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  <id>10885</id>
  <title>Fewer than 1100</title>
  <published_at>Tue Jan 15 15:29:00 -0800 2008</published_at>
  <link>http://www.chow.com/stories/10885</link>
  <pubDate>Tue, 15 Jan 2008 23:29:00 GMT</pubDate>
  <short_description>1080 Recipes offers a view into Spanish home cooking</short_description>
  <long_description>1080 Recipes offers a view into Spanish home cooking.</long_description>
  <img>http://www.chow.com/assets/2006/12/shelf_life_290x210.jpg</img>
  <author>Sara Dickerman</author>
  <category>
    <id>76</id>
    <name>Shelf Life</name>
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<h1 style="font-size:204%; margin-bottom:0.6em;">Fewer than 1100</h1>

<h3 style="font-size:122%; margin-bottom:1em;"><b><i>1080 Recipes</i> offers a view into Spanish home cooking</b></h3>

<p class="author"><b>By Sara Dickerman</b></p>

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	<p><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&#38;location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2F1080-Recipes-Simone-Ortega%2Fdp%2F0714848360%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks%26qid%3D1199399913%26sr%3D8-1&#38;tag=c037-20&#38;linkCode=ur2&#38;camp=1789&#38;creative=9325"><i>1080 Recipes</i></a><br />
By Simone and Inés Ortega<br />
Phaidon, 2007; $39.95</p>


	<p>To a food-obsessed American, Spain evokes two rival things. One is the kitchen surrealism of Ferran Adrià and his acolytes: the foams, the gels, the caviars, the countless <em>trompe l&#8217;oeils</em> and <em>trompe les bouches</em> that come from Adrià&#8217;s tireless experimentalism and affection for technology. And there&#8217;s the more rustic world: of salt cod and jamón ibérico sliced with a 14-inch knife; of lusty, salty tapas full of garlic, anchovies, and funky sheep&#8217;s-milk cheeses. And so along comes <em>1080 Recipes,</em> the English translation of a best-selling Spanish cookbook, and I expected to see a lot of either one of these modes. Would I need to buy a <a href="http://www.pacojet.com/">Pacojet</a> to make the recipes in this book? Or was I going to need a wholesale supplier of piquillo peppers?</p>


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	<p>The answer to both questions is no: <em>1080 Recipes</em> is markedly different cuisine from the bits of Spain we experience here in the States. True, there are recipes for gazpacho and paella, but the book is both more Continental and more bourgeois. Along with recipes for madeleines, risotto, and &#8220;American macaroni&#8221; (a curried mac ’n&#8217; cheese made with cream of mushroom soup), I counted 45 béchamel-based recipes in the index. That&#8217;s a lot of white sauce.</p>


	<p>First published by Simone Ortega 35 years ago as <em>1080 Recetas de Cocina,</em> it has sold more than 2 million copies in Spanish. It&#8217;s a household compendium, an Iberian <em>Joy of Cooking.</em> (Perhaps more precisely, it is akin to Italy&#8217;s <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&#38;location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FSilver-Spoon-Phaidon-Press%2Fdp%2F0714845310%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks%26qid%3D1199405085%26sr%3D1-2&#38;tag=c037-20&#38;linkCode=ur2&#38;camp=1789&#38;creative=9325"><i>The Silver Spoon</i></a>, which Phaidon released in English with great success in 2005.) Now <em>1080,</em> too, has been revised, Rombauer-like, by Ortega and her daughter, Inés Ortega, and translated.</p>


	<h3><strong>Into the Iberian Kitchen</strong></h3>


	<p>I wasn&#8217;t entirely surprised by this neither rustic nor high-tech cookery&#8212;I&#8217;ve seen hints of it before, when I worked for a Spanish chef here in Seattle. Every now and then he&#8217;d want to run a dish that seemed oddly milquetoast for our standard balls-to-the-walls garlic and pimentón cookery. Take <em>ensaladilla rusa,</em> for example, a salad of diced potatoes, peas, and carrots bound in mayonnaise. It seemed like a step above cafeteria food to me. Don&#8217;t even get me started on the <em>salsa rosa,</em> a pink mayo concoction all but indistinguishable from Russian dressing, which we slathered on Dungeness crab. I loved most of the food we made at the restaurant, but these preparations seemed flabby to me. (I&#8217;m not bashing mayonnaise, by the way, just certain applications of it.)</p>


