Spain: Del Pueblo a los Paladares

 

Spanish food is globally revered—but its soul isn’t in glossy paella photos or trendy tapas bars. It’s in the calloused hands of Valencian fishermen who stretched rice and snails into a feast, and Catalan workers who turned stale bread into a breakfast of quiet defiance, and Andalusian day laborers who survived on olives and almonds under the scorching sun. The irony? Dishes born from survival now star on Food Network, their origins scrubbed cleaner than a Michelin plate. 

These dishes didn’t just emerge from poverty; they were shaped by regions that spent centuries resisting—first the Moors, then Madrid noblemen, then Franco’s boot. These flavors are celebrated worldwide, even as we forget where they came from. The Mediterranean beauty belies its role as a lifeline, and that beautiful climate drawing tourists to Barcelona once meant an unforgiving day for those working the fields.

This week, I cooked three dishes that carry this history:

• Andalusia’s olive-and-almond tapa, born from Al-Andalus’ spice routes;

• Catalonia’s pa amb tomàquet, a language of resistance on a plate;

• Valencia’s paella, where Muslim canals and Christian conquest simmered into communal survival.

This is food that turned scarcity into art—and stubbornness into a national cuisine.

Almendras y Aceitunas: Tapas That Outlasted Empires

Andalusia's sun-baked landscapes—so convincingly "Wild West" they fooled Sergio Leone—hide one of history's great agricultural stories. Here, Moorish engineers perfected Roman irrigation to create an empire of olives and almonds. Today, those same Manzanilla olives bob in martinis worldwide, while Marcona almonds grace cheese boards from Barcelona to Brooklyn.

The tapas origin story is classic Spain: equal parts royal legend ("a king used ham to shield his sherry from sand"), religious intrigue (the Inquisition's alleged crypto-Jew test using non-kosher meat), and tavern-keepers' cunning (salt = more drink sales). But the real answer's simpler: workers needed cheap, shelf-stable fuel. Olives and almonds—plentiful, calorie-dense, and requiring no utensils—became the original fast food.

What began as practical sustenance became ritual. The same almonds cracked by field hands now appear in Michelin-starred kitchens; olives picked by generations of Andalusians still anchor bar counters everywhere. Some traditions, like good olive oil, only grow richer with time.

For my own part, I took a mix of three different Spanish olives (I used manzanilla, Spanish Queen or Gordal, and then a brand of sevillano olives branded “Gigante”) and lightly roasted Marcona almonds. I then mixed these with a drizzle of olive oil, smoked paprika, and citrus zest in order to make them pop.

Ingredients

• 1 cup Manzanilla olives

• 1 cup Gordal ("Spanish Queen") olives

• 1 cup Sevillano olives (or other large green olives)

• 1½ cups Marcona almonds (or blanched almonds)

• 6 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

• Zest of 1 orange, 1 lemon, and 1 lime (combined)

• ½ tsp smoked paprika (optional, for depth)

• Flaky sea salt (to taste)

Instructions

1. Toast the almonds
   In a dry skillet over medium heat, lightly toast almonds until golden and fragrant (~3 min). Shake pan frequently to prevent burning.

2. Combine
   In a serving bowl, toss warm almonds with olives.

3. Dress
   Drizzle with olive oil, then sprinkle with citrus zest, smoked paprika (if using), and a pinch of flaky salt.

4. Serve
   Let sit 10 minutes to meld flavors. Serve at room temperature . 

Pa amb Tomàquet: Franco’s Least Favorite Smear Campaign

Barcelona isn’t just a major European city—it’s the capital of Catalonia and the heart of a culture that has stubbornly survived. Catalan, the first language here, has been a banner for movements of resistance for over a century: from anarchist trade unions and Republican uprisings to the trenches of the Spanish Civil War.

Franco knew the power of Catalan identity—and did everything he could to erase it. Public use of the language was outlawed, Catalan newspapers were shut down, and even gravestones were forced into Castilian. Books in Catalan were burned. Traditional Catalan music was banned outright. Yet, against all odds, people refused to let it die. The language lived on, spoken in homes, whispered in streets, and sung in secret. The modern independence movement is just the latest chapter in this long history of defiance.

