La Tienda in the Press

FLORENCE FABRICANT

Make room on your spice shelf for new contenders from afar.

Merken is made by the Mapuche people from the Araucanía region of Chile. It depends on a small, curved pepper, ají cacho de cabra (goat’s horn), that is dried, partly smoked and blended with coriander seeds and salt. It is excellent dusted on fish for the grill, on seafood in a ceviche and on roasted potatoes.

Sales of merken imported by Chilean Gourmet help support Mapuche families. A 1.78-ounce jar is $7.25 from tienda.com.

Dukkah, an Egyptian blend of nuts, seeds and spices, has caught the fancy of Australians, who dip olive-oil soaked bread into bowls of this nubbly mixture with a touch of chili heat. Think of it for crusting chicken or fish or sprinkling on pasta. Luke Mangan, an Australian chef who also owns South Food and Wine Bar in San Francisco, is packaging his own dukkah, $8.95 for 2.1 ounces from thesouthshop.com.

A somewhat nuttier, less spice-driven dukkah blend is made by Juliet Mae Fine Spices & Herbs in San Francisco, $7 for 1.5 ounces from julietmae.com.

Kulet, an Ethiopian sauce made with red peppers, is especially good in bean and lentil stews. It can also add a new dimension to pasta sauces and stewed meats.

Eleni Woldeyes, an Ethiopian cook in Hillsboro, Ore., is producing kulet in mild and hot versions. The mild is $4.49 for a 13-ounce jar, the hot is $5.49 for 12.4 ounces from eleniskitchen.com

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Mario Batali's Paella
Created by Mario Batali


It's difficult to duplicate the experience of cooking paella with Manuelo outdoors in Valencia over burning embers of wood from orange trees, but you could do it on a grill on high heat. Most important, buy a proper pan (available at www.latienda.com), cook it a little longer than you think, and don't stir! If you are cooking it indoors on the stove, be generous with the supersmoky pimentón since it will provide the requisite almost-but-not-quite-burned flavor.

Remember, paella is a blank canvas. You can add any fish, meat or vegetables into your paella according to your preferences. Add meats like sausage, chicken and chorizo; fish like prawns, calamari, clams, mussels and scampi; and vegetables like peppers, onions, carrots, peas, celery and zucchini.

Ingredients:
Makes 6 servings

* 10 small to medium chicken drumsticks
* 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
* 2 cups medium shrimp , enough for about 5 per person
* 1 medium Spanish onion , cut into 1/4-inch dice
* 1/2 cup pureed ripe tomatoes
* 1 tsp. kosher salt , or to taste
* 1 tsp. saffron threads
* 2 Tbsp. sweet pimenton (Spanish smoked paprika)
* 4 quarts chicken stock
* 2 cups bomba or other shortgrain rice
* 1 pound Manila clams , scrubbed
* 1 cup freshly shucked peas
* 10 spears pencil asparagus , stalks cut on the diagonal into 1/4-inch thick slices
* 1-inch pieces of sausage

Preheat an oven to 400°. Place the drumsticks on a baking sheet and season all over with salt and extra-virgin olive oil. Bake for 20 to 22 minutes and set aside.

In the meantime, heat a 14- to 18-inch paella pan over medium-high heat. Add the oil and heat until smoking. Add the shrimp and cook until golden brown on both sides, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate and set aside. Add the onion to the pan and cook until soft, about 8 minutes. Push the onions into the center of the pan and sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the salt around the edges of the pan.

Add the tomato puree, stirring it into the onions, and cook for 3 minutes. Add the remaining salt, the saffron, pimentón and cook, stirring, for 5 minutes. Add chicken stock, bring to a boil, and cook for 5 minutes. Add the rice and stir well to distribute it evenly. Add clams, drumsticks, arranging them nicely throughout the pan. Then add the peas and asparagus and bring the stock back to a boil, and cook, without stirring, for 10 minutes. Taste for salt and add it if needed, then cook, again without stirring, for 10 more minutes, or until the liquid is almost completely absorbed and the pan starts to make a crackling noise (don't worry, this is what you want).

Remove from the heat and let rest for 10 minutes before serving.

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Perhaps you've had the opportunity to try the exquisite jamon iberico de bellota, which began arriving legally in this country for the first time in August. The prized Spanish ham is an expensive treat, retailing for around $100 a pound, or $1,400 for a whole ham.

Victor Grillo (right, with Matthew Torti) was on a waiting list for jamon iberico de bellota for two years. When it arrived in August, he threw a party. (Wendy Maeda/Globe Staff)

According to La Tienda, an importer instrumental in getting the ham into this country, the USDA has just put new regulations in place. The distinctive black hoof you can see in the photo above -- proof that what you're getting is the real thing -- must now be removed. And there is a new 100 percent tariff on all bone-in hams imported from Europe after March. Goodbye $1,400 ham, hello $2,800 ham.