	<p>But even though I was put off by some Spanish affinities, there is a softer side of the cuisine that I&#8217;ve grown to love. All that béchamel can be put to good use in crisp-shelled ham or shrimp <em>croquetas</em> (Ortega has two pages of recipes for these), and there is no doubt that Spaniards are masters of the egg dish and the potato dish&#8212;or best of all, the egg and potato dish (in <em>1080,</em> see the <em>tortilla de patatas,</em> the soft scrambled <em>revuelto</em> of straw potatoes and salt cod, or the amusing little shirred eggs set in mashed potato nests).</p>


	<p>According to the introduction, the Ortegas purposely stripped down the recipe titles&#8212;they are given &#8220;names that describe the main ingredients in the dish.&#8221; The names were modest in Spanish; they&#8217;re even drabber in translation: squab in sauce, coated green beans, navy bean garnish. You really have to read a recipe to decide if it sounds interesting.</p>


	<p>In part because of this plainness of speech, and in part because some recipes themselves seem wan, I don&#8217;t want to make all 1,080 recipes in the book, but the ones I tried were very good&#8212;better than they sounded in print actually. Andalusian chicken, stuffed with apples and Serrano ham, was not the prettiest dish I&#8217;ve ever made, but the sherry-anisette roasting pan sauce was one of the best bread-soppers in a long while. <em>Arroz negro,</em> blackened with squid ink, inched me back toward the best meal I had in Barcelona. And garbanzo beans, salt cod, and spinach stew, perked up with a last-minute addition of a fried tomato sauce, was the kind of thick and bone-warming stew that tempts me into food clichés like <em>honest</em> and <em>soulful.</em></p>


	<p>Another pleasure of the edition is the design: Visually, it is one of my favorite cookbooks in years&#8212;clear, spacious type with great full-color pastel illustrations by designer-illustrator Javier Mariscal popping up everywhere, sometimes illustrating kitchen gestures (washing mussels, a fishmonger studiously cross-sectioning a tuna) and sometimes whimsically capturing an ingredient (a hapless-looking turbot, a cow&#8217;s tongue that resembles a Jim Dine heart). There are a few sections of photographic plates, half the size of the rest of the book, on flimsy paper. Shot from above, the pale birds and foil-wrapped mullets are not sexed up&#8212;the photos suffer next to the dynamism of the illustrations, but there is something charming in their modesty nonetheless.</p>


	<p>The publishers of <em>1080</em> know that the American foodie audience has certain ideas about Spanish cuisine and have offered some parenthetical nods to contemporary restaurant cookery. Ferran Adrià himself provides a courtly, if measured, introduction to the book. And Spanish chefs from both sides of the Atlantic and on both sides of the rustic/high-tech divide provide some up-to-the-minute recipes as a sort of tacked-on afterword to the Ortegas&#8217; book. The Roca brothers give us, for example, their secret to asparagus with Viognier, a gelled and frothed creation that you and I are never going to make at home. Here&#8217;s the last sentences of that recipe: &#8220;Cover each round with a glass dome, place the powdered holm oak in a specialist culinary pipe, burn it and introduce the smoke into the dome. Take the dome off the dish at the table.&#8221; But this is not the book for tricked-out Spanish haute cuisine; for that you might try to get ahold of Joan Roca&#8217;s own cookbooks, Adrià&#8217;s El Bulli notebooks, or the trippy <em>Bestiarium Gastronomicae</em> from Mugaritz (Spanish only).</p>


	<p>On the other hand, if you want some approachable recipes with a different sensibility from your everyday cookbooks, you&#8217;ll like having <em>1080 Recipes</em> around. And the pictures will make you happy.</p>


