Villajos Artisan Manchego
A Feline Foodie shares his thoughts about cheese…and humankind. "Top 50 Best Cheese Blogs on the Web." Culinary Arts College
Villajos Artisan Manchego
December 27, 2010
Raw Sheep’s Milk Cheese
The Man’s BFF, Gary and wife, Nancy, gave us a wheel of Villajos Manchego Cheese from Spain. As discussed in the earlier post about Yorkshire Wensleydale, Manchego is also a protected status cheese both under Spanish law and the EU rules.
To be designated as Queso Manchego, the cheese must fulfill the following requirements: it must be produced in an area that is restricted to parts of the provinces of Albacete, Ciudad Real, Cuenca and Toledo, which all lie within the La Mancha area of Spain; it must be made from whole milk of the Manchego breed of sheep that are raised on registered farms within the designated area; the cheese must be aged for a minimum of sixty days and a maximum of two years; and the cheese must be produced in approved cylindrical molds that look like a basket weave (the original cheese was pressed into baskets giving it the weave look). It may be produced using either raw milk or pasteurized milk; the raw milk version can add the designation of “Artisan” to the name of the cheese.
Most imported cheeses to the US are made from pasteurized milk because the rat ass bastards (again, The Lady’s opinion of the US Government types and not necessarily mine…) at the FDA are quite finicky about bugs and germs that might grow in raw milk cheese. The US law requires that raw milk cheeses be aged a minimum of sixty days to make sure the bad guys are dead… as reported in previous posts here about Estrella Family Creamery and Sally Jackson Cheeses, the FDA has “ramped up” their oversight of raw milk cheesemaking.
Villajos is made with raw Manchega Sheep milk and imported in 2.2 pound wheels by Tienda. This cheese is hand-churned and aged for about six months. It is firm and has a pleasant sharpness with lots of floral overtones and a nice, bitter aftertaste. This cheese is made in small batches by Beni, the Master Cheesemaker. Because Villajos is a family operation, the cheese isn’t available for large-scale commerce. Even though it has been on the market only about ten years, it has won many awards including Gran Seleccion Medal Winner in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2006.
Raw vs. Pasteurized – the Manchego Test
Because the Villajos is made with Raw Sheep’s Milk, The Lady brought home a wedge of the Garcia Baquero Pasteurized Sheep’s Milk Manchego to do a taste comparison.
She allowed both cheeses to reach room temperature to maximize the flavors (most cheeses taste better at room temperature). She served the cheeses with Wellington Tradition Crackers and a selection of jams and spreads, which included a blueberry jam made by my BFF, Becky. Traditionally, Manchego when served as dessert is served with Membrillo, quince paste.
We tasted the raw milk Villajos first and the flavor exploded in our mouths and set our taste buds on edge; that’s a good thing. Then we tasted the pasteurized Garcia Baquero and the difference was staggering. The pasteurized version tasted flat; there’s just no other word to use.
The Lady sells the pasteurized version at her kiosk and she sells a lot of it and most of the customers rant and rave about how tasty it is. The Lady likes the pasteurized version; well, liked it would be a better term, now that’s she’s tasted the raw milk version. I feel a new mania coming on… the search for more raw milk cheeses and more taste comparisons…
I guess it’s true… once you’ve had raw; you never look at pasteurized the same way. The heat does indeed kill much of the flavor and that’s a shame.
I give Villajos Manchego 4 Paws out of 4 Paws (cause that’s all I’ve got).
Serving Suggestions: This raw milk cheese deserves to be treated with great respect: serve it on a cheese board to enjoy the flavors. A little quince paste or jam is fine; but just a schmear, otherwise the jam can overpower the cheese. Add a few slices of Jamon Serrano and you’ve got a meal. Marcona Almonds would make it truly complete.
Wine Pairing: Tempranillo always goes well with this cheese.
Beer Pairing: North Coast Old Stock Ale
Source: Raw Manchega Sheep Milk
Awards: Gran Seleccion Medal Winner in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2006.
Bit of trivia: According to Spanish lore, Manchego was Don Quixote’s favorite cheese. Why not? Afterall, he was The Man of La Mancha.
Corazón de España
Dice que cuando llegó a España, en 1965, se sintió como en casa. Don Harris era entonces un joven capellán de la marina estadounidense. El tiempo y su experiencia entre los españoles le hizo anclarse en la peninsula ibérica. Harris, su esposa Ruth, y los hijos que iban viniendo se quedaron a vivir "cerca de las bodegas de vino de Jerez, en el casco antiguo de El Puerto de Santa María, en Cádiz, ¿Te imaginas un sitio mejor?", pregunta el fundador de lo que luego sería www.latienda.com, sin esperar respuesta.
"En España aprendimos a apreciar el sentido de la vida donde la familia, su proximidad y sus valores son esenciales", explica. "Mi libro, The Heart of Spain, es un homenaje a esa forma de vida que también se desarrolla alrededor de una mesa"
El libro de Harris es un homenaje a los valores de la familia española y a la cultura del sabor ibérico que los Harris disfrutaron de primera mano y, transcurrido el tiempo, convirtieron en un negocio familiar, como no podía ser de otra manera.
