Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Como Se Dice...?
The wall moldings at Bar Rodrigo were the color of the café con leche that they served after breakfast on our second visit to the restaurant. The first one was after a failed attempt at dining at a recommended seafood restaurant called Cheriff Mariscos in Barceloneta, whose highly-praised paella was not sampled during the trip because they were never open when we made the trek to Carrer Ginebra where they were. Instead, we had seafood tapas across the street with some vino, negra y blanco. Both were frio, but sufficed as companion to the sumptuous plates of comida.
It was not a sad walk back to Placa Maria, but a resignation of sorts, after all, Cheriff Mariscos just wasn’t meant to be, regardless of friends’ prodding to try “the best paella in Barcelona.” I couldn’t wait for them any longer so I had paelleras in front of me everyday, sampling enough to realize that there weren’t many ways to improve an already classic and standardized recipe. Maybe that was just an effort at consolation, until serendipitously (my favorite way), we came across Bar Rodrigo which, with its smoky interior, incandescent bulbs and a working cigarette machine at the far corner, was as authentic as I wanted a Spanish restaurant to be.
Two old balding men ran the show, but the clientele were the ones who starred in it. It was apparent that mostly tourists frequented the establishment because each item on their menu had very accurate photographs of the dishes but didn’t have an English translation. The help staff will very gently speak to you in Spanish and expect that you will eventually catch on and understand. Two slot machines were often in use by white-haired men in old-fashioned trousers, and during one’s meal one would be serenaded by the sound of coins and a recorded voice saying “Uno, dos, tres! Premio! Premio!” Middle-aged ladies would laugh loudly while puffing on their cigarettes post-meal, tapping ashes onto empty plates with shrimp heads and mussel shells from the paella which was always a labor of love. “Paella…veinte cinco minutos…si?” they would ask before sending the order to the kitchen before all others so as to get it started ora mismo.
Bar Rodrigo became a refuge and a very anticipated treat after walking for miles to view the sights of the enchanting city. The sangria was just right and the fried green peppers were an excellent complement to the gambas frias, almondigas, jamon y queso, salchichas, choricitos and paella. The gray and white marble tabletops could never be properly cleaned because of their frequent use. It was a perfect camouflage to the ashes flicked casually onto the glass ashtrays on top of each table in this restaurant, and even in the whole city, where we non-smokers were obviously the more foolish minority.
There was much love for its stained cream-colored walls and cigarette butts stuck underneath barstools on our last night as paella connoisseurs walking the city alleys to and from Portal Nou, so giving Rodrigo a last go made perfect sense. It was a slow Monday night for him as he tried to convince us to order paella for two instead of just para uno. I declined and confidently asked, “Acceptamos visa?” showing off my newfound Spanish skills borne out of reading street signs and growing up in a country which was once a Spanish Colony. “Si, no problema,” he said, as we waited for our paella over a pitcher of sangria, more peppers and more shrimp. We laughed throughout our meal and only remembered to take a photo when all the food was gone, busying ourselves with Spanish translation questions to the most obscene questions, beginning with “Como se dice… (How do you say…)?”
On the way out of the restaurant, after we said our adios and our gracias, I decided to ask another question. It started as “Come se dice….’Puede chupa tu grande tetas…(in broken Spanish, “Can I suck on your big tits…”), but ended in a comedic tragedy. A half-second after I uttered the word “tetas,” my sangria-sorry foot tripped on the curb and caused me to fall to the ground on my knee, laughing and crying at the end of the night, our sweaters smelling of garlic, grease and cigarettes, breaths of shrimp, saffron and sangria, my knee in pain and our corazon full of love for our Barcelona.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Vamanos!
And it's not Disneyland!
Meatball Surprise
She's always wanted me to make homemade meatballs so last night I did, and it was a success. Recipe from the Food Network. Serving suggestions: 1 pound cooked spaghetti or linquini In a large bowl, combine the bread crumbs, pork, veal, beef, Parmesan, parsley, salt, onion, garlic, and egg and mix until combined. Season the meat mixture with pepper. Heat half the oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add half of the meatballs and cook, turning occasionally, until well browned on all sides, about 6 minutes. Transfer the meatballs to a plate. Drain the oil and wipe out the skillet, return to the heat, and repeat with the remaining oil and meatballs. Drain and wipe out the skillet again. Return all the meatballs to the skillet and pour in your favorite marinara sauce. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer, covered, swirling the pan occasionally, until the meatballs are cooked through about 15 minutes. The cheese in the meatballs will start to melt when the meatballs are ready. Serve immediately with spaghetti or on sandwiches. If serving with spaghetti, toss with 1/3 of the sauce.These meatballs can be stored, covered in the refrigerator for 3 days, or frozen for up to 6 weeks.
Italian-American Meatballs
2 slices white sandwich bread, stale
1/2 pound ground pork
1/2 pound ground veal
1/2 pound ground beef chuck
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 medium onion, grated (about 1/4 cup)
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 large egg, beaten
Freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup olive oil, divided
Quick Marinara Sauce, recipe follows
Using your hands, gently form the meat mixture into 18 slightly larger than golf ball-sized balls. (Packing the meat mixture too tightly together will result in tough meatballs). Refrigerate for at least 1 hour or up to 24 hours.
Salmon Crowd Pleaser
I got this from a friend who got it from The Barefoot Contessa. It's always been a hit. Mangia! In a mixing cup, combine the soy sauce, rice vinegar, lemon juice, oyster sauce, fish sauce, sesame oil, chili paste, scallions, garlic, and ginger. Pour 1/3 of soy sauce mixture over the salmon fillet. Sprinkle the panko evenly over the fillet. Pour the rest of the soy sauce mixture evenly over the panko. Be sure to soak the panko completely and if any runs off, spoon back onto the salmon. Set aside for 15 minutes, leaving all the sauce in the pan. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 500 degrees F. Roast the salmon for 18 to 20 minutes, or for about 12 minutes per inch at the thickest part of the salmon. The internal temperature will be 120 degrees F on a meat thermometer when it's done. Remove from the oven, wrap tightly with aluminum foil, and allow to rest for 15 minutes. Serve hot or at room temperature.
Eli's Asian Salmon
2 1/4 pounds center-cut salmon fillet (1 1/2 inches thick)
1 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (2 lemons)
2 tablespoons oyster sauce
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon toasted (dark) sesame oil
1 1/2 teaspoons chili paste
1/2 cup sliced scallions (2 scallions)
2 tablespoons minced garlic (8 large cloves)
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
1 1/2 cups panko (Japanese bread crumbs) Line an 8 by 12-inch baking pan with aluminum foil. Place the salmon in the pan.
Connoisseur...
is the one word whose spelling I will never forget. This, after forgetting where the "i" came in while taking a silly spelling, grammar and math test for the headhunters I've been meeting with all week. This reminds me of the the Spelling Bee my dad decided to sign me up for as a surprise when I was in third grade. He thought it would be good for character-building if I joined a contest I had not prepared for and compete with kids who had been studying for months. My brother and I were eliminated after a couple of rounds. I had no idea how to spell "suite," but that was okay, we got a lesson in failure and went home with a consolation prize bottle of Cheez Whiz.
Maybe that's where it all comes from, why I'm such a stickler when it comes to spelling. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who thinks correct spelling is a big deal. Especially in this country where spelling is horrendous, I've constantly been teased for being so anal about spelling. How can you not be anal about it? It's like forgetting to button your shirt or tie your shoes. With the supposed advanced American school system, there simply is no excuse. But then again, my Filipino spelling and grammar can be equally appalling.
