to the rice.  But as crucial as a good caldo was,  it turned out not to have anything to do with expensive enamel cookware, cheesecloth or textbook ingredients.

Maria del Mar

I've always heard that the cardinal rule for fish broth is to avoid oily species at all costs, but salmon is what Maria del Mar and her family had eaten the day before, so salmon scraps it would be.  She added some other various bones from her stash in the freezer, poured in mineral water from a big jug on the counter, spooned in a little salt and that was all.  No white wine, no bay leaves, no peppercorns or sliced leeks.  As we prepped the rest of the ingredients she recommended dedicating freezer space to a fish bone collection of my own, culled from whatever dishes I happen to make.  But, she told me, if I wanted to go for gold and simmer up the king of stocks, then it was monkfish I was after.  When we wrapped up lunch at 7:30pm I reasoned that if a species normally blacklisted from stock pots had resulted in something that tasty, anything made with monkfish broth had to be stellar.

While paella is traditional all over Spain, another rice dish called Caldero is one of Murcia's most prized specialties.  It too calls for caldo de pescado, and if I was going to attempt it, it would be with fish stock of the highest caliber.  Maria del Mar said the fishmonger near her house always had bags of monkfish heads and bones available, but while a frozen variety pack sounded convenient I figured that if the skeletons were so sought after, the flesh was more than worth trying.

Cooking up seafood paella with fish broth

When Yolanda told me she had invited a friend over for lunch the following day, my ears perked up.  Partly at the chance to practice "getting to know you" phrases in Spanish, but even more so at the prospect of tasting such a highly acclaimed fish and reaping a pile of its bones at the same time. No disembodied monkfish from the freezer case for me--I was going to buy one whole and take notes on procedure as the fishmonger broke it all down.  After paging through three different Murcian cookbooks I landed on a recipe for monkfish cooked gently in lemon sauce.  We had almost all of the ingredients on hand already, so I could devote my budget to the fish itself.

The next morning I made my usual rounds for fruit and vegetables at the weekly market, then joined a larger than average crowd in front of my favorite husband and wife charcuterie team.  Isidro and Patricia gave me a primer on Manchego varieties during my first trip to the market and I've only had eyes for their mobile meat and cheese trailer ever since.  At this point they know my standard order (five slices of serrano), my preferred ham to fat ratio and that when I´m really splurging I'll spring for 200 grams of Queso Murciano.  The stand is always busy, but the extra wait-time traced right to an elderly couple selecting a whole leg of jamón from the rafters.

Patricia and Isidro

Their agreement on the final pick triggered an all out cured meat montage and I watched on, captivated.  Following Isidro's multi-step process from my spot in line, I imagined Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" playing triumphantly in the background from start to finish.

With swift precision and even grace he shifted fluidly between two work surfaces, alternated between various blades and band saw settings and paused part way through to run a hunk of the jamón under his nose as if it were a Cuban cigar.  When he was done, everything was set side by side on the counter: rough pieces chopped for sauce, a stack of discs portioned from the bone for stew, paper thin slices pre-cut for a party and the rest of the leg ready for mounting on the family ham stand and slicing at will.  As the couple walked away with taught plastic bags full of neatly folded white packages and a sturdy cardboard box housing their jamón, I realized it was almost my turn to order.  On 5€ a day and only two mouths to feed, I would be sticking with my five slices and nada más, but at least I would soon have the entirety of a monkfish in my possession, its various parts split up into little packages of my own.

I strode into the fish shop with that image in mind, but walking up to the ice packed display I realized that rather than being shaped conveniently in the form of three lunch-sized portions bookended by a head and a tail, monkfish are actually quite large.  Coming to terms with the fact that carting home a sizable animal of any kind was not in my near future, I turned my attention to recipe advice.  The fishmonger had never heard of the lemon sauce I had selected and decided to call in reinforcement, beckoning over a white-haired customer by name.  With one look at the cookbook in my hand the woman decided I was in need of some real guidance and pivoted from her spot in line to stand next to me, elbow to elbow.  First things first, she needed to know how many people I was cooking for.  Three?  In that case, it was hake I wanted, not monkfish-a point she made clear by gesturing between their two price tags. And if I really wanted to do hake justice, I'd dredge it in flour, cook it gently in a terracotta cazuela along with peas and tomatoes and finish everything off with a little white wine, of course.  I nodded and smiled, but figuring I'd exceed my daily budget with the protein alone, I knew there would be insufficient funds for any extraneous ingredients.

Based on the price per kilo I realized that the only monkfish parts I would be able to afford were those without meat anyhow, so my future caldero would be made with frozen scraps after all.  I was about to abandon the most basic element of the original meal, but at least my recipe research hadn't been completely in vain.  The fish would change but the sauce would stay the same-lemons were only 10 cents a pop.