La Tienda has a few remaining hoof-on hams at the old price. If you'd like to buy one, now is the time.

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Charles Kelsey


Most of us know the jet-black substance from its presence in tasteless dried pastas. So what’s its appeal? squid ink

I’ve always been intrigued by squid ink and mainly because it turns food strikingly jet-black. Now that’s just cool. Unfortunately, it’s one of those ingredients I’ve never truly experienced or cooked with, and sadly, it’s in my mental ingredient file as:

squid ink: a coloring agent that turns your food black; a staple of the Goth diet

Pretty lame, right? But I’ve only ever eaten dried squid-ink pasta (those sad, tasteless noodles found in every crappy specialty food store) and a Goth kid who rode my bus in high school once told me arroz negro was his favorite food because everything black feeds his soul (he was from Valencia; loved Bauhaus; true story). Worse yet, whenever I’ve taken a serious interest and asked ink-loving friends and culinary pros for a specific flavor description, they’ve all told me it’s briny with a rich seafood essence. Great. Thanks. That also describes the flavor of oysters, monkfish, sea hares, manta rays, sponges, and basically anything from the ocean. Clearly, it was time to acquaint myself with squid ink and figure out its culinary appeal.

Andrew Carmellini, author of Urban Italian and former A Voce chef, shed some light on the pitch-dark world of squid ink for me. He said, in addition to the briny/seafood thing, there’s a deep, subtle murkiness that makes the ingredient so complex: “It just has this earthiness, not like mushrooms, but more like old, wet leaves.” He compared the mouthfeel to eating black truffles, explaining that the ink has a full, round sensation on the palate. When it comes to cooking, Carmellini sticks to the classic squid ink dishes: “They’re so great. I find I don’t stray too far from them—I’m not really into squid ink ice cream or anything like that. Also, I think one of the best applications is squid ink in rice—even more so than in pasta. With the rice, the ink gets absorbed better.”

With all that goodness in mind, I bought a giant jar of squid ink (harvesting your own is a monumental pain in the rear) and took Carmellini’s advice to cook up some classics. Before I got started, however, I noticed my squid ink wasn’t squid ink. It was from cuttlefish—the squid’s larger, thick-fleshed cousin. Concerned that I might be cheating if I used cuttlefish ink instead of true squid ink, I found this info from Marcella Hazan’s Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking that put me at ease: “To the Italian palate, the harsh, pungent ink is the least desirable part of the squid. As Venetian cooks have shown, it’s only the mellow, velvety, warm-tasting ink of cuttlefish—seppie—that is suitable for pasta sauce, risotto, and other black dishes.” I did a bit more shopping around, and it appeared that most of the “squid ink” on the market is actually cuttlefish ink. Ready to get my ink on, I made the following: fresh cuttlefish-ink tagliatelle with capers, tuna, and olive oil; fusilli and squid in cuttlefish ink; arroz negro (black rice); txipirones en su tinta (baby squid in ink sauce); Philippine squid adobo; Ikasumi jiru (an Okinawan ink soup with pork and squid).

It was a squid-ink banquet. By the time I finished, my teeth were black and I had definitely gained a better appreciation for the guest of honor. When I accidentally added too much ink to the fusilli sauce, I discovered how incredibly rich the ink can make a dish (rich with body, like a reduced meat sauce; think demi-glace). And chef Carmellini was right about the rice: The simple arroz negro was incredible, and if I were a Goth I would certainly choose it to fuel my dark, brooding, bad-poetry-effusing soul. But my absolute favorite was the Okinawan soup. It was a stunning pool of blackness with an attractive sheen, and the combo of pork and squid ink was stellar (come to think of it, Carmellini did mention that chorizo is also a killer accompaniment to ink). Frankly, though, it’s hard to describe what specific flavor the squid ink added to any of the dishes. Yes, it was briny and seafood-y with a murkiness, but it was doing more than just adding a discrete flavor. It added body and fullness, but more importantly it seasoned and intensified the dishes’ other ingredients, bringing them together in a high-pitched harmony. The effect was easy to dismiss as alchemy, but there had to be a good explanation.

I looked into squid ink’s chemical composition, but found nothing on my own. Stephanie L. Bush, a U.C. Berkeley graduate student and a researcher at the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute, turned out to be a huge help. Her dissertation research focuses on the defensive behaviors of deep-sea squid, and part of that entails studying the makeup of squid ink. Turns out that the specific chemical composition of squid ink really is a mystery. Bush explained that melanin, a pigment, gives the ink its color, and there are different amino acids present. For more specifics she recommended I check out a paper called Chemical Composition of Inks of Diverse Marine Molluscs Suggests Convergent Chemical Defenses[1] (really). In it, I found my answer for squid ink’s kickass seasoning effect: High concentrations of glutamic acid, also (improperly) known as glutamates. Like MSG, fish sauce, soy sauce, or Parmigiano-Reggiano, squid ink adds to food that alluring fifth taste: umami. Deliciousness. It all came into focus. The truffle-y sensation, the inability for anyone to describe it, the way it brings flavors in a dish together. Damn, squid ink is cool.

