Posted by johngl
What happens when you mix a hot Texas afternoon, two locally renown chefs, numerous chef wannabes, and a tribe or two of hungry folks?
Close, but not quite.
On the left, we have a 22″ paella done with chicken thighs and legs, chorizo, pork sausage, and snails. On the right, we have a duck and veggie paella (well, actually, more veggie than duck). The one on the right was prepared by one of the locally famous chefs. The one on the left was prepared by a couple of wannabes (including myself). Both had their merits, both had their issues.
It’s really hard to believe that this stuff is actually peasant food, prepared over an open fire, assembled from what meats were on hand. Now, it is elevated to an artform performed by accomplished cooks who still can’t get it quite right.
We have all the equipment and know how:
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Or do we? When have you ever had a paella containing cauliflower and looked like a salad?
That’s the beauty of it. A paella is just a rice casserole. In fact, it may have been one of the first rice casseroles. You can make it any way you want. It really doesn’t matter.
The hell you say!?
Yes, I am full of it. Probably.
According to our great friend Wikipedia:
In the orchards of 18th century Valencia, during special occasions, rice was cooked in the open air in a paellera with vegetables of the season along with chicken, rabbit, or duck. With the sociological changes of the 19th century, social life became more active, giving rise to reunions and outings to the countryside. This rice dish for special days evolved into Valencian paella where it was customary for men to do the cooking. In 1840, a local newspaper first used the phrase Valencian paella referring to the recipe rather than the pan after the tradition had established itself.
The key words in that paragraph involve cooking and men. Men don’t make casseroles. Men don’t use ovens unless they have to. Men act foolish, cook with fire, and use big honkin’ pans that no sane woman would even attempt to cook with. The Spanish (men, no doubt) make these silly things up to like five feet in diameter. We have more testosterone than we know what to do with. But you probably knew that.
So anyway, we had a bunch of pretty good food, numerous bottles of wine, and a heck of a lot of insults, jibes, and questions of gender affiliation flying back and forth. In effect, it was a lot like a cookout we staged when I was about 12, only we didn’t drink this kind of wine back then. We’d ridden our bikes out to the wilderness and tried to cook a frozen pizza over a campfire. The wilderness was a friend’s wooded back yard. We wound up eating hot dogs stuck, unceremoniously, on the end of a stick. Oh boy. But what a blast it was.
You see, it isn’t always about the food. It is about the celebration and the family you chose to spend time with. The Spaniards were onto something: A bunch of old jackasses standing around a campfire on a pretty hot day…how much sense does that make?
I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