With that

A block further down the road I stopped into a produce shop and when I handed over my single piece of citrus the young man behind the counter asked what big plans I had in store for my purchase.  I flipped open my cookbook and slid it over to him with the preface that I had just switched species and he ran over the recipe with his index finger while reading the ingredients quietly to himself.  He commented politely that my choice sounded like a nice idea,  but while ringing up the lemon he leaned over the counter and said that when it came to hake, salsa verde was really the way to go.  All it took to replicate his mother's go-to accompaniment was parsley, garlic, olive oil, salt, lemon juice and a sturdy mortar and pestle.

With that I let go of the last remnant of my initial plan, scrapped the bus ticket I'd been using as a placeholder and put the cookbook back in my bag.  As I dug around for my coin purse the shopkeeper listed off the necessary ingredients again to make sure I had everything I needed and started gathering up a hefty handful of parsley. When I told him I had just bought some at the market he said "ah, we have too much anyway" and kept selecting leafy stems from the tall container near the register.  It was clear I'd be taking the parsley but when I asked him for the price he hardly acknowledged the question.  He had already shared his family recipe and let me offload a stack of one-cent coins for likely his smallest sale of the day, but he stopped me between "muchas" and "gracias", waving off my thanks with a smile.  With an outstretched arm he urged me on, giving the green bouquet a shake in my direction.  "Go on, take it!" he said.  "It will give you good luck!"

I had given up monkfish for hake, scrapped lemon sauce for herb paste and our main dish was tepid by the time our guest turned up late, but the parsley proved lucky indeed--when everyone asked for a second helping, I needed every last leaf.

Hake with Salsa Verde
(Note: If you happen to be searching for hake in Spain, here it's called merluza)

Yield: Main dish for 4
Ingredients

For the fish:
Extra virgin olive oil
4 pieces of hake (about 200g each)
Salt
Flour
Pimentón

-Pat fish with paper towel to remove extra moisture and season with salt on both sides
-Dredge in flour mixed with a little pimentón
-Heat olive oil in a pan until hot but not smoking
-Cook fish for just a few minutes on each side, until flesh flakes apart easily

For the salsa verde:
2 large bunches of parsley, all stems removed and leaves roughly chopped (you may end up needing more)
2 or more garlic cloves, roughly chopped
Salt to taste
Lemon juice to taste (the shopkeeper said that here in Murcia, where lemons grow everywhere, it's typical to use quite a bit of juice, but use as much or as little as you like)
Extra virgin olive oil

-Add all ingredients except olive oil into a mortar and pestle and work until paste begins to form
-Drizzle in olive oil until you reach the consistency you like-I keep mine quite thick
(For a smoother paste, use the same method but with an immersion blender instead of a mortar and pestle)

-When the salsa verde is finished, transfer it to a bowl and swirl more olive oil around the inside of the mortar, using a spoon or spatula to scrape any remaining parsley or garlic bits into the oil.  Reserve this infused oil and use it in dressings, on top of steamed potatoes etc.

Fava beans with a little jamón

I've seen fruit vendors in the U.S. selling their seconds for half price but Murcia is the first place I've noticed the vegetables offered in distinct grades too.  After trying out a local recipe for fava beans in my first week here I was reminded that a) just because a recipe is traditional doesn't guarantee that it's going to taste good and b) when it comes to fresh fava beans, pretty much anything beyond fat and salt is gilding the lilly.

Made this..

I peeled my way through lots of favas in Sicily and I'm still amazed each time I whittle a mountain of them down into a tiny dish of delicate, slippery little beans that look like they could easily hold their own in a whimsical Fantasia number.  After needing both hands to transport the tough pods to the trash and then a spoonful or two to sprinkle them into the pan, those things are vegetal gold.  But as soon as the mess of tomatoes and onions hit the skillet for my first favas in Spain, it was no longer evident that the dish had anything to do with them.  That all got turned into a soup the next day (by way of a little broth, a hard boiled egg yolk to thicken the mix and an immersion blender to whip it even further beyond recognition from the original dish), so this time I had no plans to doctor them up.

I circled the market a few times scoping out the fava scene and when I came upon a stand selling them for half the going rate I had a feeling it was too good to be true.  The scraggly sign read 1€ and was placed just off center between two huge piles of beans.  When I got closer I realized that one heap looked pretty good, like the favas I got (literally off the back of a truck) in Balestrate and the other looked sort of like an air-brushed version of the same with smooth, unblemished skin and not an age spot in sight. When I asked the vendor if there was a difference in price he looked over the top of his glasses in a friendly librarian sort of way and gesturing between the two piles I imagined him saying "is a high speed computer database worth more than a dusty card catalog system? Of course it is."  Having already shelled out two euro for ajo tierno that morning I wasn't about to part ways with two more.  I knew half a kilo wouldn't yield much, but it wasn't bulk I was going for.

