Markets

For those of you who do not speak Basque and may have been confused by yesterday’s post, agur is Basque for “goodbye.”

Yes, I have left San Sebastian, back in my home of Paris. So what’s with the piquillo peppers? I’ll get to that.

Coming back to Paris was a little bit of a shock for me: I wasn’t entirely sure if I would be happy to be back, miss Spain, be too cold, get along well with my cousin with whom I am now living… However I needn’t have worried: Paris welcomed me back with open arms. I am loving living with my cousin (back in my old neighborhood), and as far as this city is concerned… well, it feels so close to home after exploring and discovering a new city that three times today I’ve been convinced I was actually back in New York. (Granted, I was inside working, but still: it was strange to realize that my mother was not on the same time zone as I was, that there was no way I could go out to a SoHo bar tonight, and that the people I should be sending my “wanna do something tonight?” texts were my friends from here, Paris, my new home. Not New York.)

I guess what I’m trying to say in a strange and roundabout way is that coming back to Paris from San Sebastian was a bit like coming home: you drop your luggage and instead of looking around excitedly for new things to discover, you just fall back into an old and comfortable routine, like a pair of flannel pants: worn, used, familiar. Perfect.

But that doesn’t mean, in any way, that I miss San Sebastian any less. Luckily, I still have these market pictures, which I have been meaning to post for you, which means that I can go on a gastronomical walk down memory lane to all of the things that are no longer available to me, like bacalao, which became a food group for me while living there: salty and tasting of the sea.

In contrast with the Parisian markets (which you can see in the first two photos), everything in the Spainsh markets seemed to be personalized. I’ve been to tons of markets in Paris, and wherever you go, you find the same things. The same was true in San Sebastian, but little personal touches, like putting olives on toothpicks, made the vendors seem different to me.

I love that they’ve marked that the oranges are “very sweet.”

These cabbages were larger than anything I’ve ever seen, even in the States.

I don’t remember what these were called, but I remember the woman who urged me to take a taste: they have the texture of a light apple, and they’re tiny, about the size of a kumquat. I loved the acidic taste, almost too sour to eat out of hand, but with a hint of sweetness that makes it possible and even enjoyable for those like me, who like to eat baking apples and used to eat lemons from the rind.

Beans are an important part of a Northern Spanish diet. These black alubias, which turn brick red when cooked, are used to make a traditional dish of stewed beans served with various meats and cabbage. It’s delicious and extremely filling!

I’m no stranger to cheese after the markets of Paris, but the varieties offered in Spain are much different from what you would find in France. Many of them are sheepsmilk cheeses, and often, the vendor comes with his or her own cheeses straight to the market to sell directly to customers, which makes cheese an affordable luxury.

Membrillo is the typical Spanish accompaniment to cheese: sweet quince jelly that can be sliced and stacked atop wedges of manchego…

…or paired with already spreadable cheese! Nuts, called nueces in Spanish, round out the tastes. The three items never seem to be far apart on menus or in markets in Spain.

These squash were massive and bright orange in the center.

Two lone pigeons lay amongst a display of apples, for sale as-is, with the feathers and head still attached.

Guindillas became one of my favorite foods: I ate them by the kilo roasted simply with salt, olive oil and garlic.

One of my favorite things were these red piquillo peppers, bright red and shaped like tongues. They were featured on nearly every restaurant menu in some form, but I didn’t buy mine here.

Or here.

At one market, I found a stand selling peppers roasted to order. They would dump massive buckets of the peppers into this roasting machine, and out they would pop, charred black on the outside.

Crates stacked up all around of peppers they had already sold throughout the day. Customers were buying them by the kilo, ready to jar them for the winter.

I myself bought a kilo and set about making peppers stuffed with bacalao, a typical pintxo in San Sebastian, and one that I love.

The peppers are stuffed with brandade, as it is also called in French, oddly enough. It’s a combination of bacalao, garlic and cream, and is divine. Unfortunately, when in San Sebastian, I was in a wetsuit every day… not terribly forgiving material. Luckily, I put my thinking cap on and came up with a version that is both delicious and not quite as high calorie as the traditional version, which I assume you would need to eat every day if you were herding your own sheep, making your own cheese and carting your own peppers to market.

I am back in the land of mini-légumes, and I’m happy about it, so please excuse the occasional post that sounds a little bit nostalgic: I can’t help it if I left part of my heart back in San Sebastian.

Roasted Guindillas
2 cups guindillas, washed and dried
1 tsp. salt
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tsp. olive oil

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees F. Toss all the ingredients together in a pan, and place in the oven. Roast for 15 minutes total, tossing once halfway through cooking time.

Not-So-Bad-For-You Brandade-Stuffed Piquillo Peppers with Piquillo Pepper Sauce
2 pounds roasted piquillo peppers, the skins removed
1 tsp. olive oil
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
3 small potatoes
250 g. salt cod, rehydrated
1 T. whipping cream
salt and pepper

If your peppers were fresh, carefully remove the stem and seeds without ripping the pepper, so that it retains its cone form. Reserve 10 of the best-shaped peppers, and dice the rest.

Heat the olive oil in a saucepan and add the onion, diced, and one clove of garlic, minced. Sauté until the onion is translucent, and then add the diced red peppers. Cook over low heat, stirring occasionally. Add water by the half-cupful until the peppers have fallen apart and formed a chunky sauce, about 30 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, heat the cream, salt cod, potatoes and other clove of garlic (whole) in a saucepan. Add 1 cup of water and cook, stirring occasionally, until the cod has broken down and has a creamy texture. When the clove of garlic has completely broken down and been incorporated into the mixture, it’s ready (about 30 minutes). Season with black pepper.

Using a spoon, stuff the cod mixture into the reserved peppers, and carefully place into the sauce. Heat until just heated through, and serve.