"The Heart of Spain - Families & Food" se pondrá a la venta oficialmente el año que viene, pero ya se puede conseguir en el sitio web de La Tienda.
El libro recorre una amplia gama de puntos geográficos, es decir, de sabores ibéricos. Pero que nadie espere encontrar un libro de cocina, un recetario. Se trata de pinceladas sentimentales y emocionales. Harris retrata a las familias que le marcan en su vida. Y con algunas de ellas, luego, hace negocio, convirtiéndose en el distribuidor de muchos productos que pisan el mercado estadounidense gracias a esas relaciones.
Al final, el libro es también sobre la familia Harris. Jonathan, el hijo mediano, es responsable del diseño web y del catálogo. El mayor, Tim, es responsable de la dirección y administración de la empresa. Y el más joven, Christopher trabaja para el Servicio Diplomático de EE.UU.
Son 272 páginas y más de 100 fotografías que nos acercan a la familia española desde el placer de la mesa y el orgullo de emprendedores en el sector de la alimentación. Harris escribe sobre ellos y lo que de ellos aprende.
Latienda.com nació con el boom del internet, en 1996, pero la familia Harris abrió recientemente un espacio físico en el 1325 Jamestown Road, Williamsburg, Virginia 23185.
Ahora se puede visitar de lunes a sábado, de 9 am a 7 pm. Por allí, aveces, se pasa Harris, o Don Don, como a él le gusta que le llamen.
It's Hog Heaven for Pork Lovers
Jabugo ham coming to the U.S.
Janet Mendel, Special to the Los Angeles Times
Reporting from Jabugo, Andalusia, Spain —
Walking into the central plaza of the small town of Jabugo, you breathe in the aroma of ibérico ham, a sweet-nutty smell so intense it's as if it emanates from the very walls of the houses. This is the source — where ibérico pigs roam through forests of wild oak and scrabble for acorns and where their meat is converted into what many have declared the best ham in the world.
Jabugo, a town nestled in the Sierra de Aracena in southwestern Andalusia, is a name with almost mythic meaning, far out of proportion to the town's size. That's because Jabugo is synonymous with great ham. In a region where every little town seems to have a few butcher shops selling ibérico ham, those from Jabugo stand out. And for the first time, that ham will be available in the United States before the end of the year.
The town is famous for its hams primarily because of the Sánchez Romero Carvajal company, established there in 1879 and now owned by the multinational Osborne Group, makers of fine sherry. The company's hams with the 5J or "Cinco Jotas" label will be available in the United States. The first to arrive probably will be paletas, or shoulder hams from the front legs, because they require a shorter curing period than hams from the rear legs. Regular hams will follow, and the anticipation is growing already.
Ibérico pigs from outside Jabugo were first imported into the United States in 2008, all from the slaughterhouse and curing sheds of Fermin, still the only Spanish company to meet U.S. regulations for meat slaughtering. Now Sánchez Romero Carvajal is partnering with Fermin so that the prestigious Jabugo hams with the 5J brand can be processed through that plant.
Ham lovers quickly snatched up those first ibéricos despite starting prices of more than $1,400 for a 16-pound whole, bone-in ham. The first Jabugo hams will go even higher. One website already advertises a pre-order special of $1,795 for a 5J ham.
Ibérico designates a breed of pig — more about that later. The next important bit of label lingo is bellota, which means "acorn," and it is applied only to hams made from free-range ibérico pigs that were fattened on acorns. Ibérico bellota hams are the crème de la crème, and those from Jabugo are the most treasured of all.
Ibérico-breed pigs, descended from the wild boar that once roamed Mediterranean lands, are the color of the dark stones that are stacked into low walls dividing up pastures. Many — but not all — have black hoofs, thus the popular name, pata negra, or "black foot." They are built like barrels on slim legs. Big ears tip forward like a baseball cap to shade their eyes from fierce sun. They have long snouts, the better for rooting, and slim legs and ankles, the better for foraging over distances.
What distinguishes this breed from regular porkers (such as Large White, Landrace and Duroc) is that they are very slow to mature, never reaching the size of hogs destined to be pork chops. The ibérico breed, adapted to its habitat, has the unusual characteristic of storing fat marbled within the muscle, rather than wrapped around the outside. This makes it less profitable as a meat producer but makes for superior ham, as the fat is essential to its flavor. The breed might have disappeared had it not been so well adapted to its rustic habitat, providing the people of the region a sustainable rural culture based around the pig.
The dehesa, where the ibérico originates, is a unique ecosystem of rolling meadowland interspersed with stands of wild holm and cork oak that exists in the western reaches of Spain. From October to February — the fattening period called the montanera — the pigs range freely through the dehesa, feeding on fallen acorns, grass, roots, bulbs, herbs. Each hog eats about 18 pounds of acorns every day, doubling its weight during the three- to four-month period before slaughter. A pig needs 15 pounds of acorns to gain 1 pound of weight.
