Dirty Paella in a Skillet

Now purists will tell you you need a fancy-dan double handled, golfball-dimpled implement called a paellera to make the most famous Spanish dish, a frankly grotesque menagerie of land and sea creatures and the occasional legume all laid to rest in a perfumed yellow grave. I guess I could have gone out and searched the gourmet shops and shelled out for such an item, only to stow it away and forget about it.  It's not every year the urge to cook a saffrony one-pot feast takes hold of me, and when it does it's just as likely to be a bone marrow-laden risotto.  I did actually consider looking for a paellera for about 3 minutes.  Then I glanced over at my trusty 12" skillet and saw that she was giving me the puppy dog look and I knew.  It was skillet paella or bust.

Some of the essentials

I'm not much into busting in the kitchen.  So I wrangled up the ingredients for a mixed paella: short grain Valencian rice (like the "bomba" variety), saffron, shrimp, clams, fish (wild King salmon, tradition be buggered), sausage (andouille standing in for chorizo), onion, garlic, paprika, red bell pepper, broth (turkey broth, the last traces of thanksgiving), thyme, marjoram, tomato puree, lemon.  And I saw that it was good.  Five kinds of critter and enough flavor to give a donkey pause.    





Truth be told I'd never made paella before and I was almost intimidated by the timing of all the pre-frying and removing and replacing of various meats and bivalves from said trusty skillet.  But take it one thing at a time and you can hardly go wrong, I told myself.  Do what you know how to do, namely sizzle things on a black cast iron surface until the grease oozes out and soothes your heart.  Stare into the rippling lipid currents and know your future.

Before we get to the frying, I want to introduce the unsung co-star of greezy skillet cookery, the humongous mortar and pestle.  Mine must weigh as much as three big skillets.  Grey granite, smooth as ice and twice as nasty.  In this Thai behemoth I reduced the garlic, thyme, marjoram, paprika, pepper, and for good measure some smoked salt to a quivering paste.

Lightly toast saffron, then powder it

So I fried up the sausage, then seared the shrimp and spice-paste-coated salmon in orange sausage fat so sexy and molten-looking.  Set aside all of the above.  Then it was time to saute the remaining pestled spice paste, infusing it into the leftover sausage fat supplemented with plenty of olive oil.  Gots to keep it greasy.  Then some more garlic and a minced onion.  Now a diced bell pepper, then tomato puree, and simmer a moment to complete the soffrito.  Then add the rice, a generous handful per person, and stir it around til it's well coated with the hot lava.  Well and good.  Finally the hot broth, which in your infinite foresight you have infused with the powdered saffron threads.  Just a little more than twice as much broth as rice ought to do nicely.  And salt.  Never skimp on the salt.

Penultimate stage

That's pretty much it.  Let it simmer for about fifteen minutes, then tuck the clams and sausage slices and the partially cooked shrimp and fish back into the skillet.  Cover for the last 5-10 minutes of cooking.  Serve with lemon wedges and bibs and finest booze, everyone gathered around the skillet.  

Carnage