Spanish Traditional Cooking Class – Barcelona Cooking School
Sweat poured down my cheeks, onto my neck and dripped down into my bra. It was another extremely hot morning in Barcelona—July 4th to be exact—and one of the few days of this summer’s epic heat wave of Europe 2019. Because I write about traditional cooking in my new culinary travel series, Savoring the Olde Ways, my husband and I were on a mission—to find the location of one special Spanish traditional cooking class known as, Just Royal BCN. As noted in their brochures, it was to be a ‘gastronomic space, which for its idiosyncrasy and location in the heart of Barcelona at the Plaça Reial, was ideal.” Whatever the “ideal” was meant to be, we had no idea, but at least we had found the Plaça Reial, which was the local plaza, where the cooking school was to be located.
Slogging across the Rambla, a main thoroughfare in old Barcelona, skittering past motor scooters and an onslaught of cars, dodging between pedestrians and avoiding the collapse and spillage of a full cart of canned beer onto the sidewalk, we made our way into a courtyard. As luck would have it, it was in yet another courtyard where we found the door, rang the buzzer, and were allowed to ascend to the third-floor apartment— (which in Europe, of course, is the fourth floor). Oh, my! No elevator here! Four floors of winding uneven steps on both wood and stone in a darkened stairwell, we wound up, up, up, until we were finally swept into a veritable blast of air-conditioned wonder. As we headed to the nearest sofa to collapse, our cheerful host and cooking instructor, Teresa, thrust a couple of glasses of water into our hands. Saved!
Surprisingly, we were early, and I had a moment to look around the brightly lit, modern and nicely appointed rooms. Black and white tile floors swept through the dining room (already formally set for ten) and sitting room with a white fireplace (not needed right now). Vases with arrangements of driftwood and green plants. Chrome and white chairs, sofa and bar stools composed the sitting area. And separating the modern cooking station with seating for ten was an ornate Moorish-style room divider. Classy!
Within moments of our arrival, other stalwart sorts lumbered into the room, grabbed glasses of water, and before introductions could even be made, we were rushed out the door and back down those same dark steps—did I mention the darkness before?—and into the furnace of the day. We were off to the Farmer’s Market, which was only a few short blocks away and right off the Rambla.
Now, I must tell you, I absolutely love the colorful array at a farmers’ market. The displays and tables are piled high with the most luscious and lasciviously arranged red, purple and blue fruits, melons and berries. Piles of pink shellfish with silver and black freshly caught seafood were cradled in troughs of ice. Ah, but, assortments of fresh local cheeses, olives, Iberian ham and salami slices were held in second place to the famous acorn-fed Jamón Ibérico de Bellota (black hams) which were hanging on hooks wearing personalized black zip-off coats. (Oh, this could set one back a whole month’s salary.) Plus, there were displays of fresh pastries, almond candy nougat, saffron and more spices in abundance. (Oh, but no black pepper and I’ll tell you about that later.) My senses were on overwhelm on this magical whirlwind tour. No, we were not given time to purchase anything, yet I had discovered a treasure trove of edible delights and was in my glory.
Teresa introduced us to her favorite purveyors, we bought only fresh tomatoes, took another quick look over our shoulders, and hurried back down the boulevard. (She had shopped earlier that morning—6 a.m., I believe—for all the fresh seafood we would be preparing in the many different recipes she had in mind for us.) Back up those lengthy steps we went, and before settling into our seats at the demonstration table, glasses of water were once again administered–and, oh, white wine was also served. Okay now, we were ready.
We donned our black aprons and leaned in close as Teresa began teaching us some of the finer points of Spanish cuisine. “Some of you might consider Spanish food to be spicy,” she began, “but that is not the case. We love our food, but we do not love spicy food. So, if you find a black pepper shaker on a table in a restaurant, please know that it is only for you tourists. We never touch the stuff!” she said with a lift of her chin. And, then she smiled. We were already eating out of her hand and . . . oh first we started with the preparation of tortilla de patatas, of which we needed to cut the onions, potatoes, break a few eggs, and boil the potatoes in two cups of olive oil.
“Two cups?” we wailed.
“Oh, my yes. But we always reuse our olive oil. It is perfectly good for a number of days after its first use if stored well.”
We were dumbfounded. Who knew? I buy my olive oil through an olive oil club, which is much like a wine club, but not quite, and the price of a few precious ounces can give one pause for overuse. It was obvious I had much to learn. And, we still hadn’t started on the paella!
In the course of three hours more, with plenty of ‘cooking’ wine to sustain us, we were able to participate in the creation of the Tortilla Patata, which is a potato omelet; Pescaito Frito (small fried fish); Catalan Cream (Spanish crème brulée); Spanish grilled jumbo shrimp; and—ta da!—seafood-filled Paella (with mussels, clams, calamari, squid, and jumbo shrimp, oh my!). Definitely the freshest tasting and best paella I’ve ever encountered! Well, you had to be there! And, you could be, if you just contact the folks at Just Royal BCN the next time you are in Barcelona. It was certainly an experience of a lifetime and one more peek inside another exciting culinary culture. Olé! Olé!
Carole Bumpus
Great article, Carole. I felt I was right there cooking with you.