Squid Ink Sources
Your local fishmonger should be able to hook you up with some squid ink; however, you may need to put in a special request. Plan B: Order it online from tienda.com or gourmetfoodstore.com.

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Amy Scattergood

Sometimes a sauce is more than, well, just a sauce. Discovered for the first time — on a menu, in a cookbook — it looks ordinary enough. But in one bite such a sauce transforms the dish, then the meal, then the diner.

If you think I'm overstating, then you've never experienced a good romesco sauce.

This classic Catalonian sauce — thick as pesto, the color of rust, textured with nuts and a bit of fried bread — packs an astonishing amount of flavor into small acreage. Earthy, toothsome, definitely habit-forming, romesco is rough magic in a bowl.

It's also surprising, as nut sauces can often be, because at first you can't quite place the earthy undertones and complex textures. High notes of sherry and paprika yield to the deep flavors of hazelnuts and almonds; sweet octaves of tomato and pepper follow next, then there's an aftershock of garlic, maybe another of chile.

Because it's a sauce built with healthful nuts instead of, say, butter, a romesco is more than just an aesthetic addition or a flavor boost to a dish. Paired with bread or onions, it can be a satisfying course unto itself. You can also ladle it into soups or over lamb, fish kebabs or grilled vegetables. Serve it as a condiment. Eat it out of the bowl with a spoon.

Romesco isn't a hot sauce. It's a subtle cohesion of flavors and textures, with a little sweet heat and depth but nothing overpowering. The nuts form the base of the sauce and give it a slightly rough texture. And the bread isn't a thrifty cook's filler, but a way to smooth and balance the nuts and add body.

The intricate notes of nut and spice underscore delicate flavors — briny seafood, sweet onions — without overwhelming them, providing a little punch rather than a knockout.

Traditionally, romesco is made with the dried Spanish pepper called nora. It's available in stores supplied by Spanish importers or online, including at Amazon and www.tienda.com.

Because the peppers weren't always so easy to find outside Spain, many cooks have improvised. Some like making romesco with anchos, but I like the verisimilitude of using the Mexican pepper cascabel, which has the same earthy notes as the nora but is hotter.

For the noras in the recipe, substitute two dried cascabels and a charred red bell pepper, plus a tablespoon of minced flat-leaf parsley, and you'll have a romesco with more depth and bite than a traditional version.

The classic version, with more finesse and less heat, showcases the delicate notes of the nuts and a sweet Spanish paprika. For an additional touch of refinement, use plump Marcona almonds with the hazelnuts. If you use salted Marconas, adjust the salt in the recipe to taste.

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Southwestern Rubbed turkey
Carol Motsinger

If you're not in a time crunch, then give this recipe for turkey a try. It will take 30 minutes to prep and 4 hours to make.

Southwestern rubbed turkey

Smoked paprika is the key to the turkey rub in this recipe. It can be purchased in gourmet markets and online at www.tienda.com. Roasting the bird breast-side down for the first half keeps the breast meat succulent and moist.

2 tablespoons smoked paprika

1 tablespoon cumin seeds , toasted and ground (see Tip)

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

2 tablespoons plus 2 cups water , divided

1 12-pound turkey , giblets removed

Recipe Directions

Position rack in lower third of oven; preheat to 350 degrees F.

Mix paprika, ground cumin, cinnamon, salt and pepper in a small bowl; stir in 2 tablespoons water to make a paste. Rub the mixture all over the turkey, particularly under the skin and onto the breast meat.

Place the turkey breast-side down on a roasting rack in a large roasting pan. Add 2 cups water to the pan. Roast for 1 1/2 hours.

Remove the turkey from the oven and turn it over—either use silicon oven gloves or cover the bird with foil and use cloth oven mitts to turn it over. Continue roasting, basting occasionally with pan juices, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh without touching bone registers 180 degrees F, about 1 1/2 to 2 hours more. If the bird is browning too deeply, tent with foil while it continues to bake. If the pan runs out of juices, add about 1/2 cup water, scrape up any browned bits, and use this liquid for basting. Let rest at room temperature for 30 minutes before carving.

Tip: Toast cumin seeds in a small skillet over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate to cool. Grind in a spice mill or blender into a fine powder.