The pigs are able to crack the acorns, discarding the shells, to get at the kernel. The acorns are rich in oleic acid, the same found in olive oil, which makes the hams high in monounsaturated fat. That's why acorn-fattened ibérico pigs are sometimes called an "olive tree on four legs."
At the end of the montanera, when the pigs reach optimum weight of 350 to 400 pounds at 12 to 18 months of age, they are trucked to a matadero, or slaughterhouse and processing plant.
Butchers carve off the hams (hind legs) and paletas (front legs), both of which are cured. They separate enormous slabs of fat, which will be melted down to lard. The belly bacon, panceta, is salted down for keeping. Workers separate other parts to be sold as fresh meat or be ground up for sausage. (Ibérico sausages also are available in the U.S.)
The hams are then sent to expert perfiladores, men who sculpt the hams, removing skin and all but about 1 inch of fat covering. Hams are incised with a long V, while paletas are marked with a U. Hoofs are kept intact, except for those being exported to the United States.
Next, the hams and paletas are packed, one by one, in sea salt (with a very small amount of nitrate and nitrite, used in almost all hams and sausages, to prevent bacterial growth and oxidation) where they stay 10 to 12 days, depending on their weight.
The hams then are brushed free of salt and washed in clear water. They spend about 45 days in a cold locker, where the temperature is very gradually raised and the humidity lowered. This controlled stabilization period allows the hams to be processed with less time in salt than in bygone days, when the drying process was dependent on the seasonal change from winter to spring weather.
Then the hams are hung, one by one, in a secadero, or drying hall, situated high in the eaves of the processing plants. Slatted shutters keep out the sun and let in air. Hams hang there throughout the summer, "sweating" during hot weather as the unsaturated fat liquefies slightly, bathing the meat in the nutty flavor derived from the acorn diet. Enzymes begin the process of turning meat into cured ham.
At the end of the summer the hams are transferred to the bodega, a dim cellar with thick walls where humidity encourages the growth of flor, a mold that contributes to the curing process. Like fine wine and cheese, hams mature and develop flavor and complex bouquet during this aging process that lasts 12 months or more. The whole process takes 21/2 to three years. During that time, the leg of pork loses almost a third of its weight.
In Spain, ibérico ham is served on its own, the better to appreciate its aroma, flavor and texture. Plain bread or toast with olive oil may accompany the ham, which is cut in translucently thin slices. Each slice has a rim of fat and is streaked with fat. The flesh is rosy-red, the fat creamy white.
There's a reason for slicing it thinly, says Miguel Ullibarri, former director of Real Ibérico, a consortium of ibérico ham producers, and now a director of A Taste of Spain, a tour company specializing in food and wine tours. "If you put a thick piece in your mouth, the instinct is to immediately start chewing. You should pick up the ham with your fingers to warm it slightly, then allow the ham to temper on the tongue. The fat begins to melt, liberating the aroma and flavor."
Once warmed on the tongue and gently chewed, the ham nearly melts, flooding the mouth and nose with flavor. It is the most umami of foods. It has "mouth-feel," succulence, aroma and flavor on the tongue, plus that special quality that comes as taste and aroma mingle. It is sweet, nutty, subtly earthy. Amazingly, unsalty.
Maybe even better than the best ham in the world.
Sticky Sweet
A syrup for the ages
Sofia Perez
You can't tell the story of Spanish food without talking about the Moors—Arabs and Berbers from North Africa who ruled much of the Iberian Peninsula from the eighth through the 15th centuries. Today, there are hundreds of Spanish words that begin with al- or ar-, signals of Arabic origins. One is arrope, a word that comes from the Arabic rubb (syrup), indicating the food's luxurious sweetness as well as its lineage. Fresh-pressed fruit juice is boiled until it's concentrated; then it's used as a base in which to stew and preserve fruit. In the farming town of L'Alcúdia, 22 miles southwest of the coastal city of Valencia, Andrés Vallés and his family make their arrope—or arrop i tallaetes (syrup with pieces of fruit) in the Valencian dialect—with muscat grape must, which comprises the fruit's juice, skins, and seeds. Eight liters of this pulpy liquid are cooked down and strained to make three liters of arrope base. In this blackish-purple, velvety syrup, thick enough to coat a spoon, they simmer chunks of pumpkin, though elsewhere in Spain quinces, plums, and other fruits are used, and the syrup might be made from figs or water and honey. "Arrope is something that everyone's grandmother made," says Vallés, who with three of his brothers now runs Paiarrop, the food company their father founded in 1987. Back when sugar was not widely available or in periods of austerity—such as during the Spanish Civil War—was an accessible sweetener, used in desserts and savory dishes or spread on bread. Vallés's father, Amalio, 75, remembers a vendor pulling a mule bearing two large pitchers through town; one contained just the syrup, while the other was filled with the syrup-cooked fruit. Emerging from their homes with empty jars, his customers specified their preferred ratio. Arrope is no longer widely produced, and that's a shame. With its almost licorice sweetness balanced by tart notes and punctuated by succulent slices of pumpkin, Paiarrop's version is sophisticated and versatile—an ideal condiment for creamy goats' or sheep's milk cheeses, a decadent ice cream topping, and a terrific glaze for roast poultry and meats. An 8.4-ounce jar costs $9.95; contact La Tienda: 800-710-4304; www.latienda.com.
