Shrimps a la plancha

Shrimps are so sweet. When my John was about 12, he used to do them on the grill for Sunday lunch, carefully heating it up with charcoal to get two minutes of fire--all it took to make them juicy and full of smoke. And he'd put them proudly in the middle of the table and we'd dig in peeling them, with lots of crusty bread.

Now I usually just saute them quickly, with a bit of butter, lemon and garlic--or other seasonings. And I buy them peeled and deveined. Something lost. But are still sweet and good, if I don't overcook them.

But last month I got to go to Barcelona where they cook everything A la Plancha, on a stainless steel griddle, hot, with olive oil. I had the best meal of the trip no doubt at a seafood bar in city market, La Bouqueria--the butcher shop. It is a huge market, with all the fruits and vegetables and meats laid out like a painting. And this little bar is tucked in the back, and locals and vendors come by for a quick coffee or cava (Spanish champagne, drunk like Coke, as far as I can tell). The combo platter I had contained seven things. And all was drenched in an herbed seafood broth (la soupa). Salty and marvelous. The best seafood I think I've ever had.

So when I got back, I tried it shrimp a la plancha. I worked (see above, on the deck, where John used to grill them). I flamed them at the end with a little Pernod, to make it French of course. However, the Catalans have a strong French streak in them. And the southern French are starting to cook A la Plancha too, judging from recipes I've been reading. So here it is, with a few shots of Barcelona for good measure.

Serves 2. 5 minutes total.

1/2 pound peeled, deveined shrimp (24 to the pound or 32* to the pound)
1 tablespoon butter
1 lemon
1 clove garlic (or 1 teaspoon minced garlic in olive oil)

1. Heat a large skillet on high.
2. Peel and mince the garlic (or open the jar of minced garlic in oil)
3. Combine the garlic, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, and butter in a ramekin and microwave 20 seconds
4. Add 1 tablespoon cooking oil to the skillet and add the shrimp for one minute, or until they begin to just brown a touch, and turn pink on the cooking side.
5. Off heat. Toss them to turn, and with a fork or tongs turn those that didn't flip.
6. Add the butter mixture, cover, and shake.
7. Serve after one minute under the cover.
   
   

Here's the cook at the seafood bar working two planchas at once. Even the two kinds of clams and the mussels go on the plancha, but with a domed pot lid to steam them. And the squid comes about three ways--the body cavity sliced like calimari, but grilled, the tentacles soft and meaty, and little teeny squid you eat whole and crunchy, like a hairy potato chip. The sardines were a truly amazing food. So sweet. In fact everyting literally tasted sweet.

Most of the secret is no secret. The fish is superbly fresh, and the stuff on the combo plate was (so they assured me) right out of the Mediterranean that morning. The vendors were great at cutting the fish up with these huge knives, and always offered to send the bones and trimmings home (por la soupa), and seemed disapponted when refused.

I also really liked all the meat, mostly pork. The hams were hanging in every butcher shop. They's strip off paper thin slices and sell them for very high prices. Each region, each farm even, noted and advertised, like wineries. I sampled several, and it tased different than the Virginia hams I've had or the French ones. Can't say how. And they also have, lots and lots of bones for sale too.
You can eat very high on the hog there, all the way around the ears and snout. Oh, but of course most of the time the ears and snout of a hog are down in the feeding trough.

The people at the conference were very genial, and we ate a lot of tapas together. In fact, one meals was entirely tapas. Here's the tapas we had at a fancy seafood restaurant on the harbor. Tiny clams, squid, codfish balls, and the lightest vegetables fried tempura-like. I don't know how they got them so light.

Mussels: Moules marinière

These must be God's fast food, or fast food of the gods. Out behind the Gran' Place in Brussels, there are bunches of these moules joints, jammed full of locals at lunch (I was there in February). They bring these steaming crocks and tons of bread. And you just dig in and get good and messy, and then mop up the juice with the bread. The frites are the best in the world there, but they barely rate an afterthought compared to those black bivalves.

I was just amazed, years ago, when I first cooked them. They were cheap, I recall. I filled up a big pot, put in maybe a half cup of white wine i had left, steamed them up, and they pushed the lid off, like popcorn. There was just so much of their own liquor they drool out when they open! It mingled with the wine (or whatever) and made it better than the finest fancy fish fumet to me .

Serves 4 as a first course. [MAFC I 226 FC10M 75-76]

• Two quarts of mussels, well washed and scribbed (have the market do this!)
• 1 cup dry white wine or vermouth
• 2 tablespoons scallion white, chopped finely.
  
• 4 parsley sprigs
• 1 thyme sprig
• bay leaf
  

1. In a four quart pot or fait-tout over high heat (ideally with a clear glass lid), heat all the ingredients, covered, except the mussels. Salt and pepper.
2. Add the mussels and cover. Steam for four minutes or until they are almost all open.
3. Divide them and the liquor into bowls. Serve very hot, garnished with chopped parsley.
   

Check out the full panoramic photo above from Wiki Commons, GNU Copyright. Click it, and when it opens, click again. Gran' Place looks just like that at night.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/0e/Grand_Place_panorama.jpg

Les Saint Jaques (ou crevettes) en bouillebaisse

Julia gives a lovely little recipe for scallops or shrimp with Provencal flavors. II 37. I add a little Pernod for that Provence alcoholic licorice flavor (a hint of fresh tarragon in summer will do as well or better).

And I use canned "fire-roasted" diced tomatoes with garlic, which they didn't have in Julia's day. I have no more need to justify using the occasional canned product than Julia needed for canned tomato paste or stock. There. But it's almost as quick in high summer tomato season to chop up some big fresh ones, cutting away as much of the peel as is convenient.

Good bread is always good with soup. Couscous, orzo, or reheated rice, will work too, and can be prepared in the same or less time than the stew.

Serves 4 as a main, or 6 as a starter

1/4 cup olive oil
1 and 1/2 cups (combined) yellow onions, scallions, and/or leeks, all sliced very thin.
2 large garlic cloves
2 tablespoons fresh herbs or 2 teaspoons herbs de Provence.
1 can (14 ounce) fire roasted tomatoes with garlic, drained, reserving the liquid
3 cups liquid (tomato liquid, clam juice, white wine, or water)
1 pound scallops and/or shrimp (deveined and, if you wish, peeled)
(optional: 1 tablespoon Pernod, Ricard, or other licorice-flavored liqueur)
(optional: Cajun seasoning or pepper flakes)
(Aioli sauce)

1. Heat a fait-tout over high heat and add the olive oil and onions (or leeks) and garlic mashed in a press. Chop and add the herbs. Reduce the heat to medium and cook three minutes, covered.
   
2. Add the drained canned diced tomatoes and the liquid. Cover and boil for three minutes.
3. Add the shrimp and/or scallops, and the optional Pernod. Season with salt and pepper and Cajun seasoning or red pepper flakes, to taste. Boil two minutes, covered.
   
4. Serve in soup bowls, garnished with fresh herbs used in the sauce and/or aioli. Can be served as a simple stew or over over rice, orzo, or couscous.