Nutrition Information

Servings Per Recipe: 12

Amount Per serving

Calories: 346 cal Carbohydrate Servings: 0

Carbohydrates: 1 g Dietary Fiber: 1 g Cholesterol: 222 mg

Fat: 6 g Sodium: 348 mg Saturated Fat: 2 g

Protein: 67 g Potassium: 606 mg Monounsaturated Fat: 1 g

Nutrition Bonus: Selenium (118% daily value), Zinc (60% dv), Iron (30% dv), Potassium (17% dv).

Exchanges: 9 very lean meat, 1 fat

Best Meat Trend - Jamón Ibérico de Bellota

Admittedly not much of a best-of moment for either vegetarians or Spanish natives, but for American meat connoisseurs, this was a big year. Jamón Ibérico de Bellota is Spain's equivalent to Italy's prosciutto di Parma. But while Parma ham has been available in the U.S. for some time, Spanish ham producers hadn’t managed to get the complex paperwork in order to get export approval from the Agriculture Dept., according to Jonathan Harris, co-owner of Spanish food e-tailer LaTienda.com. This year that changed, and the pricey cured ham became available in the U.S. at high-end shops and through gourmet Web sites. The meat, from hogs that foraged on acorns, is prized for its deep flavor and rich texture. It retails for around $100 a pound.

Unos meses después de su llegada desde España, el cotizado jamón ibérico de bellota cautiva los paladares y el bolsillo de cientos de americanos
Virginia Gómez

Llegó el pasado mes de julio, después de superar los estrictos controles sanitarios americanos, y en sólo unos meses ha seducido por completo los estómagos más exquisitos… y el bolsillo. En torno a su presencia en las mesas de Estados Unidos no han dejado de surgir anécdotas. Más de una pareja de novios ha fi jado el día de su boda según la fecha de su llegada y, por todo el país, se suceden las fi estas para celebrar el arribo de tan cotizado manjar.

Es el jamón ibérico de bellota, el más caro jamás visto, pero también el más suculento donde los haya. Le llaman el “Rolls-Royce” de los jamones, y tiene su porqué. En la villa española de La Alberca, donde funciona el único matadero autorizado para exportar piezas completas a Norteamérica, los cerdos de los que proviene esta carne crecen a cuerpo de rey. En las dehesas, en libertad, se alimentan exclusivamente a base de hierbas y bellotas en su último año de vida y, cuando están a punto de ser sacrifi cados, los relajan con duchas de agua caliente o incluso con música clásica, evitando de esa forma que alteren sus ácidos y ello repercuta en la suavidad de la carne.

El cuidadoso proceso hasta obtener el jamón que llega al consumidor se ve refl ejado no sólo en su sabor, sino también en el precio. En Boston, la libra de “pata negra”, como se denomina popularmente por el color del cerdo, no baja de los $135. Restaurantes como Estragón o Toro, tiendas como Las Ventas o Formaggio Kitchen, y la distribuidora Specialty Foods Boston, cuentan con el privilegio de poder ofrecerlo. Y ello, a pesar de que la producción, escasa también en España, no cubre ni de lejos la demanda en Estados Unidos, como apunta el cocinero español José Andrés, socio de Jamones Fermín S.L. Fermín USA, la compañía que consiguió traer el tesoro culinario. “Después de años de lucha para traerlo, casi no tengo ni para consumo propio”, se queja Andrés, también propietario del restaurante Jaleo de Washington.

Según el jefe de ventas para Estados Unidos de Fermín USA, Raúl Martín, cada cinco semanas se envían contenedores marítimos con cientos de piezas de jamón serrano, ibérico e ibérico de bellota. Aunque lo más difícil ya está hecho, reconoce que el ibérico en sí es un producto nuevo que hay que dar a conocer. “La gente aún tiene que saber qué lo hace tan especial o por qué es tan costoso. Es un producto que sólo se obtiene en España, donde la bellota y el ambiente son únicos. Es todo un orgullo para los españoles; a nivel gourmet, es junto con la trufa blanca, el caviar y el foie uno de los cuatro ases de la gastronomía mundial”, añade.

A Las Ventas, una tienda exclusiva de productos es- Virginia Gómez pañoles ubicada en el South End de Boston, han llegado 12 ibéricos de bellota desde la autorización para exportar. Según el gerente del comercio, Luis de Haro, pocos saben aún de sus excelencias y el que lo compra suele ser un antiguo conocedor.

“Es gradual. Primero tienen que familiarizarse con el ibérico para llegar después al bellota. No obstante, la gente tiene mucha curiosidad, te piden que les des un trozo para probar y ya hay clientes que vienen a repetir”, indica de Haro. En Las Ventas, según su gerente, se suele vender en pequeñas cantidades –entre un cuarto y media libra-, aunque también hay quien ha pagado $18 por un bocadillo de “pata negra” o quien ha encargado una pieza entera, como es el caso de unos españoles del Instituto Tecnológico de Massachussets (MIT, por sus siglas en inglés), que esta semana harán una lucida demostración de los sabores únicos de su país.