With that

That night I saddled up to the counter at home and got into bean peeling position. I opened the first one and besides the flawless favas, even the bright green pod itself was tender. The underside of the shell was so downy it could have easily eeked out the courderoy patch in the tactile awareness book I "read" with the 2 year old Spanish triplets  I look after on Fridays.

I pulled myself together after realizing my roommates weren't quite as excited about just how soft a young bean pod could be and kept shelling.  From there it was a pretty straight shot from the pan to the plate with a little jamón fat, ajo tierno and sunny side up egg fried along the way.  As I was finishing up dinner Yolanda asked why I hadn't cut off a good hunk of bread to soak up the yolk, but  I decided against a lengthy explanation.  Yes, perhaps that was because I was too tired to try saying it all in Spanish but remembering her low enthusiasm level for the pillowy shell I reasoned with myself "ah, she just wouldn't understand."

Fava beans with jamón 

Yield: Side dish for 1
Ingredients
1/2 kilo of fava beans in their pods
The strips of fat torn from 3-5 thin slices of jamón serrano (Whenever I eat a piece of serrano throughout the week I just tear off the fat and keep it in the fridge to use for recipes.  Often there are little bits of jamón that come off with the fat, and that's perfect)
Extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon of finely chopped onion or green onion
Salt

-Remove the fava beans from their pods and skin each bean
-Heat the serrano fat in a pan until it has rendered and any little bits of meat have crisped up
-Add just a bit of extra virgin olive oil
-Add in the favas and cook, stirring occasionally  for a few minutes, just until tender
-Taste and season with a touch of salt if the beans need it
-Great served with a sunny side up egg that's also cooked in rendered serrano fat and a little olive oil

The cooking times for the fava beans can vary a lot.  The favas I used in Sicily needed several more minutes in the pan, but these ones were so tender and fresh that just eating them raw with a little olive oil, salt and crusty bread would have been delicious too.

Cocido, or rather, cocidon't

Last night Yolanda told me she was craving cocido--a stew made in lots of different ways all over Spain.  Cocido is often served as three separate dishes-first, the broth from simmering jamón bones, legumes, vegetables and various types of meat for hours, second, the chickpeas or beans along with the veg and third, the meat.  She said her Dad would always make up big pots of cocido this time of year and ladle the steaming caldo into mugs for sipping.  Tough act to follow but I told her that I had it all under control and would have things ready by lunchtime at 2:30pm on the dot.  She then proceeded to guide me around the kitchen with a light hand on my arm, showing me the bones and chicken pieces in the freezer, the bouillon cubes in her spice drawer, the chickpea stash in the pantry and finally, the bright orange colorante in cupboard.  People here love their soups and rice nice and golden, and all of the dry-goods vendors in the mercadillos and open markets have bottles of colorante in stock.  You can buy the powder in bulk too, and the tall glass jars are lined up proudly right next to clear little capsules of saffron threads and Murica's famous pimentón.  I was not to forget the colorante.

Made this..

For my brother and his co-op mates in Boston, soaking beans is almost part of the nightly routine, but I myself had no prior experience with prepping legumes.  As we were trying to decide whether or not to use the whole package of chickpeas, Yolanda asked me if they would bulk up a lot by morning.  With a shrug I said "naw, no mucho.." and in went the entire bag.  I came downstairs today to find that my assumptions were vastly incorrect.  What had looked like just the right amount of innocuous garbanzos had grown to a volume that can only be described as overwhelming.  I flashed back to a scene from the children's book Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs with bleary-eyed kids slumped over in chairs after eating a blizzard's worth of cream cheese and jelly sandwiches. I imagined Yolanda and I, struggling to make our way through our 7th garbanzo dish of the week, exhausted and wearing wrist braces to prevent carpal tunnel from repetitive spooning motions.

With that

I decided I'd think about all the different ways I could use chickpeas later (fritters, hummus, more soup, more fritters..) and get started boiling them with the jamón bone (which was still encircled by a fair bit of meat) in the pressure cooker. With just that and nothing more the broth already tasted mug-worthy, but I had never made the recipe before, so I just kept going.  I added the rest of the ingredients and left it all bubbling away, figuring that the more it reduced the more flavorful it would become.  During breaks from Spanish workbook exercises (thanks to a colorful sidebar I now know all kinds of fun facts about Gypsy weddings) I would give things a quick skim and stir.  Back at my desk I got caught up finding the definitions to every third word in a news article on the national banks (I was able to skip "corrupto"), and by the time Enca got home, the cocido looked much more like yellow-hued Dinty Moore than a pot of soup.

