Paella, Part 2

So without much ado, let's keep cooking paella, just as we did in the hands-on classes aboard Holland America's smallest and most elegant ship, the Prinsendam. We've already got the protein browned in the olive oil, we've softened the aromatics in the pan, and we've added the wine, boiling it down to concentrate the flavors while scraping up all that lovely brown flavor in the pan.

Nest, add 2 to 3 tablespoons minced herbs, some minced garlic cloves (three or four?), and 2 teaspoons mild smoked paprika.

When we were teaching on the ship, we had a mighty pile of fresh herbs: oregano, rosemary, marjoram, thyme, and parsley. I was astounded at how timid people were! I saw what could be at most a teaspoon or so of oregano go into one pan. The woman actually said to me, "Oh, I'm afraid of more." Really? With herbs? Paella is a bold-flavored dish. It needs a good dose of herbs for balance. You'll definitely want oregano and thyme, then maybe a little parsley or rosemary for more nose. I would steer clear of tarragon, unless you're using duck confit legs and want to skew the whole thing toward France. Oh, and who would argue with a few gratings of fresh nutmeg?

About that smoked paprika: because of complicated culinary politics, it's become almost synonymous with Spanish cooking but was once a fairly obscure ingredient from one rural region of the country. Basically, it's ground, smoked, mild chiles. There are a bewildering variety of heats and grinds available in Spain. For this dish, we're talking the standard, mild, finely ground smoked paprika sold in almost every supermarket these days.

Once the herbs and spices smell great (about 30 seconds), stir in about 1 1/2 cups canned, diced tomatoes--and, if desired, up to 2 cups quick-cooking vegetables, which can include chopped asparagus, peas, thinly sliced celery, and (my favorite) diced fennel. For my money, fennel and peas make the paella.

Stir these over the heat until the liquid in the pan comes back to a simmer, then add 2 cups medium-grain rice.

Ah, the rice. In Spain, of course, it's Valencia--or as they pronounce it, "bah-llllen-the-ah" (without ever moving the lips, of course). However, Valencia can be difficult to track down in the U. S., so the more common Arborio will do.

Pour it in, stir it up, then keep stirring over the heat until the outer rim of the kernels turn translucent, like a little halo around a white, opaque center, maybe about 2 minutes.

Add that broth with the saffron and salt you've kept warm all this time. Stir it well, bringing it up to a simmer. Reduce the heat to low and continue stirring constantly while simmering slowly for about 10 minutes. Basically, you're slowly abrading some of the starch from the rice into the broth, thickening it naturally as it reduces slightly. Don't skimp: a slow simmer, 10 minutes stirring.

After that, it's your chance to be an art director. Scatter the browned meat (if used) over the top of the dish, then also add up to 2 pounds fish or shellfish as well as up to 2 pounds cleaned clams or mussels. For the fish or shellfish, you might want to consider whole lobsters, lobster tails, shrimp (I prefer them shell on for flavor but they're messier that way), soft-shelled crab, sea scallops, Jonah or stone crab claws, or even shucked oysters (these perhaps should be stirred into the rice). We've also laid haddock or scrod fillets over the dish. And one note about the clams or mussels: put them in hinge down and they'll open in the simmering liquid. Hinge up and they can't really open since they'd have to push rice and stuff aside to do so.

As I said, be an art director. Make it look lovely. This will be how it comes to the table. Check ours out when it was done. (And yes, we had to cut two live lobsters in half, head to tail, to make it look like that--sliced them in half, then laid them on top of the bubbling cauldron.) You'll bring this whole dish to the table like this, so ring the shrimp around the perimeter, make patterns out of the mussels. If you've used pork tenderloin or sausages, cut them into smaller bits.

And remember: you don't have to use any seafood at all.

Turn up the heat, let the thing come to a full simmer, then pop the whole pan, uncovered, into the oven. (Pop? What am I, Sandra Lee? Good grief.) Here's our concession to now fire well at home: the oven's ambient heat. Bake for about 15 minutes. To tell if the dish is done, pull the rice and liquid back a little from the side of the pan with a spoon. There should be some liquid, but most of it should have been absorbed by the rice. Also, give it a taste test. The rice should be al dente without being crunchy. (The clams and mussels should be opened, too.)

Let the paella stand at room temperature for 5 minutes or so before serving so that the rice and protein absorb more of the liquid.

Here are two from our class aboard the ship, served up for the students' fancy lunch in the Pinnacle Grill, the steak house aboard the ship. What fun we all had! And believe me, when Bruce and I make paella at home, it's always an event. Everyone loves to see it come to the table!

Comments

[Terry]

Oh wow. All versions look spectacular. I can't wait to try this myself.