Desde Virginia, a través de su empresa online, LaTienda. com, Don Harris también se encarga de distribuir bellota en Boston, donde vende a 15 clientes. En La Tienda, que abrió en 1996 y cuenta con 45,000 clientes cada año, el jamón ibérico de bellota es desde esta primavera el producto estrella. Es más, desde que el Wall Street Journal publicara hace cuatro años los esfuerzos de la compañía por incluirla en sus almacenes, esta “fruta prohibida” se convirtió en el fetiche más deseado.

Entonces el bellota era aún ilegal en el país, pero comenzó a llegar un aluvión de pedidos. Por una fi anza de $200, Harris garantizaba a sus clientes ser los primeros en hacerse con uno en cuanto se diera luz verde al envío. La lista alcanzó las 350 solicitudes. “Un par de clientes no quisieron casarse hasta que no llegara, querían ofrecérselo a sus invitados. Uno de ellos quería incluso crear un club de motos llamado “The Bellotas”. Y hubo otro cliente que se fue a La Alberca a visitar su jamón. Son auténticos amantes de la comida, pero ¿quién se gasta si no $1,500 en una pieza?”, se ríe Harris, quien ha repartido ya casi 500 jamones por todo el país.

UNO MAS EN LA FAMILIA

Apasionados del jamón ibérico de bellota en Estados Unidos han esperado hasta cuatro años a que llegara a su cocina este diamante gastronómico, como indica el propietario de LaTienda. com, Don Harris. A Harry Saltzman, director y profesor de música retirado de Nueva York, la demora se le hizo pesada y decidió poner rumbo a La Alberca para visitar al “nuevo miembro de la familia”.

“En 2006, recibimos un e-mail de La Tienda invitándonos a visitar el jamón. Teníamos previsto viajar por España y decidimos parar en La Alberca. La experiencia fue increíble, hasta tuvimos que cubrirnos para entrar a verlo”, cuenta.

Saltzman, que se volvió adicto al “pata negra” nada más probarlo en un viaje por la Península hace diez años, pidió que le trajeran su pieza a fi nal de septiembre par evitar que el calor de su cocina echara a perder su preciado tesoro. Días después, organizó una fi esta con su familia y un antiguo profesor de la universidad para celebrar su llegada.

“Nos gastamos $1,600, pero creo que el dinero ha de ser para el placer. No tenemos nietos, queremos morir sin dinero”, asegura este amante de la ocina, la cerámica y el arte españoles. Hasta el omento, sólo Ha- Uno más en la familia Virginia ómez Harry Saltzman, cliente de LaTienda.com, acaricia a un cerdo ibérico durante su visita al matadero de La Alberca, en Españarry y los responsables de las 24 empresas que distribuyen jamón en Estados Unidos han viajado desde aquí a visitar el matadero español. Sin embargo, según señala el jefe de ventas del mismo, las puertas están abiertas para todos aquellos que quieran conocer el proceso de producción de este brillante gastronómico.

Martha Holmberg/Jamie Francis

The days are getting shorter, but the sunlight is a generous honeyed gold, and our markets and gardens are a glorious collision of late summer and early autumn vegetables -- sweet peppers, onions, garlic, green beans, eggplant and, of course, tomatoes of every dimension.

The cooking of Spain is a great place to look for inspiration when it's time to cook all that good stuff. In this issue, we're featuring two iconic Spanish dishes that highlight fresh produce -- gazpacho and paella -- along with a trio of quick Iberian-inspired appetizers to share with friends while you sit on your deck and hang on to these last sweet days of summer.

Recipes included with this story: Really Good Paella

In the real deal, it's all about the rice

Here are the three keys for an authentic dish -- and all the ingredients are available locally

Paella lives in parallel universes: There's the paella that most of us have eaten and enjoyed -- a deep bed of rice perhaps flavored with tomato and saffron, garnished with bits of vegetables, seafood, chicken or sausage. All kind of moist and a tad bit mushy but tasty enough.

And then there's real paella. There are as many interpretations of real paella as there are cooks in Spain, but each of those authentic versions, whether garnished with seafood, duck, sausage or rabbit, is about the rice. Not the quantity of rice, but the qualities ... of tender grains that hang onto just a bit of chewiness, of rice that tastes like rice yet is infused deeply with fundamental flavors of Spain: tomato, onion, olive oil, saffron, smoky paprika. And the mercurial quality that seems to distinguish a good paella from a great one: the soccarat -- a thin, chewy-starchy crust that forms on the bottom of the pan ... but only sometimes, if you're lucky.