As I was asking about her mom's version (she serves the caldo with short pieces of fideuá pasta and the final dish includes various and sundry encased meats), I managed to forget about the stove completely, and the fact that it was still on.  Yolanda came in 20 minutes later and by that point there wasn't a drop of broth to be had.  When I told her there was no caldo I was met with the expression of a 7-year-old who wakes up from a very realistic dream about leaving for camp, bolts downstairs to find their duffel bag and is told that it's still February, and a school day too.

Luckily, she was soon distracted by helping me with the Spanish for "evaporate" and "better luck next time".

We're going to her hometown for the holidays and I'm looking forward to sitting down with Papa Calzado for a lesson in the nuances of this dish.  Hopefully I'll be able to share his recipe once I've successfully doled out my first cocido trifecta.

Roasted carrot soup..empanadillas

On the days I catch the bus to the Barrio del Carmen for English lessons I always tuck an empanadilla in my bag so I don't have to spend anything on a snack.  In my first week here I made empanadillas four times-the first two to rescue dishes that turned out differently than planned, the third for a party and the fourth to use up all the extra dough.  Tonight I had one from batch two, and the defrosted result was a good lesson in what to do differently next time.

My first round turned out with a high dough to filling ratio--too high. I swung the other way on the second, and the resulting empanadas were tasty out of the oven, but now start to fall apart once re-heated.  The key to a really good hand pie is to be able to eat it out of just one hand, without any need for catching crumbly crust or meagerly supported filling with the other.

These empanadillas started out as a roasted carrot soup.  I was finally able to roast with confidence again (my oven in Sicily had just two temperatures-singeing, and off), but after blending everything together I realized that the favorite bouillon cube brand in Spain is much saltier than the popular one in Italy

With that

Made this..

I, like my mother, have a very high saltiness threshold, but the only way I could get through a whole bowl of this was adding in spoon after spoon of plain yogurt.  Since yogurt is also what I had bought to eat every morning, I did not have yogurt to spare.  I did, however, have half a potato leftover from another recipe, so I went two for one and mashed it up to both thicken the soup into a viable filling and rachet down the sodium simultaneously.

Roasted carrot empanadillas

Ingredients

For the filling
A bunch of carrots
Olive oil
Salt
Half an onion, diced
A head of garlic
1/2 of 1 bouillon cube
Mache, spinach or arugula
Half of a potato

For the dough
1/2 cup of warm water
1/2 cup of olive oil
Salt
Flour
1 egg, beaten

-Preheat the oven to 415 degrees
-Cut the carrots in half lengthwise down the middle (if large, cut each half lengthwise again)
-Toss the carrots in olive oil (no need to use extra virgin-my friend in León says no one here wastes it on roasting, or empanadilla dough, since the heat diminishes the flavor) and sprinkle with just a little salt
-Spread out in a single layer on a baking sheet lined with tin foil and cover the whole sheet tightly with another piece of foil
-Cut the top off of the head of garlic to reveal the cloves, place on a square of tin foil and and drizzle with olive oil
-Fold up the tin foil so it covers the garlic completely and put it in the oven along with the carrots
-Roast the carrots for about 15 minutes, then take off the top layer of tin foil and continue roasting, turning the carrots around a few times, for another 25 minutes or so, until they are very tender and nicely browned
-Continue to roast the garlic for another 15 minutes, then remove from the foil and set aside
-Meanwhile, heat a little oil in a pot but don't let it smoke
-Crumble the bouillon cube into the oil and stir for about 30 seconds (start with just half-you can always add more)
-Add in the onion and cook until transluscent
-Roughly chop the roasted carrots, add to the pot, and cook for a few minutes
-Use a butter knife to scrape half of the roasted garlic cloves out of their peels, setting aside the rest of the cloves for another dish, or adding them into the pot if you like very strong roasted garlic flavor
-Add in water to cover the ingredients and bring to a boil
-Transfer the soup to a regular blender or use an immersion blender to bring everything together, stopping before the ingredients become completely pureed so there are still some pieces of carrot in the mix
-Add in the greens and stir until wilted
-Eat a bowl of soup, adding a little plain yogurt on top
-Reserve the rest of the soup and refrigerate, cooling completely
-Peel the potato, use a fork to make several pricks, then cook in the microwave until a paring knife can pierce easily into the center
-Mash the potato, leaving some small to medium size pieces intact
-Mix into the soup