This article was first published in Saveur in Issue #132
La Tienda Honored for Contributions
James City- Spanish foods retailer La Tienda was awarded the Captain John Smith Award at the county's 17th annual Celebration of Business.
The honor is awarded by the economic development team to a business, organization or individual for exemplary contributions.
In presenting La Tienda the award, supervisor chairman Jim Kennedy noted the company has been a member of the county's business community since 1996.
"The company began operating out of its current distribution facility and showroom in Stonehouse Commerce Park in 2004, and in late 2009 added a retail location on Jamestown Road," Kennedy explained in a statement.
Tim Harris and Jonathan Harris, La Tienda's co-CEOs, accepted the award. Tim Harris thanked several members of the county's Economic Development team, including EDA chair Tom Tingle, whose offices housed La Tienda's early ventures, and EDA member Marshall Warner, who loaned the small business money through Chesapeake Bank.
"We will be in James City County for a long time," Tim Harris said.
La Tienda employs around 30 peoples and distributes more than 700 products from Spain in addition to the distribution of specialty peppers that are grown in James City County.
La Tienda aids the Rita Welsh Adult Learning Center, Virginia Food Bank, Meals on Wheels and other educational or food-related charities.
The company recently won the 2010 Outstanding Workplace Education Partnership Award from the Virginia Association for Adult and Continuing Education.
Economic Development director Keith Taylor, who is retiring later this year, was also recognized for 21 years of employment.
The Celebration of Business is an appreciation event for major industrial, technical and business service companies in James City County.
The Perfect Paella
Katy McLaughlin
Before I became a newspaper journalist, an SUV-driving wife and soccer mom, I ran a flamenco dance company of Spanish Gypsies in Seville. Long story, whose bottom line is the trade-offs have been in my favor, except for one thing: I miss the taste.
The winning version of this Spanish classic involves a slug of sherry and a chef with good listening skills.
I would say I miss the food, but that's not quite it. There are few Spanish items I can't get in Los Angeles — there are great specialty shops where I can buy everything from ambrosial Iberian ham to pickled white anchovies called boquerones. But paella is a different story. There's a certain, ineffable combination of textures—the best paella rice is both creamy and crunchy—and flavors—of tomato, of saffron, of paprika, of brine, of sherry and of garlic, that add up to something you can't find on an ingredient list: A hot, dry day in Seville, the intensity of the world of flamenco and the Gypsies, my own youth. It's the taste of a time and place to which I can never truly return.
This summer I wanted to try to recapture that essence in a paella. Paella is notorious for being a dish, like Texas barbecue, that is easy to make decently but nearly impossible to perfect. But if I could find the right recipe, and practice it weekly, I might be able to conjure up the past in a handful of rice.
I set off to buy a paella pan, which is surprisingly easy to come by these days in well-stocked cookware stores. The pan is the one essential, common element in a vast array of recipes. It needs to be shallow, ideally made of carbon steel, and enormous — my 18-½-inch diameter pan fits a mere two cups of rice. While paella can contain a wide variety of vegetables, meats and fish, they should all be used sparingly. The rice should be cooked in a thin layer and remain slightly firm, ideally with a crispy, toasted bottom layer.
Once in possession of a proper pan, I turned to the experts for authentic recipes and techniques.
I tried a recipe from the great Spanish chef José Andrés, who calls for a salmorra, a slowly stewed concentration of tomato, peppers, paprika and sugar as a flavor base. Guided by Steven Raichlen, the barbecue guru, I made my paella on the grill with wood chips, a nod to the Spanish tradition of cooking it over a bonfire. Joyce Goldstein, a prolific author of Mediterranean cookbooks, definitively answered my question about the rice-to-liquid ratio, fixing it at a perfect one part rice to two and half parts liquid. I picked up the flavor-boosting tip of stirring in a puree of almonds, parsley and garlic from a little cookbook simply titled "La Paella."
My friend Danielle, who grew up in Málaga, came over and made me paella using a little baggie of spices and Bay leaves she'd smuggled back from Spain. With a wink, she added a good cup of wine to the pan, something I'd never seen before. I spent an hour on the phone with Iñigo Oyarzabal, manager at Taberna del Alabardero in Seattle, whose training included four months on paella duty at a sister restaurant in Marbella. His invaluable contribution was that "paella is a dish you cook with your ears." A light popping sound at the end of cooking says the bottom rice is toasting beautifully.
I made a paella nearly every week this summer, spending a fortune on shellfish and $6-a-pound Bomba rice imported from Spain. My family — and several neighbors — developed connoisseurship for the optimal texture of paella rice. Each of the paellas was slightly different and all delicious.
