Spanish

Like so many other cultures that have traditionally relied on salt cod, that of the Basque region of Spain and France still cherishes the flavor. This stew is one of the region’s best-known dishes, and it’s a good one. Like most stews, it’s terrific when made a day ahead of time and reheated. Serve with rice or crusty bread or boiled potato.

Almonds grow abundantly in Spain—you see the trees throughout the South and easily find fresh almonds, which are a rarity here—and play an integral role in many dishes, offering a rich flavor and body to sauces. This dish is a perfect weeknight offering, but it’s also a fine main course at a dinner party. I like monkfish here, but striped bass, grouper, red snapper, and black sea bass are all suitable; each will cook at slightly varying rates (the monkfish will take the most time, red snapper the least). This is wonderful over either white rice or a pilaf (page 513) or with crusty bread.

Sherry, garlic, and chickpeas, a decidedly Andalusian combination of flavors, is served by itself or as a side dish with almost any cut of meat, fish, or poultry. But I like it best with cod: the subtlety and tenderness of the fish are offset wonderfully by the big, almost meaty flavors of the scented chickpeas yet are not overwhelmed by them. If you have any advance inkling at all that you’re going to be tackling this recipe, try to cook dried chickpeas for it in advance (page 431). The best sherry to use here is Amontillado, which is slightly but not overpoweringly sweet; a ten-dollar bottle of Amontillado will suffice, and since you’re only going to use about a quarter of the bottle, there will be plenty left to chill and drink. Second choices would be slightly sweeter Oloroso or drier Fino.

Every winemaking culture in the world cooks with its local product, but only Spain has sherry. And while sherry is not quite all-purpose, as simple white wine is, it is manifestly more powerful and incomparably more complex; in fact it rivals stock in the character it adds to many dishes. (When Spanish food comes with a good-tasting but anonymous “brown sauce,” you can bet it contains a hefty dose of sherry.) Sherry combined with seafood, olive oil, and garlic, as in this recipe, produces a magically Spanish dish, one that is not only classic but awesome and one you can consider a template for many others. You can spend a fortune on sherry, but since each bottle is the product of several different vintages it is consistent from year to year, and the fact that it is stabilized by alcohol enhances its shelf life (refrigerated, an opened bottle retains flavor good enough to drink for several days, and sometimes even longer if used for cooking). In short, all real sherry is good, and bottles costing ten bucks are more than acceptable. Fino is probably best for drinking, but the slightly sweeter, nuttier Amontillado and Oloroso are perhaps a little better for cooking. As is almost always the case in cooking, the clams you use here should be as small as you can find. Tiny ones the size of a quarter are fun, but the slightly larger cockles or West Coast “butter” clams are equally tender and easier to eat. Mahogany clams or good littlenecks are also fine; do not use “steamers,” whose sand will spoil the dish. In any case, buy only live clams; their shells should be undamaged and nearly impossible to pry open. Rinse them, scrubbing their shells if necessary, to rid them of all sand. Those that do not open during the cooking are fine; just pry them open at the table with a dull knife. Serve this as an appetizer or a main course, with good bread for sopping up the sauce.

Even more than the Italians, the Spanish eat sweet breads for breakfast. I like these in mid-afternoon—they are great with tea—but suit yourself. These rich rolls don’t keep especially well, so if twenty-four is too many for you, divide the recipe in half or freeze half the dough before baking; it will keep well for up to a month.

Paella isn’t always bright yellow rice studded with overcooked seafood—it’s not even always made with seafood. Here’s a great version made with chicken, chorizo, and mushrooms that I learned from Spanish chef Jose Andres, based in Washington, DC. It’s a hearty one-dish meal impressive enough for any company.

I didn’t understand paella well until I had this dish in Spain. Rather than a major production, it’s a simple combination of rice and shrimp, a terrific weeknight dish, as it has been in coastal Spain for centuries.

Somewhere in between a rice side dish and a one-pot meal—a form of paella, really—this can serve as either. A few bits of chicken browned along with the chorizo will go a long way. I love this with the warm taste of mild chile powder, but you can use hotter chiles or omit them entirely.

Ignacio Blanco is a friend from Galicia, the northwestern corner of Spain. He taught me this delicious (and, yes, traditional, though it is cooked) gazpacho. Best made in August, when all these vegetables are at their peak.

Having eaten countless dishes called gazpacho—both in and out of Spain—I feel less an authority than anyone to define it. Some people would have you believe that all gazpachos contain soaked bread, and indeed many do. Some say it must have vinegar; but I’ve been served plenty of good cold soups called gazpacho that were barely acidic. Others call any cold, drinkable soup that meets the need for both food and drink gazpacho. (A chilled can of crushed tomatoes would meet this definition and, with parsley and garlic, wouldn’t be too bad on a hot day.) I do have a few rules of my own for gazpacho: First, try to avoid green bell pepper. Even if it looks nice, this under ripe fruit adds crunch at the price of bitterness; use red or yellow peppers instead. Second, the raw flavors of uncooked gazpacho really do seem to mellow when you allow them to meld for a few hours or even overnight; while not essential, this is a nice touch. And finally, sherry vinegar (or high-quality wine vinegar) is preferable to balsamic vinegar in gazpacho; not only is it more authentic, but its cleaner flavor provides better balance. See the next recipe for a more complex version of this classic. Or add some cumin or paprika to this one, use tomato or V-8 juice in place of the water, and add fresh herbs—especially basil—as you find them.

