Sketches of Spain
I'm just back from a short holiday in Madrid, where the rain in Spain fell mainly from the moment we got off the plane. There was nothing left to do but de-camp to the covered Mercado de San Miguel for some languid day drinking before retiring for siesta, as you do. With glasses of bone dry fino sherry, we snacked on croquetas de bacalao and chorizo, montaditos of bonito del norte in olive oil, burrata and confitura, and heaps of sweet, nutty jamon iberico. But my favorite bites were the simple breakfast of pan con tomate and slivers of custardy tortilla I enjoyed each morning from the generous hotel buffet.
So, back at work in the ironically warmer and sunnier London, I'm going to keep the holiday vibez going a little longer for my weekly studio lunch. I'll bake up some crusty ciabatta with an open, lacy crumb to soak up spoonfuls of pureed tomatoes (from the Tomato Stall, which grows lovely fruit year-round hydroponically on the Isle of Wight), olive oil, salt, and a splash of sherry vinegar. I'm going to riff on the ubiquitous, and mostly mediocre patatas bravas with crispy brussels sprouts standing in, an idea inspired by Ana Sortun's spot Sarma back home in Somerville, MA. Oh! And it's the ever-so-brief calçot season (something to celebrate before the ramps spring up), so I'll do a simpler roasted and charred version with leeks, which is basically just a good excuse to serve romesco.
But the star of the show is going to be the epic "Spanish Armada," a formidable potato tortilla of towering proportions. The recipe comes from one of my kitchen heroes, the badass babe Caroline Fidanza, premier doyenne of Andrew Tarlow's Brooklyn restaurant empire. She often serve the Armada at her "tight ship," the teeny sandwichery Saltie a few steps from the Lorimer L in Williamsburg, which was one of my favorite stops for a snack on my way to the nearby Meat Hook. Naturally, I'm going to whip up a pimenton aioli to serve alongside, a rich and smoky foil to gild the lily. And for a bit of something fresh and bright, I think I'll do a citrus salad- really just wheels of orange with some shaved red onion, a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of crunchy Maldon salt.
Alas, the citrus season is winding down, but thankfully I was able to experiment with my first real Seville oranges, the bitter variety that defines a classic English marmalade. My first attempt was inspired by a recipe from Jody William's Buvette cookbook- Campari and Blood Orange, sort of like an aperitif for your toast! I also followed her recommendation to serve it with a whipped and salted bee-pollen butter on a thick slice of homemade brioche. Swoon city. While delicious, it was really more of a quick preserve, eschewing the traditional multi-step process of cooking the peel in favor of a long soak in water (blood oranges aren't as bitter).
Once I got my hands on a box of the Sevilles, though, I decided to go all the way. There are lots of micro-variations on method, but the long and short of it requires an initial boil of your peels, pulp, and juices (don't forget the pips!) and then a second round where you turn your now pectin-pumped reduction into a jam with the addition of sugar, typically in a 1-to-1ish proportion with the fruit's weight. Yeah, that is a lot, but it's just how it works folks. Take a deep breath and consider the tiny indulgence of spreading a spoonful of that sunshine on your morning toast. You deserve it.
Ultimately I decided to follow Nigel Slater's preparation because it was classic, simple, and favored two shorter bursts of cooking over the long boils that can really make your jam take on an overly caramelized, candy-like sweetness. And because I was digging on the cocktail vibe of the Campari version, I added a splash of Aperol to this batch. Pourquoi pas! The result was spot on, with bracing, toothsome shreds of peel shimmying in glittery wobbles of clear orange jelly. I love it with salted Breton butter or swirled into my porridge. Look how British I've become!
This weekend, I'm going to gift a jar as a thank you to my sweet downstairs neighbor who not only hosted us for an unbelievable Chinese New Year's feast a few weeks back, but also gamely cat-sat during our little jaunt to Spain. Then, inspired by another outstanding food newsletter, and because I now have a glut of marmalade, I'm going to bake this marmalade cake. I'll leave a little hunk at home to be nibbled on over the week with tea, but I'll bring the rest to work, because I'm one of those people who insists on force-feeding their defenseless colleagues homemade baked goods, subverting their attempts to eat healthily while protecting my own. I'm the worst.