But you don't have to go to Spain to step into the universe of authentic paella. In fact the only time I've been to Spain, I was eating bread and cheese from a backpack that had a Eurail pass packed inside. But I learned to cook real paella from a friend who lived in Spain and married a Spaniard, and I now consider myself a paella traditionalist -- though my credentials are based on nothing more than enthusiasm.

A good paella musn't be rushed. To start, the sofrito (onion, garlic and tomatoes) should be sauted to concentrate flavors. Only then is rice (preferably the bomba variety) added.
Fortunately, everything you need to make authentic paella is available here in Portland. Here are the three keys.

The rice
Paella wants rice that absorbs lots of flavorful liquid yet stays separate; paella isn't meant to be creamy like risotto. The ideal is a short-grain rice grown in southeastern Spain, called calasparra, of which the bomba designation is even better. These rices are slow-growing, very dry and will absorb significantly more liquid than a regular short-grain rice. You'll need to go to a specialty store, such as Pastaworks or Zupan's, or order some online - tienda.com is a good source for these imported varieties. But in a pinch, Goya medium-grain rice, which is available at most grocery stores, will do fine. Just be extra-vigilant during cooking because the Goya can't absorb as much liquid and will go from chewy to mushy very quickly.

The pan
An authentic paella pan can be a thing of beauty but only for those who find beauty in plain-Jane, utilitarian objects. No gleaming copper or lustrous enameled cast iron here -- traditional paella pans are made of thin steel with a dimpled surface (said to distribute heat evenly, but who knows?) and two loopy metal handles. As you use your pan, it will discolor and take on a patina that's not glamorous but is a satisfying testament to some delicious meals. You can make paella with a wide skillet, too -- the wider and shallower, the better, so that you can spread your ingredients out into a thin layer and the liquid evaporates quickly. Be sure your pan has a heavy base so it heats evenly. You could use nonstick, if that's all you have, but there will be no hope of developing the prized crust on the bottom.

I have a 15-inch Spanish pan, which the manufacturer says will makes paella for six, but it never does ... mostly because the paella is so good that people want to eat a lot. And leftover paella is really good, so I like to plan generously. I usually make two 14-inch pans (one in a T-fal skillet) and it's plenty for six people plus breakfast.

The concentration
By this I mean two things. First, you need to concentrate the flavors of your paella "add-ins" by cooking them to develop flavor before you unite them with the rice. You start with a sofrito, a base of onion, garlic and tomato that adds tremendous flavor, but only if sauteed until thick and concentrated.

If you're using chicken or other poultry, you need to brown it thoroughly to develop flavor in the chicken and on the bottom of the pan, where it will seep into the rice. And other vegetables, such as bell peppers, green beans or artichoke hearts, need precooking to concentrate and sweeten their flavors as well as soften their textures. (Seafood needs a lighter touch, so I tuck it into the rice midpoint, or I cook it separately and add it later.)

The other concentration that's key is the mental kind. When you make real paella, especially the first few times (or in my case, always), you need to concentrate on what's happening in the pan in order to control the absorption of the broth, the texture of the rice, the development of the crust. It's the balance between those simple elements that takes a pan of rice into a universe of deliciousness all its own.

Martha Holmberg: 503-294-5191; marthaholmberg@news.oregonian.com

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Amy Scattergood Los Angeles Times Service

Sometimes a sauce is more than just a sauce. Discovered on the menu of a restaurant or in the pages of a cookbook, it may look ordinary enough. But in one bite it can transform a dish, a meal, a diner.

If you think that's hyperbole, you've never tasted a good romesco sauce. Thick as pesto, the color of rust, textured with nuts and a bit of fried bread, this classic Catalonian concoction packs an astonishing amount of flavor. Earthy, complex and addictive, romesco is rough magic in a bowl.

It's also surprising, as nut sauces often are, because at first you can't quite place the earthy undertones and complex textures. High notes of sherry and paprika yield to deep flavors of hazelnuts and almonds. Sweet octaves of tomato and pepper follow. Then there's an aftershock of garlic, maybe another of chile.

In Catalonian cooking, romesco is stirred into seafood stews, spooned over fish and served as a condiment. Make a bowl of it -- a very large bowl. Then scoop it up with a slice of toasted bread or a grilled shrimp. Ladle it into soups or over lamb, fish kebabs or grilled vegetables. Or eat it out of the bowl with a spoon.

Because it's built with healthful nuts, a romesco is more than just an aesthetic addition or flavor booster. Paired with bread, it can be a satisfying course on its own.

Romesco isn't a hot sauce. It's a subtle cohesion of flavors and textures, with a little sweet heat and depth but nothing overpowering.

Nuts form the base and give the sauce a slightly rough texture. The bread smoothes and adds body. A mild bite comes more from the garlic, vinegar and paprika than the peppers. The finely balanced notes of nut and spice underscore delicate flavors without overwhelming them, providing a little punch rather than a knockout.

