Choice products from Spain's Growing Organic Movement

The best kinds of trips are those that continue to yield pleasures and surprises long after they are over. Our March break trip to Spain turned out to be exactly that type. Last week, five months after our return, a connection made in Spain boomeranged back into my life in a happy way.

The  story centers on chocolate, a delicious dark organic chocolate made with olive oil by a boutique company in Madrid, Chocolate Organiko. I came upon it at a small shop in the enchanting Barrio de las Lettras neighborhood of Madrid. It was meant as a gift but you know how it goes--I ended up devouring it before I could bestow in on another, and fell in love.

Chocolate Oganiko started in 2006 when husband and wife Carlos Ortiz and Eugenia Pozo set up a small chocolate workshop. The venture may have been an expression of Carlos's genes, or at least of the family's underwear: his grandfather bought and sold products from the Spanish colonies, roasting his own new world coffee beans and transforming his cocoa beans into chocolate. His grandmother, meanwhile, made underwear for her children out of the soft sacks used for cane sugar, cocoa, and coffee beans.

Ortiz and Pozo decided their product would be completely organic, sourced Trinitario cocoa beans from small growers in the Dominican Republic and Trinidad, and set to work. When I tried to find out if I could buy the brand in the U.S., I found one of the company's European distributors, Inés Arteaga. While her Barcelona-based company, Organic Gourmet, will ship to the U.S. only for special requests made by snail mail, she informed me that the online shop La Tienda does handle online U.S. orders. (I've since found an even more complete selection of the Organiko line at ChefShop.com.) Inés and I  struck up a friendly correspondence, and I gave her some advice on jazz clubs in New York for a trip she was planning with her family.

This week, I met the Arteaga family at the Metropolitan Museum: Inés, husband Manel (Manuel in Catalan), daughter Clara and son Pablo. Inés's passion for organic products stems from her upbringing in Navarra, in northwest Spain. Her father tended to a small organic farm, but instead of following her love for the land, Inés at first pursued careers as a pharmacist then winemaker. It was after those experiences that she decided she wanted to return to the ideal of organic farming, but on the retail end. Her Organic Gourmet mail-order business, launched in 2012,  is dedicated to promoting and selling the finest organic products of Spain.

As in the U.S., many conventional farmers in Spain are gradually going organic. But while the rich agricultural soil of Spain and the know-how of its farmers has made it the number one producer of organic vegetables in Europe and the fifth in the world, almost all of the country's organic bounty is exported. It's a little like what writer Paul Greenberg has been telling us America does with its high-quality wild fish catch.

In Spain, the growth and export of its best organic produce is driven by two factors: outside consumer demand from wealthier EU countries, and a Spanish economy that has been in crisis for the last six years. Unemployment hovers at 26%, and if we think millenials have it bad in America, the unemployment rate is 50% for the 6 million Spanish youths under 24. Buying organic is not in the average person's budget in a country where everyone from PhD holders to sex workers have had to leave the country to find work. While we were in Spain, protests erupted in Madrid, and everywhere we saw the graffitied slogan "22M Marcha a Madrid" raising awareness before a March 22 "March of Dignity" to protest austerity measures, evictions, unemployment and widespread poverty.

So you can see why Inés's business, which is supporting small producers who are trying to help their country go green, might have had a rocky start. In any case, her excellent products are carefully selected for quality and taste, from jamón ibérico, honeys, olive oils and vinegar to seaweed chimichurri salsas, these delicious sweet and savory biscuits from Paul and Pippa, and of course Chocolate Organiko. If you are living anywhere in the EU, check out the website and do your part to invigorate Spain's economy!

In Andalusia, On the Hunt for Salmorejo

I'm in Andalusia, Spain now, soaking in some much-needed sun and discovering the joys of salmorejo. It's a delicious local version of gazpacho, the color of a Creamsicle and blended smooth and thick as a good milkshake. This dish is savory, though, made with very ripe tomatoes, bread, extra-virgin olive oil, Jerez sherry vinegar, and garlic.

Originally from Cordoba, salmorejo appears on menus across Andalusia. I've loved each version of this cold, refreshing soup that I've tried. At one charming patio restaurant in the old Jewish quarter of Seville, our waitress came by to sprinkle the top of our salmorejo with chopped onions, tomatoes and red peppers.

