Friday, April 12, 2013

Humble Paella - NYT


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Humble Paella

I was once accused by Catalans near Valencia — which is the home of paella — of knowing nothing whatsoever about paella, and of making at best what they called “arroz con cosas”: rice with things.
Fine. My culinary heritage is so limited that almost everything I make is an adaptation. But my rice with things is better than just about any other I’ve had in the United States. And to make real paella, you probably should start with a wood fire; anything else is a compromise.
Anyway, paella really is just rice with things — as is risotto, as is pilaf. There’s a technique to it, and it’s pretty straightforward, and by applying that technique to a variety of ingredients in a variety of ways, you can make something that really approaches great paella, even if a Catalan might scoff at it.
Only a few things are fixed: you need rice (it should be short-grain, like the kind you use for risotto, though to be authentic, it should come from Spain, of course); you need olive oil; you need some vegetables. A few things are optional, and among those are sausage and lobster and chicken. The standard paella at your local Spanish restaurant, the one with sausage and lobster and chicken, is not the only possibility, and vegetarian paellas exist.
Water is actually the most-often-used liquid in “authentic” paella, but stock is in many cases better. Chicken stock is all-purpose, and a not-too-strong meat stock will work nicely, too. Fish stock is fine as long as you’re including fish, and a quickly made shrimp-shell stock might be your best alternative. You can also use tomato juice, clam juice, red or white wine or a combination of any of these.
The routine, as you’ll see from the master recipe, is pretty simple. But there are two unusual features. One is that, unlike with risotto, paella is not stirred — or you stir hardly at all. The other is that, unlike with risotto (but very much as with Persian rice), you want the bottom to brown if at all possible. Until you’re highly skilled, this is a matter of chance. But the likelihood increases if you keep the heat relatively high, turning it down only when you smell a little scorching. (That won’t ruin the dish as long as you catch it in time.) That browned bottom is called socarrat, and should you achieve it, no one will say you’ve made arroz con cosas.

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