The Calçotada: Spain's Answer to Hill Country BBQ

Welcome back to the Field Trip folks. After about a month without a fresh post, I present you one of the greatest culinary experiences imaginable, and a true field trip, as the only place on earth where I know this feast occurs is Catalonia (Spain). It's also the longest thing I may ever write on this blog, but well worth it.

Let me begin by talking about what I talk about best: Things Dutchie Likes. If you've ever met me, or spent time around me, or overheard a conversation where I was deeply engrossed in the subject matter, there's a really good chance it was about how much I love Spain, and especially Barcelona and the Catalan people. My first trip to Barcelona was 2.5 years ago, which was likely the 8 best consecutive days I have ever had in my life; I have been back a few more times since, and vow to make it back as often as possible. My friends from their foreign exchange in Austin, Toni, Manu, Xavi, and David (and later Nacho) have shown me the best parts of their city (which is the Greatest City on Earth, mind you), and allowed me to meet a number of their friends, see hidden spots, and eat only the best.

Bar Tomas - A hidden gem in Barcelona you won't find in tour guides

After my first trip to BCN and watching Tony Bourdain's trip to Spain on No Reservations (my favorite episode of TV's best show), I was dead set that I must try calçots, as quickly as possible. Fellow Fat Kid and Barcelona enthusiast, Leach, described the first time he tried a calçot while he was living in Barcelona as a food revelation. To steal again from Bourdain, every person who becomes seriously hooked on food will always remember their "first" time food became something more than simply enjoyment and turned into an obsession. For Bourdain it was eating an oyster as a boy, plucked from the sea in southern France. For Leach, it was a calçotada, in the same city (Valls) as I just had my first calçotada. For me, it was my first risotto, which to this day is still my absolute favorite food when prepared correctly.

I alerted Toni and Manu in January that I would be in London working for a week in February, flying to Barcelona at the end of the work week, and spending 36 hours there before flying back to Austin. As usual, I get a quick response welcoming me to their homes, and saying they have a few things planned for me. I don't really find out the agenda until a few days before I arrive in Barca, but when I do I couldn't be happier: Arrive in BCN at 10pm > Party @ Opium or Sutton > Sleep > Calçotada > Poker > Party in Sant Cugat > Airport > Back to Austin.

36 hours could not be better spent. So I arrive, we party, we sleep, we get up, and we are on our way to Valls, Catalonia for a calçotada. There are 10 of us on this excursion: Dutchie, Toni, Alex, Manu, Nacho, Albert, Jordi, Nacho2, David, and Xavi. In 4 separate cars we speed to Valls, the supposed birthplace of the calçotada.

Oh, it seems I got a bit excited and forgot to explain: What exactly is a calçotada/calçot?

 Calçots awaiting their ultimate fiery fate

A calçot is a cultivated onion that looks much like an oversided green onion or a leek, but tastes something like a cross between a cipollini onion and a leek. They have large, green, inedible, leafy portions at the top that look like the tops of a green onion/leek, but with a much larger "root" area at the bottom that is downright delicious. They are only available about half of the year (late November through April), so people tend to obsess about them when in season. The most famous way of eating a Calçot is roasted and dunked in romesco, although I have also had a preparation that was sauteed with Cepes (Spanish porcini mushrooms) that was excellent as well. Calçotadas are giant feasts solely focused around the calçot, with a bunch of traditional Catalan goodies thrown in for good measure.


Our restaurant and Valls itself are where the similarities between a life changing Texas BBQ excursion and a calçotada begin. Valls is a small town of about 2000 people, located along a scenic and hilly 60-90 minute drive from Barcelona. The locals are very Catalan, with a few of the guys in our crew joking that even though they live in Spain, there may be a few residents of this area that only speak the Catalan language. When calçots are in season, thousands flock upon the city every weekend to enjoy a world-class calçotada. They stuff their face on endless supplies of heavily smoke infused products, almost to the point of sickness. Although just about anyone in Catalonia can burn the main course (calçots) on a grill and serve it with the traditional sauce (romesco), people drive to great distances to have their burnt offerings and their sauce. Starting to see the similarities between this and Texas BBQ?

Xavi, our resident from Valls recommended Cal Ganxo as the best place to have a calçotada. I couldn't argue. We find out later that the family who owns and operates Cal Ganxo only works 6 months a year (calçot season), and vacations the other 6 months a year. Remember when I said there were thousands of people who come to Valls for calçotadas every weekend? There must have been 200 cars in the parking lot at 3pm, and they do multiple seatings every day they are open.

One of the many quaint, family style dining halls at Cal Ganxo. They have a few just like this or larger on each of the restaurant's stories

Leading up to the restaurant you actually get to see the calçots roasting. It's quite a sight, similar to the open pits at Smitty's Market as you walk in. Tremendous heat, open, roaring flames, and your lunch sitting right in front of you, charring away. The stacks of grape vines lie meters high and meters wide, again reminding me of the thousands of pounds of wood sitting alongside Kruez market's walls, waiting to imbibe smokey goodness into your food.

