Spanish

These cookies originated in Spain, but today they are often associated with the American Southwest, particularly New Mexico, where they are the official state cookie. Lard imparts incomparable flavor—it’s worth seeking it out, although vegetable shortening can be substituted.

Pimientos de Padrón are little peppers that hail from Spain, where they’re simply prepared and served as a tapa or snack. You can eat these tender peppers whole, and they go perfectly with a glass of crisp dry sherry. This preparation hardly requires a recipe, but it’s so good that it deserves the formal attention of one. If you can’t find Pimientos de Padrón, look for Italian friarielli or Japanese shishitsu peppers (often stocked at Japanese grocers). In their absence, fresh okra spears make an excellent substitute—they just take a little longer to cook. You may also want to add a sprinkle of chile flakes to replicate the occasional heat of the Padróns.

Brian teaches a paella class at the winery occasionally to help take the fear out of preparing rice the Spanish way. It’s a great dish for parties because guests love watching paella come together, the flavors and fragrance building as ingredients are added. Brian cooks his paella by the traditional method, outdoors over a hardwood fire. Gauging the heat of the fire is the only challenge; if it is too hot, the rice will scorch. Be sure to let the coals burn down until they are well covered with white ash before starting. And if you still lack confidence after trying this recipe, sign up for the class. Paella tastes best warm, not hot, so allow for some cooling time.

The spanish tortilla has nothing in common with the Mexican tortilla except its name, which comes from the Latin torta—a round cake. In its most basic form, the Spanish tortilla is a potato-and-egg frittata, or omelet, which derives most of its flavor from olive oil. Although the ingredients are simple and minimal, when made correctly—and there is a straightforward but very definite series of techniques involved—this tortilla is wonderfully juicy. And because it is better at room temperature than hot, it can and in fact should be made in advance. (How much in advance is up to you. It can be fifteen minutes or a few hours.)

Piquillo peppers are wood-roasted peppers from Spain, sold in cans or jars. If you cannot find them, substitute homemade roasted peppers or canned “pimientos.”

An Andalusian dish with a sweet, aromatic sauce. Do not use canned chickpeas here.

Some people argue that a true paella must contain only meat or seafood, never both, that a true paella can be prepared only in a paellera, or that true paella must be cooked outdoors over wood. Perhaps they’re all right. What’s clear to me is that you can produce a fabulous rice dish I call paella in just over half an hour, which makes it a great option for weeknights.

The scallop is ideal for fast cooking, because even a large scallop needs only to be browned on both sides to complete its cooking. A good sear on the outside caramelizes the shellfish’s natural sugars and leaves the interior cool, creamy, and delicious.

Much of the flavor of shrimp can be lost in the cooking, especially when you’re grilling or broiling, which allows the juices exuded by the shrimp to escape. Far better at preserving the crustacean’s essence is cooking it in liquid, and among the best of those liquids is olive oil. This is not sautéing, but cooking the shrimp slowly in the oil, to tease out its liquids without evaporating them, so these juices combine with the oil to create an irresistible sauce. I usually peel shrimp before cooking, but in this instance the shrimp are better left unpeeled, for the simple reason that the shells contain as much flavor as the meat (maybe more), and you want that flavor in the sauce. The results are a little messier, and certainly more difficult to eat, but they are tastier—and the dish is easier to prepare.

Many years ago in Barcelona, I saw mussels and clams cooked a la plancha—on a thick slab of hot metal much like the griddles used by short-order cooks. The technique is common in Spain, indeed throughout the Mediterranean. Though the mollusks are usually served unadorned, they’re filled with their own flavors as well as a certain smokiness contributed by their juices, which burn on the hot surface. This smokiness sometimes makes people think that mussels cooked this way are cooked over wood, but that is not the case, nor is it necessary. It’s best to serve the mussels in the same skillet in which they cooked. To eat, remove a mussel from the shell and dredge it on the dried juices of the pan.

Adapted from Chef Jim Cohen, Chef/Partner, The Empire Restaurant, Louisville, Colorado, and Pizzeria da Lupo, Boulder, Colorado This showstopper was created by Jim Cohen, who has both updated and upended tradition. Black tea? Pasilla chiles? Sweet fruit? Use ancho chiles if you can't find pasillas.

Montezuma introduced Cortés to chocolate in the sixteenth century, and the Spaniards immediately began messing around with it. The original Mexican beverage (preceding recipe) was tweaked to suit the tastes of the Spaniards, and their associated versions of hot chocolate remain different to this day. Spanish hot chocolate is incredibly rich and thick—almost like loose pudding—and perfect for dunking Churros (page 655). Some people use cornstarch (or eggs) to thicken their chocolate, but I prefer the natural thickness that comes from melting chocolate into milk.

The original sangria is this: good red wine, spiced with lemon juice, served with a piece of lemon over ice, with a splash of soda. That sangria has become more complicated, and a cliché of America’s Spanish restaurants, does not detract from its basic appeal; it’s as good a way as exists to spice up insipid red wine. Of course, the better the wine you start with, the better the sangria; decent but inexpensive (red) Zinfandel, wine from the south of France, and Rioja are all good.

This dish incorporates many of the distinctive elements of Spanish cuisine: almonds, garlic, saffron, and sherry. The addition of hard-cooked eggs to poultry dishes, traditional and still popular, is called pepitoria. Serve with Yellow Rice (page 518) or any other rice or potato dish and whatever vegetable you like.