But all I could think as I ate each one was this: This is not it. None of them made me giddy and melancholy at the same time. I decided to take a break. Maybe the elusive taste was impossible to recreate. Or maybe I'd just forgotten what I was looking for.
A few weeks ago, I had some friends over and needed a meal. The cupboard was bare of imported rice, seafood, salmorra and chorizo sausage — and the grill was out of gas, to boot. While drinking beer, chasing kids and chatting, I tossed some grated tomato, chicken, saffron, paprika and a handful of mushrooms into my paella pan on the stovetop. Low on wine, I settled on a splash of sherry, then tossed in cheap Calrose rice. Toward the end of cooking, I topped my creation with frozen peas. I served it to the table, babbling disclaimers and excuses.
Then I took a bite and blinked back tears, for there it finally was: Rice singing in a chorus of bright top notes (the tomato, the parsley) mingled with mysterious dark notes (the sherry, the mushrooms), set against a crackling toasted base — all improvised, just like flamenco. It took my subconscious to write a recipe for my memory.
Tip: To keep the paella pan from rusting between uses, dribble vegetable oil onto a folded paper towel and wipe it over the surface of the pan. Before using again, wash thoroughly with soap and water.
---
Getting Paella Right
The Rice
Bomba and Calasparra are two varieties considered best for paella in Spain. Don't use long grain. If you have to substitute, use arborio or Calrose.
Marcona Almonds
Seek out this rounder, sweeter variety—typically fried in olive oil—for use in the dish and as a pre-paella snack.
Piquillo Peppers
Decorate the finished paella with thin slices as a garnish. Don't substitute a spicy variety—paella is never spicy.
Pimentón de La Vera
Seek out pimentón from La Vera or look for the words "smoked Spanish paprika." Just don't use the Hungarian kind as it has an entirely different taste.
Manzanilla Sherry
Manzanilla, amontillado and oloroso are great for cooking and sipping. Sweet and cream sherries aren't paella-friendly.
All items available at tienda.com.
----
The Recipe
Serves 6
1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3 large, ripe tomatoes
1 teaspoon sweet pimentón de la Vera (Spanish smoked paprika)
¼ teaspoon saffron threads
1½ pounds chicken thighs,
preferably boneless and skinless, chopped into bite-size pieces
Kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper
½ pound mixed mushrooms, such as shiitake, portobello, cremini and oyster, cut into large dice
4½ cups chicken stock
½ cup dry sherry
2 cups Calrose rice
10 blanched almonds, ideally Marcona
1 clove garlic
½ bunch of Italian parsley
½ cup frozen peas
1. Slice tomatoes in half, and grate each on a box grater over a bowl. Discard skins; set pulp aside.
2. Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large pan over high heat. Lightly season chicken pieces with salt and pepper, and brown on both sides until deep golden. Remove chicken from pan and set aside.
3. Fry mushrooms until browned in oil and chicken fat. Set aside.
4. Set 18-inch paella pan over two burners at high heat on the stove top, and heat 1/3 cup olive oil. Add tomato pulp and cook until darkened, about 5 minutes. Add paprika and saffron, and cook for about 1 minute. Add chicken pieces and mushrooms; add sherry and cook until evaporated. Add chicken stock; bring to a boil.
5. In a food processor or mortar, puree parsley, garlic and almonds, with a tablespoon or two of water until smooth and stir into pan.
6. Sprinkle rice across the pan and stir until the grains are submerged, then don't stir again. Cook on high heat for 10 minutes, rotating the pan on the two burners to distribute heat. Using a small spoon, test rice and stock and add salt as needed. Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking for 6 minutes. Test rice again. If it is still hard, continue cooking for 2-4 more minutes.
7. In the final 2 minutes, sprinkle frozen peas over the top and return heat to medium-high, listening for a crackling sound to ensure the bottom is toasting but not burning. Remove from heat, cover with paper towels and let sit for 5 minutes.
8. Use a metal spoon to scrape toasted rice from bottom of pan and serve.
The 25th Annual MCM Awards
Multichannel Merchant Staff
La Tienda, The Best of Spain, Holiday 2009
The marketing concept and merchandising niche of La Tienda are clear from the get-go: The catalog sells, as its tagline declares on the front cover, "the best of Spain" — Spanish food and cookery items. What's more, it establishes La Tienda as a source of information about Spanish cuisine and products.
WHY IT WON A SILVER AWARD: The merchandising — of hams, cheeses, olives, oils, beans, pitchers, pans, wineskins — garnered unanimous praise for the breadth of items and price points. "This appears to be a wonderful representation of popular food across Spain, along with a selection of utensils with which to prepare or serve it," summed up one judge. "For those who love Spain's cuisine, it's irresistible."
