Spanish

Perhaps the most commonly seen tapa of all, this is a dish I have loved eating (and making) since I first visited Spain more than twenty years ago. Don’t be put off by the large quantity of olive oil; much of it will be poured off (and will have a lovely taste, so you can use it for sautéing; refrigerate in the meantime).

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.

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.

This is a side dish or an appetizer, but a very quick one, since piquillos (sold in cans or jars) are already cooked. You can use freshly roasted red peppers (page 470) as a substitute, but not canned pimientos, which will fall apart (and, in most cases, are tasteless anyway). Add a few anchovy fillets along with the garlic if you like.

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.