Steak Heaven, aka Basque Country

When good steaks die, they go to Basque Country. I have had some of the most incredible hunks of meat in my time here.

Recent trip to one of my favorite cider houses finds us in the back, with the owner Demetrio, talking shop. There's the Basque wood-chopping semifinals on a small TV in the corner, with thwack-thwack and a low commentator's voice droning on in Basque in the background. Demetrio tells us that this was a particularly impressive cow that we are about to eat. The meat has been aging for about three weeks, Demetrio's preferred time. The room next door is the "secret" cider supply, which gets opened at Demetrio's discretion only. At the moment, this being November, the cider from this fall's apple harvest is still fermenting, too young to drink.  The back door of this room is open, letting in a draft and a view of the green hills surrounding the ciderhouse.

Back to the wooden tables, for the still-bleeding, salty charred piece of meat. Crusty bread and roasted chesnuts scatter the table. We pour more cold cider.

Midnight in the Village : Random #8

The sweet, slow rhythm of village life. The buildup to one night in July, viewed with anticipation by the village children, the elders, and especially the bakery/shop attendant, who lives a double life as a forest-residing witch. Well into the night, we walked with a couple hundred of the other residents through the forests, where we ran into mermaids, mountain people, sneaky Basque peasants and witches.

It was nearly midnight when we finished, and no one was tired. Everyone gathered in the village square, where cider was passed and tables were laden with marmitako and tortilla for all.

Photo #10,379 of 11,309 photos. Randomly selecting one every day this month for  a little thing called National Blog Post Month.  See what memories it conjures up of my life here in San Sebastián.

Cathedral of Ataun, Again : Random #4

Another shot of the main(only?) street in Ataun, Gipuzkoa. A twilight walk, about 9:30pm. Looking into windows, particularly remember one that held a long table full of old people, bread and wine.

Photo #10,543 of 11,269 photos. Randomly selecting one every day this month for  a little thing called National Blog Post Month.  See what memories it conjures up of my life here in San Sebastián.

Cathedral of Ataun : Random #3

This place is just as quiet and frozen in time as this picture makes it look.

Ataun, Gipuzkoa. Basque Country, but in the purest sense of the word. A beautiful mini-world where everyone understands each other and no one from outside understands anyone. We were the only foreigners in the town, apart from a few Muslims and a Basque-speaking American woman long since married. This was the view from our window, the center of town culture, the ancient Ataun cathedral. We were housed this summer in the priest's apartment, and I would spend hours reading the history of the church and the village.  Sundays we went to mass, which barring any special occasion would be held in the small chapel to the side. The crowded, warm (because even in July it was cold in this village) chapel was preferable to the  echoing of the hymns off the mostly-empty pews.

Photo #2,316 of 11,269 photos. Randomly selecting one every day this month for  a little thing called National Blog Post Month.  See what memories it conjures up of my life here in San Sebastián.

how to: the perfect paella

Paella is SO misunderstood.

Since its magnificence lies in the very small details, paella rarely gets the care it deserves and is often served up as nothing more than rice-with-something. And that's not even counting the times that it's straight from the freezer. Even (especially?) in Spanish homes, artifical coloring is used in place of saffron.

Paella 101: It's a dish from the Valencia region of Spain. The original paella, from what I can gather, had rabbits, green beans, saffron...snails, if you could find them; white broad beans, hard to find outside of the regions; maybe artichokes.  Paella is 'pan' in the Valencian dialect, so it refers to the cooking instrument and has evolved to refer to the entire dish.

So. Nowhere did you see me talk about peppers, seafood, sangria or the sunny South of Spain (if you want a seafood paella, look at my paella phase from last summer). But you WILL hear me talk about the socarrat. This is the much-desired crust on the bottom of the paella, which cannot be faked or hurried. How do you acheive it? The perfect cooking time and temperature, which is closely linked to the ratio of water to rice.

Fortunately, there is a way to calculate this ratio without, well, calculating. Plus you look really cool doing it. It's never failed me: when are at the final point of the cooking before adding the rice, and the stock/water is up to the screws of your paella, you pour the rice along the diameter of pan. Keep pouring until it rises about a finger above the liquid. Stir and step away. That's it. A perfect paella.

paella

• a rabbit
• a chicken
• 3 tomatoes, seeded and chopped
• 1 onion, chopped
• short-grain rice, like arborio
• 1 lb flat green beans
• a large pinch of saffron threads
• 1 clove of garlic, minced
• Extra virgin olive oil
• artichokes or peas

Saute onion in a pan until translucent. Add tomato, season, and saute for about ten minutes. Blend or pass through a food mill.

Break down rabbit and chicken, cutting meat (thighs, saddle, breasts, etc) into pieces (larger than bite size). Season pieces with salt and pepper.

Heat paella (pan) with oil. Arrange meat in hot pan, allow to brown before turning and moving towards the outside of the paella.  Add the beans, cut in 2 inch pieces, to the center of the pan, allowing to brown, then pushing to the outside. Add the garlic and then the tomato sauce, allowing it to simmer for a bit.  Then mix everything together and fill the paella pan with hot water up to the screws. Salt generously (you want it to be oversalted). Let it simmer for 15-20 minutes until it reduces some.

Add more water up to the screws, maintaining the simmer. Add saffron. Pour rice into paella pan in a straight line along the diameter. When this line peeks above the broth by about a finger's width, you've added enough. Stir it in and cook on low for about twenty minutes. Do not stir anymore. If it looks like it's dry on top, cover with a sheet of newspaper.