Recreating Europe #2: Spanish Tapas

In continuation of my "Recreating Europe" series, I decided to make a non-elaborate Spanish-themed meal. Therefore, I invited an old college roommate of mine (who studied abroad in Barcelona, Spain) over for dinner two days ago. Not only did I want to see her, but I also wanted her honest critique of my attempt at making Spanish cuisine, including classic Spanish paella and palate gratifying tapas. Since I was going to be making labor-intensive paella, I wanted to keep my foray into making tapas relatively simple. Conveniently enough, my two favorite tapas include (1) the Spanish tortilla, made with Spanish onion, waxy potatoes, and eggs, and (2) croquettes made with creamy and decadent bechamel sauce. Thankfully, those two no-frills tapas are relatively easy to make in the kitchen.

Using a Spanish cookbook as my guide, I started with the Spanish tortilla. When we Americans think of the "tortilla," we think of the Mexican tortilla, a thin flatbread made of lard and flour, and not a potato and onion omelet, as a "tortilla" is known in Spain. I love making omelets (even the Taiwanese omelet), so I thought this undertaking would be quite easy. After following the recipe (but cutting the proportions in half), I found my resulting Spanish tortilla to be a little too greasy, with not enough potato. I think I accidentally halfed all of the ingredients, except for the oil, and my luggage scale did not work well to accurately measure 1/2 lb of potatoes.


Nevertheless, the flavor of the tortilla was exactly on point and I was excited to try making this dish again, as it only consisted of three ingredients (1) potatoes, (2) eggs, and (3) onions.


My second undertaking, the croquettes, however, were quite "killer-deluxe," if I might say so myself. The crackly, golden-brown croquettes were crisp and hearty, and just like excellent fritters, they had deliciously creamy insides. Here is an adapted recipe, so that you can try these chicken croquettes at home.

Chicken Croquettes, Spanish Tapas-Style
1 tbsp of olive oil
1 chicken breast, deboned and cubed in ~1/3 inch squares, with fat and skin discarded
3 garlic cloves, finely minced
2 tbsp of butter
1/4 cup of all-purpose flour
2/3 cup of milk
1 whole chicken egg, beaten
2 slices of frozen wheat bread, processed in the food processor to make fine bread crumbs
salt and pepper, to taste
hot oil, for deep-frying

First, heat the olive oil on high heat in a non-stick pan, and fry the garlic and the chicken breast until just cooked through and fragrant. Next, in another small pot, melt the butter on medium heat, and using a whisk, quickly stir in the flour and the milk, making sure there are no lumps. Add the salt and pepper to this "bechamel" sauce and cook until smooth and thick. Add the cooked chicken to the bechamel sauce, and combine thoroughly. Next, process the chicken and bechamel sauce in a food processor, until the mixture looks like tuna or chicken salad. Put the mixture into the freezer, to let it cool, so that it is easier to work with.


Roll the cooled (but sticky) chicken salad mixture into small cigars (a little shorter than the length of a breakfast sausage link, with the same thickness as a breakfast sausage link), dip the cigars into the egg, and then coat them with the breadcrumbs.


Heat vegetable oil in a small pot until a bamboo chopstick (or really thick skewer) bubbles (with carbonated soda pop-sized bubbles) when dipped in the oil. Fry the croquettes in batches, until golden brown.


Serve with lemon wedges, chopped Italian parsley, flowing sangria, and enjoy while hot! Oh, and what did my Spanish loving friend say about the meal? Stay tuned, and I will tell you when I post about the paella!

If you liked this post, check out my other post in the Recreating Europe series, and my other omelet posts:

• Recreating Europe #1: Pizza the Wrong Way
  
• Working Eater Series: Taiwanese Oyster Omelet
• Sunday Brunch Meme

Recreating Europe #1: Pizza the Wrong Way

If you are a reader of my blog, you may remember that I vowed to the world that I would try to recreate some of my memorable meals from Europe. My beau adored the pizza in Italy, so for the first entry in my "Recreating Europe" series, I wanted to try my hand at making Italian-style pizza.

Although I have regularly made homemade pizza, my pizza has never, ever come out tasting like Italian pizza. My dough is dense, heavy, and bready, rather than the light, chewy, tense, and elastic pizza dough of Italy. Therefore, for my first "Italian pizza," I was going to use semolina flour, instead of using all-purpose flour and plain ole' yeast from the supermarket. I went to the specialty food purveyor in the mall and bought a tiny $6.00 box of semolina pizza flour. After my purchase, I had completed step one in my "Italian pizza" mission.

Following the instructions on the box, I added water and kneaded the flour and water mixture until smooth. I immediately noticed the difference in the "feel" of the dough. The semolina dough was much moister and far more pliable than pizza doughs I had made in the past. Based on the silky and stretchy texture, it seemed like everything was going well.

Next, after using a rolling pin to roll out a wide crust, I judiciously spread a thin layer of marinara sauce on the face of the exposed dough surface and nestled a few slices of mozzarella cheese into the sauce. I didn't shred the cheese or blanket the entire pizza in a snowstorm of mozzarella, like how I usually do. Just a few slices, here and there. I then excitedly slid the picture-perfect pizza into the preheated oven, and victoriously wiped my soiled hands on my apron.

When the pizza came out of the oven after 10 short minutes at 400 degrees Fahrenheit, I picked off verdant leaves of basil, and placed them decoratively on the pizza. Also, I grabbed a bottle of olive oil and drizzled a bit over the basil leaves. I was ready for the taste!

