Culinary Lies: Part 1

From that very first morning of Andrew’s arrival when he announced to me that he didn’t like pancakes, I knew I needed a strong culinary plan.  I had seen family and friends deal with the very same issue on many occasions, and I knew what the consequences could be if I didn’t act swiftly.   Parents who I had seen brilliantly forge through illness and injuries would helplessly fall to their knees at the first “I don’t like” that came our of their child’s mouth.  Four- and five-year-old children were easily taking over the kitchen and holding parents hostage for years with a diet of dinosaur chicken and even worse, McDonald’s.    I was determined not to succumb to a similar fate.

As I stood there on that fateful first morning staring into the eyes of an oncoming parental battle that looked a little too much like “Cindy Lou Who” asking the Grinch why he’s taking the tree, a flash of brilliance suddenly came to me and I was momentarily blinded by this heavenly inspiration:  I would lie!

It came out so easy.  So perfectly.  So naturally.

I stood there like Seuss’ Grinch and with the same fake “Santi Claus” voice, I cooed, “Well, Andrew, if you don’t like pancakes, I’ll just make you flapjacks instead.”

“What are flapjacks?”  Andrew asked, without even a hint of suspicion.

“Oh, it’s a secret recipe that my grandmother used to make for us.  It’s been in the family for over a hundred years.   This sleight of hand worked.  It’s true that my grandmother’s flapjacks were sufficiently different from Aunt Jemima’s (for the recipe see (Dad’s Buttermilk Pancakes, January 2011) that the lie didn’t seem too far fetched. Pancakes were now flapjacks and I could continue as planned.

The next “I don’t like” almost broke my will: onions.  I know enough about children’s development to understand that onions could very well be overwhelming to the highly sensitive child’s palette.  However, I use onions in just about everything I cook.  I couldn’t imagine an onion furlough and refused to succumb to offering a children’s menu every night.

But no matter how small I cut up the onions for a particular dish, Andrew would find the tiniest piece, pick it out, and not want to eat the rest.  I resorted to putting the onions in the Cuisinart and processing them to a watery puree.  This worked well enough for some dishes, but not all.  One such dish was Tortilla Espanola, a kind of potato and onion frittata that I learned to make while living in Spain.    Again, a blessed lie saved the day.

Andrew walked in while I was making this dish and asked, “Does it have onions in it?”

A small drop of sweat forming on my brow, I stuttered, “Uh, no.”

“Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Of course, why would I lie to you?” another bead of sweat forming.

“Then what are those?” he asked pointing to a pile of chopped onions.

Cue the music, “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.”

Suddenly my demeanor turned sickly sweet as I “thought up “another’’ lie and thought it up quick.”

“Those aren’t onions, my dear,” again in that special Grinch voice.   “They’re shallots,” I said, quickly picking up a smallish shallot I had nearby.

“Oh, okay,” he said and, unbelievably, went off to play Lego’s.

Well, the floodgates were opened and I soon started exchanging leeks, shallots, scallions, and chives for everything.  I showed him what they all looked like and told him they looked just like onions when they were cut up.  Soon I was using onions daily and moreover, he was eating them.

It was a couple of years later when Andrew found what he had determined to be an onion in something we were eating.  He pulled it out and pushed it to the side.

I looked at him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t like onions,” came his quick reply.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Andrew.  You have been eating onions almost everyday for two years.  You like onions.”

“What?”

“Andrew, shallots are onions.  Scallions are onions.  Leeks are onions.  Even our chive plant is a type of onion,” I finally confessed.

“Really?”

“Seriously.  I’m not lying.”  Well, at least not this time, I thought.

He sat there for a moment contemplating this new reality.   He slowly started eating his dinner.  He ate all the onions.   Fait accompli.    Andrew is an onion eater.  Even raw onions.

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We make so many dishes with onions so choosing one that defines our dinners is hard.  However, Tortilla Espanola is something we eat at least a couple of times a month.  This is what I would call good fast food.  It uses few ingredients and I can get it on the table in about 45 minutes.  We usually pair it with big thick sausages that we make or buy from our local farmers’ market, and finish it off with a light salad and bread.

It’s hard to believe that something this delicious could have so few ingredients.  Use the best ingredients you can find to make it truly memorable.   One word of caution, however, Spaniards would never refrigerate Tortilla Espanola.  Instead, they leave it out on a shelf to be eaten the next morning.  It’s even better then.  We don’t refrigerate ours either, but if you must, let it come to room temperature before serving it.

If you ask 1000 Spaniards for the “authentic” tortilla recipe, you will get 1000 recipes.   I’ve tried about all the recipes out there to compare.  One’s “favorite” of a category is often tied up with our earliest memories of it and my favorite is no different.  Here’s how I was taught to make an authentic Tortilla Espanola 25 years ago as a student in Spain.

The recipe:

3 medium potatoes (medium larger as opposed to medium smaller.  I like Yukon Gold, but any will do)

1 medium to large onion, sliced

6 large eggs

1 ½ to 2 cups olive oil (see note) 1 ½ teaspoons salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

Chicken stock (optional)

Slice the potato in half lengthwise and then each half into a quarter.  Now slice the potato crossways in about ¼” slices.  Relax.  Don’t measure – this is approximately.

Heat the oil in a pan large enough to hold the potatoes and onions over medium high.  The oil should just about cover the potatoes.  Once the oil begins to boil again, turn down to medium and gently fry until soft, but not brown.  Pour everything into a colander that has been placed over a bowl.  You want to save the oil.

While the potato/onion mixture is draining, whisk the eggs with the salt and pepper.  You can add a touch of chicken stock if you have it, but it’s optional.   Pour the potatoes into the egg mixture and mix thoroughly.  Let rest for about 15 minutes.

Over medium-high heat, heat an 8- or 9-inch nonstick skillet with about 2 tablespoons of the leftover oil.   Pour the mixture into the pan and turn the heat to medium low.  You want the tortilla to cook without scorching the bottom.

Here comes the part that keeps people from trying it.  It shouldn’t.  It’s very easy.

Once the tortilla has started to brown (about 10 minutes), it will still be very loose on top.  Don’t worry.   Using kitchen mitts, place a plate over the pan and holding the plate tightly in place, flip the tortilla onto the plate.   Wipe out the pan, put a bit of oil in it and slide the tortilla back into the pan.  Cook until a knife inserted into the tortilla comes out clean.

Use the plate trick one more time to get the tortilla out of the pan.  It can be served hot, but it’s at its best after it sits for a while and even more amazing for breakfast the next day.

Serve it alone or with a sauce.   The recipe for Smoked Poblano Chile Sauce (see Crazy Chicken: An Antidote to Teenage Surliness) works well, and if you exchange sweet red bells for poblanos you will get an ideal match for Tortilla Espanola.

Provecho!

Note:  Some people will shy away from this because of the amount of oil.  I use an inexpensive Spanish olive oil and after the oil has drained, I strain it and return it to the bottle.  I keep the bottle in the fridge and reuse it many times.  I have to add some oil from time to time and have not had it go bad yet.   You can try to do this with less oil, but using more than less allows for quick and even cooking.