-Preheat the oven to 350 degrees
-In a medium size bowl, add the water, olive oil and a few pinches of salt
-Add flour, a generous 1/2 cup at a time, and stir with a fork until the dough comes together and is no longer sticky
-Roll out the dough to the thickness of a Christmas cookie (imagine cookies that you could ice generously and top with lots of sprinkles and Red Hots without fear of them breaking mid-way through decoration)
-Using a biscuit cutter, Tupperware with a circular top or a bowl, cut out pieces of dough in any size you like (I usually make a few different sizes so I have empanadillas that are good for a meal and for a snack)
-Mix just a bit of the beaten egg into the soup and potato mixture to bind it all together and use a spoon to put filling on top of each cut out of dough
-The amount of filling will vary depending on the size of the cut outs, but use enough so that you can fold the dough over and press the edges together with just enough room to seal with the tines of a fork
(If you can see the filling at all through the dough, it's too thin)
-As you finish sealing each empanadilla, place it on a tin foil lined baking sheet
-Add just a little water to the remaining egg and brush the empanadillas with the egg wash, making sure to brush the top, sides, and pressed edges
-Bake the empanadillas at 350 degrees, rotating the baking sheet a few times, for 20-30 minutes until they are golden brown

Calabacin relleno

Preserved fish is a pretty big deal in Spain (they say the best of the catch is often found in tins), and while the lowest end tuna here is probably better than some of the average brands in the US, that's not saying a whole lot.  I didn't have any money to work with today, but I did have Yolanda's surplus zucchini, and a €0.50 tin of tuna in the cupboard whose flavor and texture I wanted to mask as much as possible.

With the roasted red peppers and olives from Paco I had the makings of a filling that would stretch the tuna and conceal it at the same time.  Onion, parsley and pimentón brought it all together and a few spoonfuls of the crumbs from my first attempt at baking bread finished it off.

Made this..

With that

This evening Yolanda brought home her haul from the produce shop. She was eager to show me that I now have two more mammoth calabacins at my disposal, but when I looked through my Murcian cookbooks for ideas the zucchini recipes called for ingredients like shrimp, butter, chopped chicken and bechamel.  As much as I love those ingredients on their own, the permutations just don't sound all that enticing when delivered by way of another hollowed out zucchini.  Perhaps it's time to try my first tortilla Española and make up one of its many vegetable variations..or just resort to digging out a loaf pan and introducing the girls to good ol' American zucchini bread.

Calabacin relleno

Ingredients
1 medium zucchini
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt
Pepper
1/2 of an onion, finely diced
Half of a roasted red pepper, diced
A handfull of small black cuquillo olives, pitted and chopped
1 small tin of tuna
Parsley, chopped
Bread crumbs
Pimentón

-Preheat the oven to 400 degrees
-Cut the zucchini in half lengthwise and use a spoon to scoop out the centers, leaving a the walls of the zucchini about 1/4 of an inch thick
-Chop up the the seeds and flesh and set aside
-Brush the insides of the cucumbers all over with olive oil, then season with salt and pepper
-Bake cut side down on a baking sheet lined with tin foil for about 10 minutes, then flip over and bake for another few minutes, until the flesh in the middle of the zucchini begins to brown
-Remove from the oven and set aside
-Heat a little olive oil in a pan and add the onion and a pinch of salt
-Cook, stirring frequently, until the onion begins to brown
-Add in the seeds and pulp of the zucchini and continue to cook until they have broken down and the liquid in the pan has evaporated
-Add in the roasted red peppers and the olives and cook for 3-5 more minutes, stirring frequently
-Transfer the mixture to a bowl, add in the tuna and flake with a fork
-Add the parsley and stir until all ingredients are well mixed
-Use a spoon to fill each zucchini half with the mixture
-Season a few spoonfuls of bread crumbs with salt and pimentón, then drizzle with olive oil and mix until the oil is incorporated and the texture becomes sandy
-Top each filled zucchini half with the breadcrumbs
-Bake for a few minutes or until the breadcrumbs are golden brown
-Remove from the oven and top with a little fresh parsley

Market day

I started the morning with a balance of €.62, and set off for El Palmar's weekly market with a €10 limit in mind.  If I stuck to it, and didn't spend a cent on Wednesday, I'd be back in the black by Thursday-just in time for my second lesson of the week in the Barrio del Carmen-and another ColaCao.

I got up to Isidro's mobile charcuteria truck (he tucked his business card--"SU CHARCUTERO DE CONFIANZA"-- in with the cured meat and cheese last Tuesday) and asked for 25 grams of jamòn picado to use for a cauliflower recipe.  I must not have pronounced things correctly because it was only after I actually reached around the rows of chorizo hanging from the rafters and handed the cookbook over the counter that anyone was really sure what I was asking for.  I left with a small plastic package of thick hand cut pieces of serrano to use for lunch and five thin slices to have throughout the week.