This improvement on the American Chinese restaurant classic has one thing in common with egg-drop soup: when properly made, the egg looks like delicate flowers. While many versions of this soup are thickened with cornstarch, I think the egg thickens the broth sufficiently. Like the Chicken and Watercress Soup on page 140, this has an Italian relative; see the variation. Any of these soups can be made more substantial by adding some shredded leftover chicken—or diced raw chicken, added while the stock is heating; don’t add the egg until the chicken is just about cooked.

There is no definitive source for how to make romesco, the sauce served with Zarzuela (page 270) and many other Spanish seafood dishes (you can serve it with any simple fish dish you like). I’ve had it cooked and uncooked, and I like it better raw, which may be due in part to the lack of hassle, but I also like the fresher flavor. If you can find a fragrant dried chile, like a pasilla, by all means use it.

From the Mediterranean coast of Spain comes this distinctive sauce, whose flavors are reminiscent of bouillabaisse. Not surprisingly, it’s often served on grilled fish, but it is equally good on chicken and incredible over pork. If possible, use strong-tasting oranges—Valencias are a good choice—not overly sweet ones like navels. In Spain, the oranges used for this are very acidic, even bitter.

An ironic creation, in that it is usually said to originate in Santiago de Compostela, the capital of Galicia, in northwestern Spain—where almonds do not grow. Nevertheless, it’s a wonderful, not-too-sweet dessert, most definitely for grown-ups. I like this in a spring-form pan, but it can be made in two layers if you prefer.

The classic custard of Spain, widely made throughout Latin America, is like crème brûlée, but upside down and lighter. Like any custard, it must not be overcooked. The center must be quite jiggly when you remove it from the oven—for beginners, this is a leap of faith, but it’s the only way to keep the custard smooth.

It seems every country that grows rice makes rice pudding, and almost every experienced cook has his or her own technique. After years of playing with it, this is the one I like best, and it works well with the variations of most cuisines. In many cases rice pudding is simply milk bound by rice; often the amount of rice is well under 10 percent of the total. I prefer this recipe with just 1/4 cup, no more. The result is a thick milk custard with a recognizable but understated rice presence. If you want a dense and slightly chewier mixture, use the larger amount of rice. Other possible additions to rice pudding: a strip of lemon zest, a pinch of saffron threads, or a teaspoon of ground cardamom added at the beginning; a couple of tablespoons of raisins and/or slivered pistachios stirred in at the end. See the variations, and the following recipes, too—this group of recipes is unending.

If you’re tempted to replace the butter or heavy cream in this recipe, don’t; just make plain old pain perdu, or French toast. But if you’re ready for the creamiest, most custardy French toast you’ve ever tried, give these babies a go. This recipe comes courtesy of Jose Andres, a Washington, D.C.–based Spanish chef and good friend.

In the world of fresh pastry, few things are quicker than churros, the crisp, crullerlike strips of fried dough that are still popular in Spain, where they originated, but perhaps even more so in Mexico. In fact, there are few breakfast or last-minute late-night snacks that can match a batch of churros. Churros served at restaurants can be awful because they’re fried in stale oil and made in advance. But make them fresh once, for breakfast or dessert (ideally, you’ll serve them with Chocolate Español, page 665, or Mexican Hot Chocolate, page 664) and you will have a reliable addition to your repertoire.

These can be produced, if you like, with lard or (more likely) butter, but this is an ancient recipe from southern Spain and probably was originally made with olive oil. Terrific with sherry or coffee.

An ingenious way of turning leftover bread into a substantial dish, migas is best served as an appetizer, because a little goes a long way. Eat it straight from the pan if you like, but in any case, hot, hot, hot. If your bread is stale, you can start this right away. If not, slice it and let it sit out overnight to harden.

The Spanish version of Tempura (page 91), this produces a much thicker crust. It is most often made with shrimp, but you can use any seafood or vegetable or even bits of meat. It’s a simple but super flavorful frying technique. In much of Spain, olive oil is used for deep-frying, and it’s good; furthermore, it has become so inexpensive that it’s no longer impractical. But you can use a neutral oil, like corn or vegetable oil, if you prefer.

These traditional bite-sized treats are served as a starter or a snack throughout the Caribbean (and, for that matter, in parts of Europe). They must be served hot: I recommend that you serve them to your guests while they’re standing around the stove and let them eat them with their fingers (or on toothpicks). If you want to serve them at the table, consider Aïoli (page 603) as a dipping sauce. Or you can follow Moorish traditions and serve them with honey or molasses.

This simple starter is served all over the world—at least wherever chiles are grown—but I first had it in Basque country. Here they’re fried, but you can grill fresh chiles as well; in either case they taste fresh, smoky, salty, and spicy all at the same time. The chiles you use can be mild or hot. If you use mild long chiles, like Anaheim, most people will be happy.

A staple of many tapas bars, and among the most elementary of appetizers, this is a surefire crowd pleaser—as long as your crowd isn’t vegetarian. Even if some members are, you can skewer plain mushrooms or mushrooms and other vegetables—like red peppers and zucchini, for example.