The San Fernando restaurant at the Hotel Alfonso XIII in Seville makes this classic version, which comes topped with hard boiled egg, the yolks and whites separated into neat opposing quadrants, along with chopped tomatoes and black olives. Finishing the dish are shards of crispy cured and dried Iberico ham.

San Fernando sommelier Gregory Bossuyt notes that sometimes salmorejo comes topped with pieces of dried tuna instead of ham, or for vegetarians, with diced red and yellow peppers and cucumber.

At the Marbella Club Hotel in Marbella, the salmorejo was
 lighter in texture and heavier on the vinegar.

Chef Jorge Manfredi's take on the salmorejo
 at DMercao, Seville.  

The most adventurous and unusual salmorejo that I tried was at the tapas restaurant DMercao, where Chef Jorge Manfredi liberally mixes Japanese techniques and ingredients with classic Andalusian products. The first course of a highly inventive tasting menu we tried was a orange salmorejo, garnished with an umami-bomb of a tuna confit cigarillo.

Manfredi says that this dish is a version of a salmorejo that won him third place in the Jornadas Gastronomicas de la Naranja, a competition that began as a way to encourage local chefs to use the ubiquitous bitter Seville orange that now hang heavy on trees throughout the city. Most of them end up as exports to England, where they will be boiled into submission and turned into the Seville orange marmalade so beloved there.

His prize-winning orange salmorejo, Manfredi, says, was made with the juice of the Seville orange and topped with flaked bacalao (dried salt cod) and frizzled leeks.

Chef Manfredi was kind enough to share his recipe for the salmorejo he made for us. If you make it at home, try pairing it, as Manfredi does, with a pale and delicate Manzanilla sherry. You'll have the makings of your own Andalusian experience.

Orange Salmorejo with Tuna Kikkoman

For the salmorejo:

1 liter fresh-squeezed orange juice
300 grams of white bread
1 clove garlic
a bit of water
Salt and sugar to taste

For the Tuna Confit Kikkoman:

130 grams fresh tuna, vacuum sealed cooked at 140 degrees fahrenheit for 30 minutes
Store-bought spring roll or won ton wrapper
Carrot
Leek
Kikkoman soy sauce
1 egg, beaten

Preparation:

For the salmorejo: combine all ingredients in a blender for six minutes. Strain and refrigerate. It should be fluffy and soft on the palate.

For the tuna: Finely chop the leek and carrot. In a bowl mix the tuna, carrot and leek. Season with soy sauce to taste. Fill and roll the won ton wrapper with tuna and roll into a baton shape. Seal with a little beaten egg. Fry in 338-degree fahrenheit oil.

To finish: 

Fill a cocktail glass with orange salmorejo and garnish with the Kikkoman baton. 

In Spain, an Ancient Japanese Fish Processing Technique

In America we know it as the imitation crab stick of the California roll. In Japan it commonly appears as kamaboko (fish cake), and in China as fish balls. I'm talking about surimi, a resourceful product that makes use of fish protein that would otherwise go to waste. It came as a surprise, though, to find surimi being hawked in Madrid's Mercado de San Miguel.

There, I came across a food cart run by Ale Vin Cocina Creativa, selling surimi in the form of gulas, short for angulas. These are the tiny, two-inch-long elver eels that they resemble, which are much loved by Basques but in dwindling supply.  It all made more sense after reading this 1994 New York Times article  by Mark Kurlansky. Back then, Basques looked upon these imitation gulas with suspicion, checking to see if the worm-like creatures had faces on them before partaking. Funny, since many Americans would have the opposite problem, finding it hard to each something that small with a face.

Gulas are traditionally served with olive oil, garlic and peppers;
these are garlic flavored. 

Gula tapas.

Twenty years after Kurlanskly wrote this article, though, these surimi gulas are now taken for granted as a necessity and a form of sustainable fishing and eating. This article describes a new partnership to create gulas from Norwegian salmon. As the explanatory placard at Ale Vin's cart describes, making these faux gulas harnesses "an ancient technique from Japan." White meat from five Alaska pollock become a kilogram of gula surimi through that addition of color and flavor, and after, I assume, the paste is extruded into gula look-alike shapes. The result: "Pure fish protein with high nutritional value."