And all with €0.01 to spare

When I headed over to the olive truck, the vendor, who has what I imagine to be the same kind of voice used in well-produced Spanish radio announcements, was talking about New Year's plans with one of his customers and calling over to another with an unbroken string of diminutives.  He leaned forward to see what I'd like to try this week, and when I asked for the kind of olives used in Ensalada Murciana he smiled knowingly and gave me two different varieties to taste.  As I was making my pick he asked my name but it was only after I explained "..como Lois Lane- la novia de Superman!" that he clasped his hands together in recognition.  His name, it turns out, is Paco, and as he was wrapping up my olives he flipped a couple roasted peppers into a little container and slipped them into my bag too.

After circling the market a few times I had spotted the vendor selling 4 kilos of oranges for €1 (the rest were offering 2 or 3 kilos for the same price) and another at the very end of  the last row with a solid selection of apples at €.75 a kilo rather than the going rate of €1.25.  After picking up some lettuce and carrots, and a couple of bananas from the Canary Islands to see what all the fuss is about (folks here say they're the best in the world) I had about €0.20 left.  I opened my palm to show one of the dried fruit and nut vendors what I had to work with, and he shook his head, chuckled and scooped up a handful of raisins for me.

Made this..

With that

I got back and started on the caulfilower--a dish Enca had seen in restaurants but never tried at home.  The downfall of those verisions, she said, was that they used so much oil that the cauliflower was beyond recognition by the time it arrived at the table.  My recipe called for frying too, but I opted to brown the pieces on all sides instead.  Yes, they were still dredged in flour, but the coating crisped up rather than turning sodden and heavy.  As soon as I heard Yolanda open the door I poured the sauce over the cauliflower, sprinkled on some cheese and a little pimentón, and after a few minutes in a hot oven it was ready to eat. 

Enca told me I had sucessfully averted the risk of overly greasy cauliflower but recommended I chop the picado a bit more finely next time.  I agreed, but the more I ate the more I thought--the jamón had flavored the sauce so deeply that you could actually set the pieces aside once it was done and use them for something else, like adding them diced to the lentil soup Yolanda brought back from visiting family over the weekend...

Coliflor al Horno

Ingredients

Extra virgin olive oil

25 grams of jamòn picado, chopped in roughly half inch size pieces

1/2 of an onion, finely chopped

1 tomato, peeled and finely chopped

Flour

1/3 or less of 1 beef bouillon cube

Water 

1/2 of a medium cauliflower

1 egg, beaten

Pimentón

Mild cheese, grated

-Heat up a little extra virgin olive oil in a pan, but don't let it smoke

-Add in the jamón picado and let the fat begin to render slowly

-Once the fat has turned transluscent, add in the onion and cook until transluscent as well

-Add in the tomato and cook until everything starts to simmer

-Once some of the water from the tomatoes has evaporated, sprinkle in some flour to thicken the sauce

-Crumble a bit of a beef bouillon cube over the sauce and add about 3/4 cup of water

-Cook until most of the water has evaporated and the tomatoes break down fully, stirring occassionally with a wooden spoon

-Add a bit more water and let reduce again

-Repeat several more times as you're prepping the cauliflower

-Cut the cauliflower into florets and boil for a couple of minutes until fork tender

-Let cool slightly, then coat in egg and dredge in flour seasoned with pimentón

-Heat a bit of oil in another pan until smoking

-Add in the florets and let cook on each side until golden brown

-Put the florets into an oven-safe dish, cover with the sauce and sprinkle with cheese and pimentón

-Broil for a couple of minutes or bake at around 400 degrees until the cheese begins to bubble and brown at the edges

Murcia on 5 € a day: Week 3

I started off the week €8.08 in the hole, but the purchases were well worth the cost.  I made my first trip to Murcia's covered market over the weekend, and after perusing the downstairs (finally found a reliable place to get goat brain) and the upstairs (watched a 60-something red-headed woman use her knife to gesture at the small crowd of people huddled around her selection of preserved fish) I walked out with Murcian pimentón, Calasparra rice and a free churro.  On my way to the tourist office to pick up a map, I stumbled upon a local Christmas tradition-a long string of booths featuring lots of nativity figurines, jewelry nearly identical to that found at the Ann Arbor Art Fair, vendors tapping away intently at their smart phones and some artisanal products too.  When I realized the price for 500g of Murcia's romero tomillo honey wasn't much higher than the store-brand stuff at the discount supermarket, I handed over €3 and added a jar to my bag.  