Traditionally, romesco is made with dried Ñora peppers, a Spanish variety that's a visual dead ringer for the Cascabel, a Mexican pepper named for the drum rattle it resembles. The Ñora has the same color and earthy notes but is sweeter.

Many cooks like making romesco with anchos, but I prefer the verisimilitude of Cascabels. Blend in a pair along with a charred red bell pepper and a little parsley and you'll have a sauce with more depth and bite than a traditional romesco.

A classic version, with more finesse and less heat, showcases the delicate nuts and sweet Spanish paprika. For an additional touch of refinement, use plump Marcona almonds with the hazelnuts. Their buttery flavor comes through in the milder sauce.

Roast a bunch of fat green onions whole, throw thick slices of bread and plump shrimp on the grill, too, and eat them all with a bowlful of romesco -- and your hands. Some sauces are not made for dainty dipping but for palpable, messy, unapologetic pleasure.

Dried Ñora peppers are sold by online retailers including tienda.com.

Dried Cascabel peppers are available at Fernanda's, 3045 N. Federal Hwy., Fort Lauderdale (954-563-2500), and at Fresh Market outlets.

Marcona almonds are carried by gourmet retailers, some supermarkets and Costco warehouse stores.

A Spanish delicacy finally makes its way Stateside.
Bill Citara

Standing at the very pinnacle of pork, jamón ibérico- the salt- and air-cured, mahogany-colored, immensely flavored ham from Spain- has until last December only been available to Americans lucky (and wise) enough to sample it on its own turf.

What makes jamón ibérico special begins with the pata negra (“black-hoof”) pig, a rare species related to the wild boar whose origins are thought to go back to prehistory. For much of their lives, these pigs forage the oak forests of Spain’s Iberian Peninsula, eating a diet rich in acorns. It’s the pig’s diet and a curing and aging process lasting two to four years that largely determine the succulence of the hams. The best grade is jamón ibérico de bellota; ribbed with luscious fat, it has a deeply savory, nutty-tasting meat that practically dissolves in the mouth.

Of course, the best doesn’t come cheap. Prices vary with the seller and quantity purchased, but expect to pay upwards of $100 a pound for jamón ibérico de bellota paleta (from the smaller front leg) and $150 and up for jamón ibérico de bellota (from the larger back leg). Other ibérico hams are less expensive and, while not as rich as the premium grades, are still worth savoring. Purveyors latienda.com, markys.com, and jamon.com carry a variety of cuts.

Amy Culbertson

Fort Worth Central Market just received its first-ever shipment of the pricey jamon iberico de bellota, from Spain.

Star-Telegram/Paul Moseley

Jamon iberico de bellota is best eaten alone and not recommended for cooking, especially with its $179.99-a-pound price tag. S-T/Paul Moseley

It’s the holy grail of hamdom, pig made transcendent by a life of feasting on acorns in oak meadows, transformed by salt and mountain air and time.

It’s also the most expensive ham you’ll ever meet. It’s Spain’s fabled jamon iberico de bellota, and until this summer, you couldn’t get it in the United States. Now you can buy it at area Central Markets — but bring your credit card: It sells for $179.99 a pound.

What could make a piece of pig so expensive?

It starts with the breed. Most Spanish hams, called serranos, are made from regular pink or white pigs (often raised in northern Europe).

The noble piggies that produce the iberico ham, though, are native to southwestern Spain and Portugal; Columbus, we’re told, had some on board for his New World voyage. This cerdo iberico breed is also known as pata negra, or black-hoofed; the hams are often sold with hoof attached.

These hogs are hard to produce and expensive to raise, explains Spanish-food importer Don Harris of Virginia-based La Tienda. "The sows don’t have many babies."

But they have a unique ability to store fat, which is marbled throughout the meat, and the luckiest of them roam free in southern Spain’s oak meadows, fattening on acorns — bellotas — which give the fat a high level of healthy monounsaturated oleic acid.

The acorns give the bellota ham its distinctive flavor, as well, and "because he’s run around rather than sitting in a pen, the fat is distributed through the muscles," Harris says. (There are lower grades of iberico ham, still prized but less expensive, from iberico pigs that have been fed on acorns for a shorter time or raised entirely on grain.)

The more time it takes to produce something, the more it’s going to cost, and the bellota pigs live longer than their more plebeian brethren before they’re slaughtered — or, as they say in Spain, "sacrificed" — gently, with carbon dioxide, so as not to raise their stress level and release adrenaline, which would affect the meat. They’re even serenaded with Mozart the night before to keep them mellow, Harris tells The Boston Globe. They’re cured longer, too — up to four years; the aging confers additional depth and complexity of flavor.