Not content to cater exclusively to those who already love Spanish food, however, La Tienda uses its product descriptions and editorial sidebars — about the curing of sausages, the differences between Spanish and South American tortillas, and the different types of ham, among other subjects — to try to win over converts. — SC
Feast - At the Global Table
Christopher Hall
Served so cold it's sometimes slushy, horchata is the essential drink of hot Spanish summers. Unlike its rice-based counterpart in Latin America, Spain's version is made from the chufa (tigernut), the tuber of a grassy plant. Chufas are dried for three months, ground up, and soaked in water, sugar, and often cinnamon and lemon peel. The process results in a milky, sweet beverage with an almondlike flavor. Legally protected by a "denominacíon de origen", the only chufas in Europe grow in and around Valencia. Horchata stands dot the coastal city between March and October. Year-round, "valencianos" sip in style at the central Mercado Colón - a soaring modernista masterpiece - or at old-time horchaterías like El Siglo and Santa Catalina. Outside town, cool off on the terrace at Horchatería Daniel with a frosty glass and a "fartón", a cigar-shaped pastry that's perfect for dunking.
$7 for a liter bottle, latienda.com
Good Life Guide - Iberico Ham
Gregory Mottola
Tell a proud Italian, or even a Virginian for that matter, that the most noble dry-cured hams in the world actually come from Spain, and heated disputes are sure to follow. It won't matter that each Spanish Iberico pig is allotted four acres to leisurely forage on acorns in a protected Andalusian oak tree forest. Nor would it make any difference to discuss the ancient lineage of the black Iberian pig. The most convincing argument, of course, would be to eat it. Because of the acorn diet, Iberico ham is high in oleic acid, which is the same healthy fat found in olive oil. Not only do the acorns give the meat an uncommonly resonant nuttiness, but the marbled fat within the shoulder ends up with a relatively low melting point, so the sublime ham melts in your mouth the way no other ham will.
Up until 2005, however, Iberico ham was an embargoed commodity, as illegal as Cuban cigars. None of Spain's slaughterhouses met USDA standards so Iberico ham was either smuggled in, or you ate it elsewhere. Then Spanish concern Fermin rose to the challenge of building a facility that passed American muster and Uncle Sam eventually approved.
Being a dry-cured product, Iberico ham is aged up to three years, so the U.S.-approved 2005 debut slaughter meant that no hams would be ready until 2008. And when these holy hocks finally started coming in with the traditional black hooves still attached, the USDA deemed the trotters to be unsanitary, so a law now requires Spain to cut off the hooves before exportation-a centuries-old tradition put to an end.
Nevertheless, it's still very expensive. The highest grade Iberico ham, known as Jamón Iberico de Bellota (Spanish for acorn) can cost up to $140 per pound. Bellota level pigs spend their final feeding stage blissfully gorging themselves on nothing but fallen acorns and woodland grasses. After slaughter, the shoulder cures for 36 months. The less expensive Recebo level Iberico ham comes from pigs whose final diets are 85 percent acorns, 15 percent commercial feed. Recebo ham cures for 24 months and runs about $90 per pound. Lower grades of Iberico exist as well. Keep in mind that Iberico ham is not the more common Serrano ham. Beware of restaurants and purveyors trying to pass one off for the other. This pitfall can be easily avoided if you stick to trusted distributors. La Tienda, in Virginia tienda.com will sell a whole shoulder or slice it by the pound. It is the only retail outlet approved by the USDA to ship sliced Iberico. Despaña of New York City will also slice and sell it fractionally, but you'll have to pick it up in person. A word of caution: don't try slicing the stuff yourself. The leg requires not only a ham holder, but special cutlery and even more specialized training. Ideally, the ham should be sliced into diaphanous ribbons, not hacked into jerky. Cutting it improperly and consuming it in thick pieces would be a culinary travesty and a waste of money.
Global Grilling
Best New Bbq Sausage
Emily Kaiser
Most Spanish chorizo is sold ready to eat, but La Tienda's semi-cured kind needs a little grilling. Made with U.S. free-range Berkshire pork, the links are delicious on their own or threaded on skewers with onions and bell peppers. $9.95 for 12 oz; latienda.com.
Navy chaplain's love for Spain sparked flourishing import food business
Two credit cards, a Web site and a single product may not seem like the most promising way to start a business.
But when retired Navy chaplain Don Harris and his eldest son, Tim, began selling imported serrano ham via the Internet in late 1996, they tapped into a pent-up appetite for traditional Spanish food that has been nothing short of voracious.
Even more unexpected was the booming retail demand that crowded the tiny showroom they opened after moving their company — La Tienda, or "The Store" — into a 20,000-square-foot warehouse in Toano in 2004.
As their online and catalog business prospered and grew to more than 700 products, so did the burgeoning stream of customers who walked through their door in search of Spanish olive oils, cheeses, hams and tuna.
That's why the flourishing family enterprise expanded again in December, adding not just a new and much larger retail outlet but also a prime location just outside Williamsburg.
"We never had a real store before now," says Harris, whose 3,600-square-foot building on Jamestown Road represents an ambitious foray into the world of bricks and mortar.
"But we had people coming from as far as Washington, D.C., and Baltimore to shop in our little warehouse showroom."