After a beer or two waiting outside, our group of 10 was finally seated inside. As we sit down the table is garnished only with a few plates for every 2 to 3 people (to place the inedible parts of the calçot), bowls filled with Romesco, some freshly baked bread, a few porrons (more on this later) filled with red wine, and a plastic bib for each person at the table. The bibs are a must, as I couldn't imagine what we would all look like without them. Nearly everyone managed to spill romesco/char/red wine/grease on themselves at some point. Like good Texas BBQ, a fork and knife would be more of a hassle than an advantage, so you just go in face first.

At Cal Ganxo it is an all you can eat affair - as much as you want of anything they have to offer for the set price of 40 euros a head. The first round is dedicated solely to calçots, the second to some meat and sides, the third to Crema Catalana. The calçots are presented to the table in upside down wood shingles, unwrapped from their newspaper shield in front of your eyes, and steaming hot. As with many of nature's greatest creations, the smaller calçots were sweeter, more tender, and more desirable, while the larger ones were more fibrous, less sweet, and less flavorful.

Bundles of 20-30 calçots at a time were dispensed every 10 minutes or so until our eyes were about to bulge. Jordi (the bastard) continued ordering more to be placed in front of us, long after I waived the white flag, and being the guest I had the honor of devouring the final 3 calçots before the second course started. To give you perspective, our table of 10 must have had each of our three baskets/shingles refilled 5-8 times before moving on to the next course. We're talking 30-40 calçots a person - before we get to grilled meats and dessert.

Eating a calçot comes in 4 steps:

1) Hold on to the green leafy end, and peel the burnt ends off from the bottom. I could make a few lewd/phallic comments here, but you all get the idea.

2) Thoroughly dunk the newly cleaned bottom portion of the calçot in romesco

3) Devour, biting down below the green portion and ripping away the soft and sweet flesh in one bite

4) Moan in ecstasy. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And so we went along steps 1-4, for what seemed to be both an instant and an eternity. Conversation ceased (or carried on in Catalan only, so I focused only on the food), wine was drank, romesco was devoured, bellies were stuffed.

Let's take a minute to appreciate romseco, the Catalan sauce of the gods. To continue the Texas BBQ metaphor, romesco is the perfect BBQ sauce. Carrying on the meal without sauce is risking a one-note dining experience, while the perfect sauce is complementary to whatever you are eating in every way without taking over. Romesco is a blended sauce made of roasted peppers, roasted onions, garlic, vinegar, almonds/hazelnuts, toasted bread, and good olive oil. Some recipes (such as the one I fancy) also add roasted tomatoes for sweetness, vinegar, and pimenton (Spanish smoked paprika), amongst other things. A truly divine romesco is smokey, sweet, tangy, and chunky - balancing each of the sensations to create a sauce I could eat on just about anything.

Between gorging ourselves on calçots and romesco, we all had a few passes of the porrons. Essentially a wine decanter with a spout and handle, these little bastards were an effective way of serving red table wine and a lot of fun. The further you could pull the porro away from your mouth, the more wine you could drink (and the bigger badass you were). After a few tries you really think you have got the hold of it until someone steps in and shows you how the pros do it. Thanks, Nacho.

Once we finally surrendered to the calçots, we still had two more courses to go. The first, grilled meats, veggies, and sides, all prepared with the (now cooled) coals that cooked the calçots. Steak, lamb, morcilla (a tremendous blood sausage), botifarra (traditional Catalan sausages), grilled artichokes, and Catalan white beans all showed up in an instant. Along with them, a few bottles of Cava (Catalan Champagne) were opened, and a few ramekins of Alioli (Catalan Aioli that is more garlic than mayonnaise, and sometimes contains no egg at all). The morcilla was the real standout of the group, perfectly plump, charred, and rich. It was amazing to see anyone eating after the mountain of calçots we finished, but somehow we all managed to power through. Unsurprisingly, there were no additional orders of meat delivered to our table - one round was more than enough.

Grilled Artichokes and Morcilla surrounding a bed of Catalan White Beans

Botifarra and a few different types of grilled lamb, set over the remaining charcoals from the calçots

Finally came the Crema Catalana, a bit more Cava, and a plate of oranges to finish off the meal. Crema Catalana is a variation of crème brûlée, but slightly more eggy and loose. An excellent cap to an overindulgent meal, the family style servings remained about half finished on both sides of the table as total and complete lethargy began to set in. The oranges and cava, however, were polished off rather quickly.

The final point of comparison with Texas BBQ came within seconds of leaving the restaurant. Our clothes stank of smoke and onions, our bellies resembled women 7 months pregnant, our minds and bodies exhausted. It was like some of the worst meat coma I've ever experienced. We lethargically got back into the cars, and drove back home; only the driver managing to stay awake for the entire duration of the trip.


And so, dear readers, there is the entirely too lengthy and methodical description of one of the best, and certainly the most unique meals I have ever had in my life. Texans have their BBQ, Catalans have their calçotadas. This never would have been possible if not for my unbelievable friends, so a huge thank you to the Spaniards: Toni, Manu, Nacho, Albert, Jordi, David, Xavi, and Alex. Let me know how I can ever repay the favor and I'll be sure to make it happen.

Adeu

-Dutch