Valencia, Spain: Horchata

I hadn’t read much about Valencia before jumping into a friend’s car and driving three hours south. After all, we were to be the guests of a real Valenciana who was eager to show off her city. With such an enthusiastic host, I wasn’t too worried about the itinerary. I had only two requests: to taste a real paella, and to cool down with the best horchata in town.

Nowadays paella and arroz caldoso are available in most Spanish cities, but these dishes sustained Valencian families long before they appeared on tourist menus. Local restaurants specialize in the preparation of rice, proudly displaying large paellas, diameters exceeding three feet, mixed with shrimp, vegetables, and chicken in restaurant windows. Savvy clients pre-order their paellas before arriving at the restaurant to avoid the hour-long cooking time. We weren’t that well organized. But the inky black rice with cuttlefish and seafood paella with giant shrimps and mussels were definitely worth the wait.

Valencia is also famous for a little American known crop called chufa. The root of a tuber called tigernut in English, chufa is the main ingredient in the summer drink, horchata. The drink has only a few ingredients but its production is so involved that when I inquired about home brewing, even locals at the market warned me against it.

After hours of walking in the sun, our friend pulled us into a local watering hole for the typical Valenciana merienda of ice cold horchata and sweet fartons. Clearly, there were only three things on the menu: the classic horchata, horchata granizada (like a slushy), and fartons (a fluffy baton of bread covered with a thick layer of hardened sugar). The décor of white tiled walls, marble tabletops, and closet-like bathrooms suggested both age and authenticity.

Good horchata can be found in Barcelona, but Valencia has the definitive recipe. I opted for the horchata granizada, a blend of horchata and crushed ice. It arrived in a tall clear glass on a white saucer. The texture was fine and fluffy, like soft snow, and the color was a dull off-white. The taste was also distinct, a subtle combination of nutty and sweet. The added delight of a sugary farton rejuvenated me for hours of site-seeing that lasted almost until midnight.

Mercado Central de Valencia

Dear Devon,

Every town I visit, I try to pop in at the local market. I find, it is the fastest way to familiarize myself with the local foods and kitchen practices of any given town. I am always amazed with the variety of the products and the enthusiasm of the vendors. In theory, markets should all operate on the same basic principles but in practice, it seems that every market is truly original.

No visit to Valencia would have been complete without a stop at the central market. Housed in an elegant iron and glass structure, the market holds numerous vendors specializing in a range of goods from vegetables to shoes, horchata and olives.

Queviures J. Murria

Dear Devon,

Help! Send some tips for photographing buildings. I am trying to build up my own digital library of architectural photographs. I am using a shift lens to get the best images, but it has proven a bit tricky. Perseverance seems to be the only solution.

Queviures J. Murria, a turn of the century gourmet grocery store, has carried on the tradition of providing impeccable service and selling luxury import food products for generations. Walking into one of these impeccably organized shops in the Eixample is like stepping backwards in time: You can almost hear the clomping of horses’ hoofs over the roar of modern automobiles. Colmados, or Queviures (as they are called in proper Catalan), migrated from the historical city in the late 1800’s, following their high profile clientele to the Eixample’s tree-lined streets and spacious, well-lit apartment buildings. Today, workers dressed in light blue smocks chat with clients, advising on purchases and handling orders. Service is friendly, but formal, with many products kept out of the client’s reach, behind the counter. Receipts are hand tallied, and payment is made at a separate cashier’s desk. These grocers aren’t your run of the mill food-sellers, but rank as some of Barcelona’s most respected gourmets and boast some of city’s leading chefs as regular clients.

But, aside from the delicacies inside, it was the exterior facades that first caught my attention. Hand-painted advertisements from the 19th century continue to promote delights from a by-gone era. The collection is anchored by the famous Anis del Mono painting by Barcelona native and modernista phenomenon Ramon Casas, who created a prize-winning poster La Mona y el Mono (the stylish lady and the monkey) for the anis-flavored liquor in 1898. While the Casas design is the most recognizable, I never tire of the fashionably dressed lady, of Marques de Monistrol cava’s advertisement, emerging from the picturesque vineyards of Alt Penedes.