An alumnus and former Episcopal chaplain at the College of William and Mary, Harris got his first taste of Spain in the mid-1960s as a young Navy officer serving aboard a destroyer in the Mediterranean Sea.
His first port of call after crossing the Atlantic from Norfolk was the joint American and Spanish naval base at Rota on the Bay of Cadiz. A few years later, he was stationed there with his wife and growing family, whom he quickly moved into a nearby town — El Puerto de Santa María — famed for its food and proximity to the Andalusian wine country.
"Almost as soon as I walked off the boat, I said, 'This feels like home,'" he recalls.
"I fell in love with their culture — especially their strong sense of family. And after we moved there with the kids, the more we saw, the more we liked it — the towns, the villages, the different parts of the country. It was a real grounding."
So strong did those bonds become that — even after moving on to other duty stations — Harris and his family returned to Spain whenever they could for extended visits.
And they always stocked up on the traditional Spanish products they missed from their days in El Puerto.
"We'd come back with suitcases full of things we just couldn't find in the U.S.," he says. "Soap, cookies, tuna — everything. You name it!"
Not until after Harris retired from the Navy and moved to Williamsburg, however, did he consider importing the things he and his family loved and selling them in America through an Internet business.
His first product was not food but rather traditional Spanish ceramic tiles, which he and his wife had searched for long and hard after deciding to recreate a bit of their adopted culture inside their house.
Though that venture went virtually nowhere, it attracted a lot of attention from Spanish expatriates living in the U.S., Harris says. That's one reason why his son Tim, who was working as a translator for Smithfield Foods in Spain, suggested adding the country's famous serrano ham to the home page.
"We immediately got more than 200 replies," the elder Harris says. "They really wanted it. It's the emblematic food of Spain — and then they started to ask if we could get them other things."
Today, La Tienda stocks more than 800 items ranging from prized Iberico hams and Spanish sherries to olive oil, tuna, paprika, Galician bread and Manchego cheeses.
Though its customer base is still made up largely of Spanish expatriates, military and former tourists longing for a taste of the Iberian peninsula, about half are food lovers who have never been to Spain yet still recognize the rare culinary treats found in the Harrison's carefully selected stock of artisan and family-made food products.
Two brothers make one of their Manchego cheeses — and they buy their sheep's milk directly from the shepherds, Harris says. A single farm family and their neighbors supply the store with celebrated Spanish saffron, while one man and his family make all of La Tienda's jams and jellies.
"The whole philosophy behind this business is that families are important — and if we can find a way to support them with our business, we will," says Harris, who has handed over much of the company's daily operations to two of his sons and their wives.
"That's one of the reasons we've succeeded in Spain. People take us out to lunch to see if they can trust us and — when they see that we share the same values — they'll do business over a handshake. We don't have any contracts."
The Gastronomer: For bellota ham, nuts aren't the half of it
When it comes to the prized bellota ham from Spain, it is easy to understand why everyone talks about the nuts. As you approach Huelva, the Andalusian province most famous for those air-cured hams, the citrus groves of the semi-arid flatlands around Seville give way to oak-covered hills and mountains. Acorns, a staple in the menu of the local pigs, are said to be the secret behind the ham from the Iberian black-footed pigs, or pata negra, which many consider the best ham in the world.
The nuts are everywhere. They're in the name: Bellota means acorn. They're in the brochures advertising the product, on the labels that hang on the hams (which, unlike others, are sold with the hoof attached) and of course in the pasturelands in Huelva and the other bellota-producing areas of southwestern Spain.
Bellota ham is a relative newcomer to the American market, first imported here through a partnership involving chef-restaurateur José Andrés, and it is less marketable and much more expensive (more than $90 a pound at La Tienda) than such hams as Spanish serrano and Italian prosciutto di Parma. But it is all the more loved, by chefs and well-heeled food lovers alike. The bellota (or jamon iberico de bellota) does not lend itself to machine slicing; it should be served in smaller, slightly thicker slices. And it should be eaten within a few hours of slicing, so it is less suitable for convenient supermarket packaging. But what you get is truly unique: a ham that melts in your mouth, with a full, yet mild, almost cheesy character and a distinct nutty flavor. It is not really used in cooking; instead, the sliced pieces are served at the beginning of the meal and in some cases as the finishing garnish in dishes such as Spanish eggs.
The flavor is what most people are referring to when they talk about the bellota, and the general assumption is that you taste the acorns. That is wishful thinking more than anything else, a misleading myth that has made it impossible for other ham producers to duplicate the bellota's unique taste.
Many factors are important in the ham's production. While most pigs live a short life of confinement, often eating a monotonous and intensive diet, these pigs are allowed to roam freely over large areas. After the piglets are weaned, they are fed a limited amount of grain but are encouraged to find their own food in the wild. And they grow slowly. The pigs used in ham production are nearly 2 years old but weigh no more than a 9-to-12-month-old pig from a conventional commercial operation. For the last three to five months of their lives, they live exclusively on what they find in large, fenced oak groves, and the food could be mushrooms, grass, snails or whatever; the pigs are omnivorous.