Then there’s the fact that the hams are hard to get. Folks who’d tasted iberico ham on trips to Spain pined wistfully for it on their return. Until the Fermin company built a special slaughterhouse in Spain to meet U.S. Agriculture Department standards, iberico couldn’t be imported.

From the new Fermin plant, as their curing periods ended, the lesser grades of iberico arrived over the past couple of years. Meanwhile, foodies and porkophiles waited as the bellota hams cured. Online importer La Tienda had a waiting list of hundreds. Finally, this summer, the bellota hams were shipped. Central Market says it’s the only retailer selling them in the Southwest.

But how does it taste?

That is why I show up at the Fort Worth Central Market on a recent morning, excited to get my first taste. Deli and cheese manager Brandon Campbell and sous-chef Andrew Dilda are laying out petal-thin slices of prosciutto di Parma and San Daniele Secola 20-month prosciutto; Spanish jamon serrano; and three types of iberico — regular jamon iberico; shoulder (paleta) of iberico de bellota; and the crown jewel, the just-arrived jamon iberico de bellota.

I taste my way up the scale. The prosciuttos are delicious, but the darker serrano is gamier, more complex. The iberico cuts, though, with their deep, rich, nutty, aromatic flavor that resonates in the mouth, make me forget the hams that came before. The glistening wine-red bellota slices are edged with fat the color of old ivory; the fat — more prominent in the paleta — seems to melt on the tongue. After I swallow, the flavor hums in my mouth for minutes.

So, is this ham that much better than other hams? Yes. Even the less expensive regular iberico, at $99.99 a pound, is light-years above its Spanish and Italian cousins. Indeed, the much-anticipated arrival of the bellota iberico has one happy side effect for me: It makes me feel less guilty about splurging on the regular iberico — after all, it’s almost a bargain, right?

Is it worth paying $25 for 10 or 12 paper-thin slices of bellota ham? That depends on you. The Central Market deli folks will allow you a small sample to try. But I warn you: The stuff is addictive; it tends to ruin you for lesser hams. And it will put you on the horns of a dilemma: Foodstuffs this dear are usually reserved for special occasions, but you will be tempted to keep it not only from your guests but also from your loved ones, to savor every rich shard and morsel by yourself.

About iberico
What it is All iberico cured meats are made from the cerdo iberico, or pata negra, breed of pig. The difference in grades lies in how they were raised.

Iberico de bellota comes from pigs that range free on the dehesa, or oak meadows, grazing on acorns. Central Markets sell bellota jamon (ham) for $179.99 a pound and paleta (shoulder) for $119.99. At www.latienda.com, the sliced paleta is $34.50 for 4 ounces ($138 a pound), and a whole bone-in iberico de bellota ham is $96 a pound, or about $1,400.

Iberico ham comes from pigs raised on farms and fed on grain. Central Market sells it for $99.99 a pound; www.latienda.com for $24.50 for a 4-ounce package of slices ($98 a pound).

How to say it Jamon iberico de bellota is pronounced "hah-MOAN Ee-BARE-ee-ko day bay-YO-tuh."

How to use it Iberico is best eaten the same day it is cut, but it can be stored for a week; keep it in the refrigerator’s vegetable drawer in the zip-lock bag from the store.

Ham of this quality should be sliced very thinly and savored as an appetizer or snack. Iberico is not ham you cook with — "that would be like deep-frying with truffle oil," Fort Worth Central Market sous-chef Andrew Dilda says wryly. If you want to serve it as part of an appetizer spread, Central Market bakery, deli and cheese business development manager Edouard Damez suggests ripe figs and aged Spanish cheeses such as an artisanal Manchego, raw-milk Ibores or Ossau-Iraty. But, he notes, it "should really be enjoyed by itself."

To drink, Fort Worth Central Market wine and beer manager J.R. Clark suggests Spanish wines: For whites, a light, crisp Albarino from Rias Baixas; or the sparkling Gramona Gran Reserva Cava ($14.99); or the bright Oreka Txakoli from the Basque region ($19.95). For reds, he suggests a tempranillo such as the $14.99 Mibal Tinto, or, should you wish to splurge on the wine as well as the ham, the massive Vizcarra Celia or Vizcarra Inés, from the Ribera del Duero, at $129.99. Sherry is always appropriate, too.

To learn more Taste the jamon iberico de bellota at a "Taste of Spain" class at the Fort Worth Central Market at 6:30 p.m. Oct. 24 ($60). Clark and deli and cheese manager Brandon Campbell will lead a class on Spanish cured meats, wines and cheeses; 817-377-9005.

La Tienda has information about Spanish hams on a special Web site, www.jamon.com, as well as at www.latienda.com.

Amy Culbertson is the Star-Telegram food editor, 817-390-7421