Escabeche (see also pages 235 and 350) is a great way to flavor food, by marinating it after it’s cooked rather than before. The cooked chicken (in this case) is bathed in an aromatic marinade. The soaking need not be long, but since the dish is best served at room temperature (it makes a good picnic option), you should plan to wait a while between cooking and eating. Use this as part of a picnic or buffet.

I love baked eggs, so I was delighted to come across this elaborate version, served as an appetizer before a Spanish dinner (I like it at brunch). When it was made for me, it contained small amounts of asparagus and peas, but you could use bits of any vegetable you like; leftovers are the best option. Use both meats, either, or neither; this is essentially a dish that was created to combine eggs with whatever else is on hand.

Often the most effective marinating happens not before but after cooking. This technique, usually called escabeche, was once used to preserve food. It’s really a form of pickling: hot food was put into hot liquid containing a good deal of vinegar. Treated thus, it would keep for some time (if canned, for a long time). Since we don’t need escabeche for preserving, the postgrilling marinating time can be as little as a few minutes, but it can also be as long as overnight—it doesn’t make much difference; in either case, it produces a highly flavored, prepared-in-advance, room-temperature dish that is good as part of a buffet with a variety of other dishes (none of which should be noticeably acidic). Other cuts of meat you can use here: any cut of chicken, bone in or out (be careful not to overcook), or mackerel or other fish (typically floured and sautéed or fried before marinating).

Zarzuela—the word means “medley” in Spanish—unites a variety of fish and is, like bouillabaisse, a dish whose ingredients can be varied according to what you can find. The traditional sauce accompaniment for Zarzuela is Romesco (page 606), but the variation makes that superfluous. I love this with crusty bread.

“Old clothes” may not sound that appetizing, but it’s one of those overcooked, funky, juicy, tender dishes you can’t stop eating (at least I can’t). And the only thing even remotely difficult about it is shredding the steaks into the ropy strands that give Ropa Vieja its fanciful name. Still, it’s not you-can-do-it-wrong difficult; it’s just a bit of an upper-body workout. You could cut the recipe in half and cook one steak, but with a dish that takes this long and keeps as well as it does (you can refrigerate it for a few days or even freeze it), I think this is a sensible amount. As a bonus, when you braise this much meat you end up with at least a quart of rich, dark beef stock, redolent of bay and cloves—perfect for cooking Arroz a la Mexicana (page 517)—which, not coincidentally, is a perfect side dish for Ropa Vieja. A couple of preparation notes: green bell peppers are a bit more traditional here, but I prefer to make Ropa Vieja with the sweeter red bell peppers. You choose. Cutting the steaks in half to make two thin steaks (hold the knife parallel to the cutting board) is a bit of a challenge, but if you freeze the steaks for about 30 minutes first, the firmer flesh will make it easier. Take your time, but don’t worry about doing too good a job—you’re going to shred the meat anyway.

You can find oxtails at many supermarkets, but you can also braise any tough cut of beef this way. In Spain, traditionally, it’s bull’s tails (hence the Spanish name), and, surprisingly, it’s almost always made with white wine. It’s a simple enough recipe and one you can pretty much ignore while it cooks, especially if you put it in the oven. It’ll take a while. If you make this in advance, not only can you refrigerate it and skim the fat if you like, but you can remove the meat from the bone and use it in any stuffed dumpling, pasta, or vegetable. Having said that, it’s great served from the pot, with mashed potatoes. Other cuts of meat you can use here: short ribs, lamb shanks, chunks of boneless lamb or pork shoulder (which will be much faster) or beef chuck or brisket (which will be somewhat faster), bone-in chicken thighs (much quicker).

In Spain, where the world’s best oranges grow, they are used to season just about everything. One of my favorite encounters with the citrus fruit was an oven-braised dish of pork and oranges that I had in Seville. It could not have been simpler and can be reproduced easily. Use either country-style ribs, ribs cut from the rib (shoulder) end, or even spareribs if you like; avoid center-cut or loin pork chops here because they will become dry and tasteless.

Some Spaniards, like my friend Jose Andres, a chef based in Washington, D.C., who taught me this recipe, can talk until they’re blue in the face about fabada, the famous pork and bean stew they say is “the grandfather of the French cassoulet.” They will remind you to use only real fabes (dried beans you can find only at gourmet stores or specialty Web sites and that cost up to $20 a pound), tell you that you must have fresh morcilla (blood sausage), and on and on until you’re convinced that there’s no way you could ever make fabada at home. But dedication to the dish’s origins, along with a couple of simple substitutions, allows you to retain its spirit without going nuts.

This is the cassouletlike dish of the mountains between Spain and France, claimed by several cultures. When I was there, I was told that each of twenty different versions was the “only” authentic one; in this way, too, it’s like cassoulet. What they all had in common were the large white beans called Tarbais (after Tarbes, one of the larger towns of the region)—which you probably will not be able to find—and a stultifying heartiness. Great stuff: you must serve it with crusty country bread and a good red wine.

An Andalusian dish, featuring the wonderfully distinctive flavor of sherry. Dry (Fino) sherry is most commonly used here, but I have had it with the slightly nuttier Amontillado and even sweeter Oloroso, and I liked it just as well, though it is different. Don’t use cream sherry in any case. Serve this with crusty bread, by all means; the sauce is delicious. Other cuts of meat you can use here: pork or veal chops, bone-in chicken.