Unfortunately, as I bit into the pizza slice, I instantly felt a huge letdown (in my stomach and my mind).

The pizza was far too sugary to taste anything like authentic Italian pizza. In Italy, the only sweetness in marinara sauce is from the natural sugars in the tomatoes. In fact, Italian pizza sauce tastes saltier, than it does sweet. For my pizza sauce, I lazily used a glass jar of Chunky Ragu, "Tomato, Garlic, and Onion" flavor. I knew in advance that Ragu, Prego, and other American brands of marinara and spaghetti sauce are loaded with corn syrup and other cloying sweeteners, and yet I used Ragu on the pizza anyway. Mistake number one.

Also, the dough from my pizza even tasted sweet, and straight-up generic. In fact, it tasted like Costco pizza crust, which was a disconcerting reality for me, given that I paid $6.00 for a box of the pizza flour, and a whole, cooked Costco pizza only costs $10.00. Man. Mistake number two.

Finally, the instructions on the box of pizza flour didn't say anything about oiling the baking sheet before placing the pizza on the sheet. I read the instructions twice, but thought maybe the olive oil inside the dough would prevent the crust from sticking on the baking sheet. Trusting the instructions without question, was my mistake number three.

Well, my pizza night wasn't a complete failure. The pizza was decent, though it still tasted Americanized, and therefore would have been substantially benefited by extra toppings, such as pepperoni, sausage, artichokes, pineapple, peppers, mushrooms, anchovies, onions, zucchini, and more cheese. Also, I learned several valuable lessons for the next time. For instance, for my next Italian pizza, I will make my own dough with semolina flour and salt, and make my own marinara sauce, without any help from the American spaghetti sauce makers.

Dropping the F-Bomb in the Kitchen

And by "f," I mean failure.

After recently forking over $9.00+ for an inadequate bowl of soondubu at my staple Korean tofu house, I vowed to learn how to make soondubu at home. Soondubu is a hearty and spicy Korean tofu soup served bubbling hot in a specially insulated bowl. Soondubu always comes with two other components: 1) a bowl of steamed calrose rice and 2) a large egg that you crack into the soup, so that the egg solidifies into custardy wisps before your very eyes.

After receiving verbal soondubu instructions by a Korean friend who grew up making and eating soondubu, I felt ready to take on the challenge. My friend told me, "Honestly, it is not that difficult. You just make a soup of clams, green scallions, silken tofu, and add one spoonful of spicy Korean pepper powder per serving. Serve it with one raw chicken egg."

Easy enough. Her instructions sounded simple, and most importantly, difficult to screw up.

But I managed to do just that. Screw up, that is.

First, I was unable to find any pepper powder at the local Asian specialty store. However, an industrious scouring on the internet revealed an alleged substitute: for each teaspoon of Korean pepper powder, use one teaspoon of paprika and one teaspoon of cayenne pepper powder. I asked a Korean friend at work about the substitute, and she viscerally scrunched her nose in disgust and squinted at me curiously. Instead, she volunteered another substitute: crushed red chili pepper flakes.

Upon rushing home and inspecting my cupboard, I discovered an empty container holding a few lone crushed pepper flakes, an unopened vial of paprika, and a small pouch of cayenne powder. If I wanted to make soondubu that night, I didn’t have enough crushed red pepper flakes, but I did have enough paprika and cayenne powder.

As I stood in front of the cupboard debating with myself whether to use the substitute spices, I remembered a lesson I learned about paprika during a cooking class. My cooking instructor advised me never to substitute regular paprika for Hungarian paprika, because the paprika powder sold in stores is bland, pulverized dust that has been leached of all its flavor by the arid cupboard atmosphere and its musty particle board interior. I heard her voice echoing in my head as I peered into the dimly lit cupboard. Deciding to go against my better instincts, I justified to myself, "Well, the paprika will only lend a deep crimson color to the soup and not any discernable flavor, so I might as well try it anyway."

After methodically adding the ingredients according to my friend's instructions and bringing the soup to a bowl, I diligently watched the gurgling pot with the tofu cubes bobbing up and down.

However, it honestly appeared grotesque. There were tenacious specks of red powder that resolutely refused to dissolve into the boiling soup and the soup became thicker and thicker. As I stirred my imitation soondubu, I thoughtfully noted to myself, "Gee, this opaque gravy looks nasty."

One sample sip and my mouth was taken aback by the simultaneous shock of the bitter and sweet overtones of the soup.

But I continued to saunter forward.

"Maybe the taste will boil away," I told myself reassuringly.

When the soup and the clams inside finally finished cooking, I ladled portions of the soup into bowls for the beau.

It looked better and smelled much better. In fact, it looked downright edible! I served the beau his portion of soup and expectantly waited for his vehement approval. Instead, upon one slurp, he spat back into his bowl and shrieked in an accusatory tone, "Did you use sour milk in this?!"

Dissatisfied and humiliated, I threw up my exasperated hands in disgust.

Less than a few seconds later, the soondubu ingredients sloshed down into the abyssal void for unbearable foods: the garbage disposal. As the churning, whirring, and grinding mastication mechanism of the garbage disposal brought my meal to a close, I realized, "I hate wasting food." But when it tastes like that, "I hate eating it too."

Lesson learned: Do not substitute paprika and cayenne chili powder for Korean chili powder.