<div style="float:right; font-weight:bold;"><a href="/stories/10885/2">Next page: Recipe for stuffed Andalusian chicken</a> <span style="color:red;">1</span> <a href="?page=2">2</a> <a href="?page=2">&gt;&gt;</a></div>

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<div style="display:inline; float:left; width:30em;"><h1>Less than 1100</h1> continued</div>
<span style="float:right; font-weight:bold;"><a href="/stories/?page=1">&lt;&lt;</a> <a href="/stories/?page=1">1</a> <span style="color:red;">2</span></span>
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	<h3><strong>The Annotated Recipe</strong></h3>


	<p><strong>Stuffed Andalusian Chicken (Pollo Relleno a la Andaluza)</strong><br />
Serves 6 <em>{Ahem, in our case, it seemed to serve four &#8230; insatiable Americans!}</em></p>


	<p>6 tablespoons olive oil <br />
1 pound 2 ounces tart apples, peeled, cored, and chopped <em>{This was the seductive element for me&#8212;chicken stuffed with apples? Yay!}</em> <br />
Scant 1 cup diced Serrano ham or prosciutto <em>{This had a certain element of seduction, too.}</em><br />
1/3 cup pine nuts<br />
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley<br />
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves<br />
1 1/2 cups amontillado or other sherry <em>{I couldn&#8217;t find anything but cream sherry at the Washington state liquor store … luckily I had something nicer lurking around my liquor cabinet, but still, you might want to call ahead if you&#8217;re not going to a Spanish specialist.}</em><br />
1/4 cup anisette <em>{This was the so-weird-it-must-be-good element for me …}</em><br />
1 chicken, 3 1/4 pounds<br />
1/3 cup lard or 3 tablespoons sunflower oil<br />
1 large onion, cut into 2-3 pieces<br />
Salt and pepper<br /></p>


	<p>Heat the oil in a pan. Add the apple and cook over low heat for 2 minutes. Add the ham, pine nuts, parsley, and cloves, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 3-4 minutes. Pour in half the sherry and the anisette, stir well, cover, and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly. <i>{Or if you&#8217;re a more careful cook than me, cool entirely in the refrigerator&#8212;remember, you&#8217;re not supposed to put warm stuffing in a raw bird. Plus this recipe takes a while to make; you might not mind having this step all completed the day before.}</i> Preheat the oven to 400°F. Stuff the chicken with the mixture, reserving any extra cooking liquid. Sew up the opening or secure with skewers. Spread the lard or brush the oil all over the bird and place it in a roasting pan. Pour the reserved apple cooking liquid around the chicken. Season with salt and put the pieces of onion on either side of the chicken. Roast, turning occasionally <i>{That turning is the test of your trussing&#8212;I had been lazy and the wobbly legs started some ugly fissures in the skin. In general with roasting, I let the chicken brown, back down, in an ovenproof pan for 5 to 10 minutes, then, without turning, throw the whole thing into the oven to finish roasting; it gives the longer-to-cook thighs a head start over the breasts. Next time, I think I might incorporate this step into the method and not bother turning at all.}</i> for 20 minutes, then pour the remaining sherry over the chicken. (If the tips of the legs start to brown during cooking, cover them in foil.) Return to the oven and roast, basting occasionally, for about 40 minutes more, until the chicken is tender and cooked through. Check that it is done by piercing the thickest part of the thigh with the tip of a sharp knife; if the juices run clear and the meat is no longer pink, the chicken is cooked. Carve the chicken <i>{I let mine rest for a little while}</i> and spoon out the stuffing onto a warm serving dish. Serve immediately with the sauce.</p>


	<p><i>{The combination of sherry apples and ham plus chicken juices is just scrumptious. Thanks in part to my less-than-stellar trussing, the bird wasn&#8217;t the prettiest roast I&#8217;ve made (the apple mixture comes out sort of putty brown, too), but man was that sauce good.}</i></p>


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