To the unpracticed amateur, photographing this storefront was a challenge. Between cars moving at highway speeds, annoying reflections, and operator errors (of which there were many), it took a solid week of return visits at varying times of day to get acceptable pictures. My unfamiliarity with the shift lens was my biggest challenge. Working with a manual lens mounted on a digital camera, and light meter blind, I was a bit overwhelmed. I completely forgot to focus the lens! Of course, I didn’t realize this until I got home and opened the files. If I was Monet, it would be acceptable, but in today’s digital age of crisp high definition, there is no excuse for blurry images.

After four consecutive days of return visits, the owner thought I was stalking them. So, he came out to talk to me. A Mark Twain-like figure (broad mustache and frizzed hair), Mr. Murria was friendly and enthusiastic to share his knowledge. He confirmed that the advertisements were indeed originals, though some were not original to his storefront.

For now, I will attempt less challenging photographic projects. As for return visits, there have been many, but this time to focus on the cheese.

Fried Zucchini Blossoms

Dear Devon,

The first time I ate fried zucchini blossoms was in your steamy Brooklyn kitchen many summers ago. The blossoms had been purchased that morning at the Union Square Farmer’s Market along with fresh goat’s milk ricotta. Watching you remove the interior stems and carefully fill each blossom with a ricotta cheese mixture, I was in awe of your confidence and skill. You dipped each prepared blossom in a bubbly tempura batter before easing them into hot oil, for a few seconds. It was fantastic to witness and needless to say, the blossoms tasted wonderful. I was thankful for having such an adventurous cook as a friend and marked this dish as something to be ordered in the restaurant but certainly not cooked by me. But, life has a funny way of catching up with you…and the markets of Barcelona have a powerful hold over me, especially when zucchini blossoms are involved.

Though the vendor gave me a full tutorial on zucchini blossom preparation and a number of good ideas, a wave of panic set in as soon as I entered my kitchen. I scanned the internet for assistance; but it only brought a more intense wave of panic. Do I have female or male zucchini blossoms? What exactly do plant reproductive organs look like and do I need to remove them before deep-frying?

The websites confirmed my suspicions that I was working with female zucchini blossoms. Now began the laborious process of removing the interior stamens. The first two tries were a bit dodgy but I soon got the hang of it. I cannot brag speed, efficiency, nor consistency, but soon they were ready for the hot olive oil.

Frying was never a cooking technique that I favored. I have a fear of spattering hot oil and grease clogged foods. But after visiting several Barcelona home kitchens, where the deep fryer is a regular appliance, I have adjusted my stance. Given the right conditions, fried foods can be relatively oil-free not to mention crisp and crackling. With the oil at temperature, my first blossom coated in a thin layer of tempura-like batter, I lowered the zucchini blossoms into a pool of hot oil. The blossoms immediately began frying, quickly turning a nice golden brown and developing a delicate crust. The process seemed so natural. The fried underside naturally rolled in the oil, like the tanning beach bums lining the sandy shore of Barcelona. After a few seconds, the golden brown blossoms were ready for a voluminous pile of paper towels and a generous sprinkling with Mallorcan sea salt.

Any notions of stuffing the blossoms were put off for a future attempt, of which I am sure there will be many. I never thought I’d rank among those who fried zucchini blossoms, but I suppose I do…and I won’t be stopping any time soon!

Fried Zucchini Blossoms
Serves 4 (at 3 a piece)

400 g flour
1 egg yolk
400 g carbonated water
½ tsp salt
12 zucchini blossoms
2 - 3 cups olive oil (perhaps more)

Sift flour and salt into a large bowl. Whisk in egg yolk and carbonated water. The batter should be thick and a bit bubbly.

Using a wet paper towel, gently clean the blossoms. Carefully remove the yellow fuzzy stem from inside the blossom. Twist the petals closed and set aside.

Fill one large pot with oil. There should be enough oil for the blossoms to easily float on the surface. Heat oil to frying temperature. I don’t have a thermometer, so I drop a small spoon of batter into the hot oil to see how quickly the batter begins to fry.

When the oil is hot, dredge the blossoms in the batter. Ease the coated blossom into the oil. Avoid overcrowding the pot. Be aware that the temperature of the oil will drop with each additional blossom. To avoid a dramatic decrease in frying temperature, I fry three at a time. Transfer the finished blossoms to a paper-towel-lined plate. Dust with a generous bit of sea salt.

These are best eaten immediately.