I had an empanada from my frozen stash lined up for my pre & post work snack, so the only money I shelled out today was at Espinosa Confitería.  Twice a week I visit a family in the Barrio del Carmen to help them practice conversational English and Espinosa is a 3 minute walk away.  (Talking with the daughter about their holiday dinner traditions led to me ask "so does your grandfather have a favorite butcher where he gets his rabbit?" and her to respond ¨"no, no, my grandfather has a rabbit.  So he kills it before we make the paella.")  Last week I looked up from my cafè con leche to see a bright yellow packet of cocoa and a glass of hot milk being whisked off the counter.  I decided that might just have to be my go-to drink.  So, €1.30 it was for a ColaCao of my own.  

Yesterday I made a recipe for salsa al limón (below) and back at home after the English lesson I mixed it with the last of my green beans and some toasted marcona almonds.  

Made Salsa al limón with this

And a dish of green beans..

With that

The El Palmar open market is tomorrow morning, and waiting for the water to boil for the beans I was flipping through a couple Murcian cookbooks and dreaming up all sorts of lunch dishes I could make for the three of us.  But it turned out Enca already had some of her mom's soup defrosting and that Yolanda gets fish for lunch every Tuesday because that's the day she gets off a little early from work, and her fishmonger awaits her arrival each week.  It also turns out she has some extra cauliflower and zucchini she wants me to use up before they go to waste.  I already have everything on hand for a coliflor al horno recipe, so my market plan has shifted, and now I have my sights set on jamón, olives and pomegranates.  And maybe just one almond shortbread cookie.

Salsa al limón

Ingredients
A couple heaping spoonfuls of finely chopped onion
A heaping spoonful of finely chopped brined caper stems (or capers if you can't find the stems)
A finely chopped hard boiled egg
A heaping spoonful of finely chopped parsley
The juice from half a lemon
Extra virgin olive oil

Mix all ingredients together in a bowl.  It's pretty tasty right off the bat but the flavors meld a bit more after some time in the fridge.

Wild mushroom soup with crispy chorizo

Somehow, I managed to spend 8 months in Italy without cooking wild mushrooms once.  Actually, up until this week I had never cooked wild mushrooms at all.  Their mystique has been building steadily since I arrived in Spain.  Bountiful mushroom displays in Barcelona, Madrid and Valencia.  Mushroom cooking demonstrations at Murcia's gastronomic festival last month.  Stories related to me about Spaniards flocking to the forests each fall to collect their own.

Then on Tuesday I went to El Palmar's open market and came across a stand with a whole section devoted to them.  In a stall piled high with all sorts of fruits and vegetables, this table was furnished with a bed of parsley and set aside for wild mushrooms alone, all laid out carefully in a single layer.  I already had a hyped up mushroom ideal in mind, and as the vendor started trailing his fingers over the selection, landing on three for my bag (even stopping to rethink his choice on the second), I became even more solidly convinced that the only possible result on my first attempt would involve the adjectives meaty, earthy and intense. I was wrong.

Made this..

With that

Which was originally supposed to be this

Ingredients:
Extra virgin olive oil
1/4 of an onion, diced
A couple cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
1/3-1/2 of 1 bouillon cube
Water
3 to 4 medium size wild mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
1 slice of chorizo, about a quarter of an inch thick
1 cup cooked rice
Parsley

Reader's Digest version:
-Heat up the oil in a small pot and add the onion, cooking until translucent
-Clear away a bit of room in the middle of the pot and add the garlic
-Stir for about 30 seconds or until you can smell the garlic, then incorporate with the onions
-Crumble up the bouillon cube and sprinkle it over the onion and garlic, then cook until the aromatics start to color, stirring frequently
-Add in the mushrooms and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently
-Add a little water to pick up the fond from the bottom of the pan, then stir in half the rice
-Season to taste with more of the bouillon cube, then add in water to cover the ingredients and bring to a boil
-Transfer the soup to a regular blender or use an immersion blender to bring everything together until it's as creamy as possible
-If the soup is at all gritty, pour it into a fine mesh strainer and use the back of a spoon to stir and press the soup through the strainer into a bowl
-Rinse and dry the pot and add in the chopped chorizo
-Cook until the chorizo is crispy and some of that great red grease coats the bottom of the pot
-Set the chorizo aside and pour in the soup
-Stir in the rest of the rice and bring to a simmer
-Pour into bowls and top with the fresh parsley and crispy chorizo

Extended version:
Plan-Use up the rest of a potato and roasted garlic I had on hand along with some onion for crispy hashbrowns, sautee the mushrooms, season and toss with parsley then finish it all off with an over-easy egg.

