Crunching On Calcots In Catalunya

Blogs, Food, Spain - By admin on Monday, March 15, 2010 - 18:55

There is true a story of an upright but brusque man who lived in a village sometime in the 1950s and made as many enemies as friends. One day his enemies ganged up, and turned up at his home to finish him off. His wife opened the door, beamed at them, ushered them in, sat them down in the way only elderly south Indian women can and served them an excellent lunch. They ate and left, never to return. I take a page from the books of both the lady and the gang of men: 1. Feed people: it helps. 2. Eat: it helps.

In a decidedly pork-loving part of the planet called Catalunya, spring brings a little madness in the form of a vegetarian (gasp!) feast. The people of this feisty, rebellious province of Spain live in what must surely be the inspiration for heaven's design and diet department.

It has both the sea and the mountains - the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees. It is home to both the wolf and the ibex. It has better weather than most of western Europe. It harvests some of the finest olives, almonds and grapes in the world. And it grows a particularly sweet and succulent green onion.

It is this onion, called calçot in Catalan, that is the hero of the spring festival - the calçotada. The origins of the calçot variety of onion are contested somewhat, but the consensus version has it that a farmer from the village of Valles had the brilliant idea not only of planting green onions, but also of adding layers of earth to the growing plant, so that more of the stem remained white and fleshy.

Two springs ago, we found ourselves in the village of Gandesa in Catalunya, at the very lovely home of Raphael and Joanna, arranging plates for a family calçotada. We were there as guests of Rapahel's cousin, Teresa, a marine biologist by day and (I suspect) a Catalonian separatist by night. She was determined that we should experience as much of Catalunya as possible in our 4 day stay, even if it meant gatecrashing a family lunch.

Close to twenty people were expected for the feast. I knew Catalonians did themselves quite well by way of food, but that knowledge did not prepare me for the volumes of calcots that were hauled out of a shed, ready to be barbecued for the meal.

The calçot is eaten in a somewhat novel way, to say the least. The barbecued onions are charred on the outside, but hide the most juicy and piquant flesh inside. The way to the white heart of the blackened calçot is through pinching the outer layer and sliding the inner parts out. A task that is easier than it sounds. And one that you will quickly acquire a skill for, simply because your appetite won't wait too long between helpings.

The extricated calçot is dipped into a sauce that resembles the Romesco, but is thicker owing to the bread it contains. And finally, it is not eaten, but inserted, lengthwise, into the mouth, from above. An altogether humbling experience, not merely for the culinary heights it exposes you to, but for the awkward and unflattering postures you are forced to take while consuming it, which effectively strip you of any dignity you might have had.

Enough of the paeans, give us the recipe, you say? I will, but bear with me a moment. The calçot is not a spring onion. It is a rather thicker, juicier version of that vegetable. And it needs to be, to stand up to the massive coal fires it is subjected to. But where will you find the stuff? You won't. So we have two suggested alternatives. The spring onion itself, and the small 'sambar' onion.

With both substitutes, you will not need to go through the process of stripping the charred outside before eating. Instead, you can clean them, remove the outer, dry layer and simply grill them under high heat for a short while, perhaps 6 minutes. Remove, dip in sauce and eat whole.

Here's how you can put the salvitxada (the sauce) together:

Ingredients:

100g chopped almonds (without the skin)
Half a head of garlic
4 red bell peppers
1 tsp of pimento or paprika. If you don't have either, use half a tsp of red chili powder
1 cup of virgin olive oil
1/3 cup of cider vinegar
1 inch cinnamon
1 slice of toast