I walked around one patch of land with Antonio Alfonso Esposito, an elderly pig herdsman who sported a bright-colored cardigan and a large umbrella, even though it was not raining. He told me that was a precaution, so he could be spotted easily from the nearby village. (His grandfather, also a pig herdsman, had been weakened by a stroke and fell down in the compound. The next day, only his rubber boots remained. That is unusual and hasn't happened since, my guide assured me.)
Acorns abound. When the herdsman shook a tree with his umbrella, a cascade of the nuts fell to the ground. Alerted by the sound, a pig approached, paying no attention to us, her sensitive snout soon finding all the acorns scattered around. And with every breath of wind: more acorns.
There is no doubt that this freedom and a healthful, naturally restricted diet do wonders for the quality of life of the pig, and consequently the quality of the meat. The hams are long and relatively lean, with a thin layer of fat on the outside and a good portion of intramuscular fat. Because of the high intake of fresh foods -- such as the still-green acorns -- and low portions of grains, the fat profile is also quite different, with a much higher percentage of mono- and polyunsaturated fatty acids, more similar to that of olive oil than to that of formula-fed pigs.
But the nuttiness that defines bellota is something else. Just as you cannot taste manure in an organic carrot, and grass-fed beef does not taste like grass, there is no one-to-one relationship between the nuts and the nuttiness in the ham, even though the producers seemingly want us to think otherwise.
If it were as easy as that, even I could do it. And I have tried. Inspired by my trip to Huelva and perhaps with a bit too much time on my hands on a winter sojourn in South Africa, I teamed up with one of my neighbors in the Elgin Valley, just outside Cape Town: Anthony Rawbone-Viljoen of Oak Valley Estates, who wanted to make a Spanish-style ham and who, as the name of his estate implies, has plenty of acorns for feed. The trial project was aided by Louw Hoffman, professor of meat sciences at Stellenbosch University.
In lieu of Iberian pigs, we decided to use Durocs, a hardy breed that is often interbred with Iberian pigs. The result, three years down the line -- after a bit of trial and error, tons of acorns and a significant effort from Rawbone-Viljoen -- is delicious, wonderfully marbled hams with great flavor that includes absolutely no trace of nuttiness. We had focused on the feed, but it became clear that acorns were not the source of the nutty flavor.
As part of an initial experiment, we did manage to make a really nutty ham. A few of the legs were cured in the garage of another Stellenbosch meat professor, Francois Mellett; he sometimes cures salamis and ham there for his own consumption. At first the garage seemed less than ideal: Situated in the seaside resort town of Kleinmund, it was too warm in summer, turned quite cold in winter and, with a spring running through it, was always quite humid. After six months or so the hams were completely covered with black mold, and as we entered the garage we sighed with disappointment: They were spoiled. But Mellett was ecstatic and encouraged us to smell the hams before giving up. And they smelled just fine; in fact, the whole garage was filled with much of the same sweet, nutty scent that had been present in the curing facilities in Huelva. After washing off the hams with a cloth, we sampled them, and I found the flavor to be the nuttiest I had ever tasted in a non-Spanish ham, reminiscent of a combination of bellota and Tuscan salami.
In fact, what Mellett had done was simply to hang the skin of a particularly good salami and a piece of bellota ham next to the hams, to inoculate them. Just as in cheesemaking or bread baking -- two of the most common fungus- and bacteria-based culinary activities -- time and the fungi had done their job, transforming the hams into something quite different from their delicious but frankly plain starting point, which was not much more than salty meat. The ham did not keep, though. Other molds must have been present, and after a few months the meat started developing other, less pleasant, flavors, including a strong ammonium taste that began to overpower the nuttiness. For the next batches of hams from Oak Valley, Rawbone-Viljoen and his team have stuck with more traditional dry-air curing.
In the past I had visited curing facilities in Parma and several other places, and a common thread was how dry and controlled everything seemed. In Huelva it was different, more like Mellett's garage. I arrived amid particularly unpleasant autumn weather that was cold and damp. Inside the screened but otherwise unprotected curing facilities it was more or less the same as outside. In summer, the day temperatures are scorching; at night it is cold. That lack of control over such crucial factors as humidity and temperature is an invitation for contamination and fungal attacks.
Here is the real secret of the bellota ham and its nutty flavor. The production is restricted to a few, mostly narrow, valleys in a relatively small area where the weather can be wet and wild. It seems an odd location in a country with an abundance of dry and stable climate conditions. But here in these valleys are found certain naturally occurring airborne fungi and bacteria that are now embedded in the curing sheds themselves. For months, in fact, the hams are completely covered in black fungus.
It is the unique fungal curing -- more like cheesemaking than conventional meat curing -- that makes bellota so unlike almost any other cured ham.
In fact, there are other pata negra hams, such as jamon iberico de pienso, from Iberian pigs that are cured similarly but raised almost exclusively on a grain-based diet. Although inferior in other ways, they have the same nutty flavor, without any of the mythology.