But-With much anticipation, I tasted the mushrooms, and with much dismay, the first two words that came to mind were sponge-like and gritty.  Clearly, my mushroom naïveté had led to inadequate prep and faulty technique.

So-I decided to call in the immersion blender.  My roommate had given me her leftover rice and seeing it in the fridge triggered a memory of some Julia Child recipes that used rice as an alternative to dairy in cream soups.  I sauteed some aromatics with a bit of bouillon cube, then added in the mushrooms and rice and blended everything together.  After a run through a fine mesh strainer the grit was gone, and crisping up some chorizo in the pot before adding the soup back in gave it a bit more dimension.  From there I added in the rest of the rice and topped it off with fresh parsley and the spicy sausage.

If by Ensalada Murciana you mean pepper strips and potato..

After a month of couchsurfing through Spain I now have a set of keys.  And a library card.  The selection of cookbooks in Murcia's municipal library doesn't actually include any focused on Murcian recipes, but I did flip through several with titles like "Nueva-Clasica Cocina" and at least one featuring a microwave prominently on the cover.

A lot of the photos reminded me of the Frugal Gourmet cookbooks I read growing up-everything stylized and very neat-kind of like the salads you get at Bar Mitzvahs with a single olive placed in the northeast corner of the plate and a trio of cucumber slices, fanned out and laid down on the left.  I really like rustic food photos too, but sometimes it does look like the stylist stopped their shoot to add more of a rumple to the requisite accent napkin, spread just a few more crumbs on the distressed wooden table and make sure the mason jar in the background doesn't look quite so new.

So, this is my ode to those Spanish cookbook authors and the Frugal Gourmet:

Made this..

With that

Ingredients:

1/2 of a cooked potato

1/2 of a roasted red pepper

The reserved liquid from roasting the pepper

1/4 of a little onion

1 hard boiled egg

White wine vinegar

Extra virgin olive oil

Salt

Reader's Digest version:
-Slice the bell pepper into thin strips, put them in a bowl and mix with a little olive oil and salt
-Slice the onion really thinly and cook it for just a minute in a medium hot pan
-Pour the reserved liquid from roasting the pepper over the onions
(this isn't what I did, but it's what I'll do next time)
-Slice the potato into discs and heat in the pan, just enough to warm them through
-Mix a little olive oil, vinegar and salt together and spoon over the potatoes so they soak up some flavor
-Slice the hard boiled egg into four pieces and sprinkle with a little salt
-Arrange the potatoes, strips of bell pepper, onions and egg in a dish, just so
-Before eating, place in front of an overly abundant cornucopia of shiny fruits and vegetables or, if possible, a thoughtfully arranged display of various shellfish and fresh herbs
-Enjoy in true Jeff Smith style


Extended version:
Reviewing my leftovers, I figured I'd use up the rest of my potato and pepper and add in an egg to make it a meal.  I recently read a recipe that used the reserved  liquid from roasting peppers and couldn't believe I'd been making the rookie mistake of tossing said liquid along with the seeds and stem for so long.  I set it aside this time and had a dressing in mind with all the complexity and sweetness of the peppers.  Just after patting myself on the back for adding a touch of brightness to the roasting liquid with a hit of white wine vinegar I tasted it and realized I'd actually just erased the flavor and replaced it with..white wine vinegar.

I tried to come up with some other flavorful liquid I had on hand to whisk in and rescue the sauce.  Something that would add some color and body and was ready to use.  Incidentally I had forgotten about the tin of mussels in my fridge which were packed in a deep red escabeche just waiting to be repurposed, so vinegar it was.  I decided I'd season the potatoes and use up some more of my onion too, taking the bite off with just a minute in the pan and then a quick rest in the vinegar mixture.  As I laid the last egg quarter into my bowl, my roommate walked in, glanced over and said "ah, Ensalada Murciana!"  Upon further review we realized that the only thing my salad and the local dish had in common were egg and onion, but at least it's a start.

Whole fish, Attempt #1 (fillet fail, fried fish cake win)

Made this..

With that

Crema variegata di fave, piselli e patate

Made this..

With that

Scrambled eggs and home fries, Italian style (with lots of Calabrian chili pepper condiment)

Made this..

With that

Fava bean pancakes with pumpkin & pumpkin soup with pancetta and leeks

Made this..

and this

With that

Croutons with rosemary and speck (Focaccia attempt #2: Underbaked)

Made this..

With that

Macco

Made this..

With that

Zucchini and wild fennel fritters with tomato sauce and goat cheese

Made this..

With that

Zucchine Ripiene

Made this..

With that

Minestra di fave

Made this..

With that

Fave e pancetta

Made this..

With that

Involtini di peperoni grigliati

Made this..

With that