When I visited Barcelona, I had always heard that Catalonia was “Catalan first, Spanish second,” but seeing the independence flags draped from windows brought it home. This wasn’t just regional pride—it was survival turned into tradition.

And the kitchen tells the same story. Pa amb tomàquet, born as a practical way for farmhands to revive stale bread with ripe tomatoes, became more than just food. Under Franco, it was an edible protest. A humble slice of bread, rubbed with tomato, drizzled with oil, and sprinkled with salt, served as a quiet act of rebellion against the regime. Today, it’s on every table, as stubborn and enduring as the culture itself.

Its preparation is simple enough. Take some crusty bread, grill it, and then cut a tomato in half and rub it all over the now grilled bread. Sometimes it is served with meat or cheese, or other toppings. First I cut a loaf of bread in half, and drizzled olive oil on it. I then cut into pieces. I grilled the bread, and rubbed a garlic clove on it for a hint of garlic flavoring. Then I grated a tomato with a box grater, and squeezed some lime into the tomato gratings. I spooned that over the bread, and added manchego cheese and iberico ham for what might be the best app I’ve ever had.

Ingredients

• 1 large baguette or rustic bread (like ciabatta), cut into thick slices

• 2 ripe tomatoes, halved

• 1 garlic clove, peeled

• 2-3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

• Kosher salt to taste

• 1 tsp lime juice

Optional toppings:

• 2 oz Iberico ham

• 2 oz Manchego cheese, thinly sliced

• Freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

1. Toast the bread
   Heat a grill pan or oven broiler to high. Drizzle bread slices with olive oil and toast until golden (1-2 minutes per side).

2. Rub with garlic
   While warm, gently rub the peeled garlic clove over the toasted surface for subtle flavor.

3. Prepare tomato
   Grate tomato halves on a box grater into a bowl. Stir in lime juice and a pinch of salt.

4. Assemble
   Spoon tomato pulp onto bread. Drizzle with more olive oil and season with salt.
   Serving options:

• Traditional: Enjoy plain

• Feast mode: Add Manchego and Iberico ham

Paella: Socarrat, Sudor y Socialismo

Valencia has always been a borderland — between land and sea, Christian and Muslim, empire and rebellion. Even its language sits somewhere in between, not quite Catalan, not quite Castilian Spanish. And from this crossroads came paella, perhaps Spain’s most iconic dish. The name itself comes from the Valencian word for pan, the wide, shallow vessel it has always been cooked in.

Originally, paella wasn’t the polished restaurant dish we know today. It was humble — born from poor farmers who pooled together rice and whatever they could find: wild rabbits, snails, garden vegetables. They cooked it communally over open flames, turning scarcity into a feast. Later, the dish drifted to the coast, where fishermen simmered it aboard boats, blending rice into their stews to make every scrap of the catch count — and to use the fish that didn’t make the market.

Paella’s popularity exploded. Its communal nature and customizability, dependent on the chef’s taste and the day’s bounty, made it a perfect symbol of Valencian spirit — and of Spanish cuisine as a whole. But paella became more than just food. During the Spanish Civil War, Valencia, aligned with Catalonia against Franco’s forces, found itself in the crosshairs. When the Republic fell, Valencia’s culture came under attack.

By the time Franco’s forces took Valencia in 1939, paella was no longer just a dish; it was a culinary enemy. Not for its ingredients, but for what it represented: communal cooking. Paella’s very name was erased. Menus swapped paella for the Castilian arroz a la valenciana. The rice harvests? 80% were seized to feed Spanish soldiers. But in hidden kitchens, Valencians kept the tradition alive — cooking with smuggled saffron, bomba rice stores hidden to avoid confiscation, foraged rabbits, and a communal spirit that refused to die.

However, nothing beats the almighty dollar, or peseta in this case. In the 60s, Francisco Franco rebranded paella as a “Spanish” dish to attract tourists. Since then, Paella has represented Spanish cooking to the rest of the world, a dish full of color and splendor, but one which to many represents excess rather than its humble working class origins.

