Like many trophies and treasures, there have been many claims to the origin and home of Spain’s national dish, Paella. The endless modifying and by some bastardizing by the diversion from the original recipe of chicken, rabbit,…..it’s regional embracing has resulted in boundless variations. One common element that is never given grace to divert from is the slightly burnt crusted bottom. Some places still do it Nemy style, cooking it over a traditional wood fire.
(Our lovely rooms have provided TV’s almost exclusive to Spanish language channels. Thats fine. We usually end up leaving it on some visual entertainment, sometimes cooking. We were once watching this animated lady waving her hands and feverishly dumping all these ingredients in this bowl before we realized it was the Spanish version of Property Brothers and she was trying to unplug a toilet.)
We have been cautiously heeding the advice of not having it at an establishment that attempts to lure patrons in by hanging a picture of this culinary classic out it’s door.
Here we have weaved our way amongst the tables of what is a Spaniard’s most sacred meal of the week, Sunday lunch. What more appropriate to serve is Spain’s most sacred meal, Paella.
With help of our villa’s owner, we have our meal planned out long before we arrive.
A rather unsettling part of meal is that I’m not sure if I’ll ever have Calamare again.
Does one try to beat the best you have ever had!
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