Fabada Asturiana
The picture below draws together the beginning and end of my recent foray into Spanish cuisine. Brother Paul sourced and gifted me the ingredients and printed off this recipe for Fabada Asturiana. I cooked it and used the leftovers from a hearty meal to make smaller dishes of tapas size. Oh, the at-first-sight incongruous map simply reveals the rough - sometimes very rough - whereabouts of my favourite (he’s the only one I’ve got) sibling’s Orkney Island location. He may now be an honorary Orcadian but for even longer he has been enchanted, immersed and steeped in the language, culture, cooking and blister-inducing holiday sunshine of Spain.
After we had solemnly agreed to a cessation of the exchange of Christmas presents last year a gift arrived which included beans and gluten-free meats and the aforementioned recipe. I too broke the pact with a small Red Cross parcel of my own in return.
Spanish cooking is pretty much covered if you stick with meat and potatoes. The starch element here is from beans but meats still give their filthy, insistently non-vegetarian accent to the mix. These are the ‘compango’ (companions) which make friends with the humble legumes and send them to higher levels.
Smoked chorizo, morcilla, lacón and panceta.
An overnight soaking for the beans leaves them ready for bringing to the boil before adding those meaty flavour enhancers. But not before releasing and skimming off the scum which appears (a little like the appearance of a Tory MP* - how marvellous if we could simply scrape all of them out of our lives, eh).
*I know. But at the time of writing that reference is inescapable.
Another two or three hours (two and a half for me) and the ingredients are as inextricably linked as Mrs Cheoff and I have become. Afficionados and purists - Ricardos inteligentes in Spanish - will note that a cast-iron pot has replaced the recommended earthenware one.
We enjoyed a generous portion of the results for supper a couple of nights ago. Even if the meats had not been cut up and portioned out the beans would have told of their involvement. Each one is imbued with an overload of pork fat and the strong suggestion that a pig has stomped around the farmyard before dangling its trotters in the stew throughout all of the slow cook. This is inescapably robust fare.
Not for the faint-hearted, this one. Certainly not for anyone who likes a (v) after their menu choices. There is an attraction which comes from simplicity and long, slow, thoughtful cooking. My results were a little ‘floury’ with the broken-down beans leeching into the liquid. Adding an extra ladle of water or stock would thin it out if wanted. Just the beans and water with a ham bone in place of those much-processed meats would strip this back to the basics of ‘comida de pobre’. I’m already familiar with ‘cucina povera’ from Italy. This is the Spanish equivalent. Brought into the realms of relative luxury by my brother’s kind donation.
We ate in the middle of the week which meant no alcohol from the usual cider or red wine recommendations. Cider (apple) and the pork here must work but we have these two bottles lurking in a dark place. They might well be seeing the light of day again if fabada is on the weekend menu next time.
That was a final picture to antagonise those who demand authenticity. The cushions were brought back from Turkey but I felt they added suitably vibrant colours to this rich dish. I’ve already paid a visit to the internet for a small dip into Asturias, the Moors and El Cid (his wife was from an Asturian aristocratic family) in an attempt to be more accurate next time.
Let’s face it, it’s silly to get too precious about such good, honest food. The only sensitivity should be reserved for the cooking. Slow and steady does it. You may then pig out.
If your interest is piqued, here are a couple more links worth following:
Cocinar en Asturias (Spanish cookbook)
And I’ve put together an album with more of my own photos here.