Of course, then comes my take on the dish. I kept the mussel shells from last week’s Belgian excursion, something that made me feel like one of the original fishermen making paella from unsold seafood. I also made seafood broth ahead of time. Then I warmed it up, and let the saffron steep in the hot broth. Letting saffron “bloom” is crucial. I used littleneck clams, and cocktail shrimp, but you can use just about anything. I suppose this would be considered a paella de mariscos rather than paella mixta or paella valenciana. Either way, it came out deliciously and with a nice socorrat crust at the bottom.

Part 1: Seafood Broth (Can be made 1-2 days ahead)

Ingredients:

• 5 to 6 cups water

• Discarded mussel shells from previous dish (or Fresh Mussels)

• 1 small onion, quartered

• 1 bay leaf

• ½ teaspoon smoked paprika (optional, for depth)

• ½ cup dry white wine (optional, enhances flavor)

• 8 oz bottled clam juice

• Kosher salt to taste

Instructions:

1. Prepare the Mussel Shells:

• Carefully inspect the shells. Discard any that have a strong, unpleasant odor or appear compromised.

• Rinse the shells very well under cold running water. Ensure all remnants of sauce, sand, or debris are removed.

• If possible, briefly boil the shells in clean water for a few minutes to further sanitize them. Then, drain them well.

2. Build the Broth:

• In a large stockpot, heat a little olive oil over medium heat.

• Add the quartered onion and bay leaf, and cook until the onion softens.

• Add the thoroughly cleaned mussel shells to the pot, and cook for 2-3 minutes, stirring to release their flavors.

• Pour in 5-6 cups of water and the optional white wine.

• Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, and cook uncovered for 30-45 minutes. This allows the broth to develop its rich seafood flavor.

• Strain the broth through a fine-mesh sieve, discarding the shells and solids.

• Add the bottled clam juice, and season with kosher salt to taste.

• Store the broth in the refrigerator.

Part 2: Paella

Ingredients:

• For the Sofrito:

• 2 to 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

• 1 small onion, halved and grated on a box grater

• Kosher salt

• 2 ripe tomatoes, halved and grated on a box grater

• 6 to 8 cloves garlic, minced

• For the Paella:

• 1 ¼ cups bomba rice (or other short-grain paella rice)

• Pinch saffron threads (about 20 threads)

• Seafood broth from part 1.

• 16 to 18 cockles (or small clams), scrubbed

• 12 to 16 shrimp, peeled and patted dry

• 2 to 3 lemons, cut into in wedges

Instructions:

1. Make the Sofrito:

• Heat olive oil in a 15-inch paella pan over medium heat.

• Add the grated onion and a pinch of salt. Cook until softened, about 5 minutes.

• Stir in the grated tomato and minced garlic, seasoning with salt. Cook, stirring often, until it reduces into a deep, dark burgundy compote—about 30 to 45 minutes. Deglaze with small splashes of water as needed.

2. Cook the Rice and Saffron:

• With the sofrito still in the pan, add the bomba rice and toast it for 2 minutes, stirring until the grains are slightly translucent.

• Take 1/2 cup of the hot seafood broth.

• Lightly toast the saffron threads in a dry warm pan for about 30 seconds.

• Steep the toasted saffron threads in the 1/2 cup of the warm broth for at least 15-20 minutes.

• Add the saffron infused broth, to the remaining seafood broth, and add that broth to the rice within the Paella pan. (the remaining 3 1/4 cups of broth).

• Bring to a boil.

• Spread the rice evenly across the pan. Do not stir from this point on.

• Simmer vigorously for 8 to 10 minutes, until the rice is at the same level as the liquid.

3. Add Seafood:

• Reduce the heat to a gentle simmer. Arrange the cockles/clams in the pan, submerging them slightly. Cook for another 8 minutes.

• Arrange the shrimp in the pan and cook for 2 to 4 minutes.

4. Create the Socarrat (Crispy Bottom Layer):

• Increase the heat to medium-high and cook for about 2 minutes, rotating the pan occasionally.

• The rice should crackle as it caramelizes at the bottom. If it smells burnt, remove it from the heat immediately.

5. Let it Rest & Serve:

• Remove from heat and cover loosely with foil or a clean kitchen towel. Let it rest for 5 minutes.

• Serve directly from the paella pan, encouraging guests to eat from the outer edges toward the center. Offer lemon wedges for squeezing.