A PINTXOS AND PAELLA PARTY
I have to wonder, can there be a more ideal day than one that begins with a ‘Pintxos and Paella Party’ at Letra House and then finishes up with a smooth granita at Mapo Gelato? Because I’m yet to experience one. A little over a month ago I stumbled across Letra House’s beautifully gripping advertisement for a satiating party in their very own CBD courtyard. With no hesitation I was booked in, a single seat at the bar waiting for me and a countdown til March 29th on. Little disclaimer that somewhere along the way, I did lose sight of the glamour and appeal that is a solo dining experience and I inevitably ended up dragging my mum along. But even so, the countdown was still on!
29TH OF MARCH 26
This event was round two of Letra House’s El Camino series, a celebration into the varying dishes served throughout the regions of Spain. And today we were visiting the north for pintxos and paella!
As we entered through their dark cobblestoned alleyway, it opened up into their courtyard where hungry party-goers sat in huddles drinking wine. The smell of smokey meats wafted around their bodies through the warm air, towards the looming brick buildings overhead. After a quick peek at the paellas bubbling away, we took our seats inside at the bar. A movie screen of meats frying and wines being poured played in front of us, enchanting entertainment while we waited for our Spanish feast to begin.
Our lovely hostess started us off with a zesty wine, one from the Basque Country of course. As a wine NON-connoisseur, I felt cultured and giddy at being able to pick up the notes of fresh lemon in each acidic sip. It was my skilled tongue finally doing it’s job or it was potentially the fact that she had specifically told us there would be notes of lemon.
With this, we were served our first dish, the pisto croquette’s. Little balls of a rich, gravy-like (the thick kind) goo were wrapped up in perfectly crispy crust, a very pleasurable contrast of texture on the tongue. Flavours of cheese balanced with the stew of slow-cooked vegetables to create an inviting semi-liquid gold.
Next up were the pintxos, two skewers of three chunky styles. First, a meaty sword fish belly served under a herby salsa verde. Yes, I ate fish. Contain your shock, I’m refining my palette and this was not a very fishy fish. The generous layering of that fresh salsa verde may have also assisted in masking any disagreeable flavour for me. A smoked tongue was next, Ox I believe (talk about refining my palette). This was served under a capsicum salsa and was so ridiculously tender my jaw felt redundant after each silent bite. Last, a juicy chicken thigh served with a burnt leek salsa. There was an appetising fleshiness to the chicken (I wish I knew how to describe it as succulent without using the word succulent). This balanced nicely with the delicate sweetness that came from the salsa. We were also served some superb patatas bravas, golden chips with the fluffiest insides to be dipped into a spiced tomato sauce and aioli concoction.
Onto sangria and paella served in the lingering summer air! Once we were done with our skewers, we were directed to take our plates into the courtyard to be served our paella straight from the pan. With sweet sangria’s in hand we waddled out, the sunlight blinding after spending so much time in the cave-like indoors. A soundtrack of distant street noise, subtle chatter and the harsh scraping of spoons on plates was playing outside. The culinary director himself loaded our plates up with the mixed paella option, the squid ink blackened rice watching us from the seafood paella pan was too unnerving even for my fish-eating mum. As he dished up, he told us how the mixed paella actually originated before the beloved seafood option. The people of the Spanish countryside would hunt for rabbits to include in their meal, sometimes coming across snails during this process, and thus serving up a rabbit and snail paella. This dish here wasn’t as extravagant in ingredients but was still littered with an exceptional house-made chorizo, tender chicken bites, pork chunks and even snow peas. Each mouthful a soft and sticky bite overflowing with meat-soaked rice, still oily from the cook. There was also those rare but lucky chunks of socarrat oozing a charming burnt flavour throughout the dish. This meal left me grasping with greedy fingers at the loose bits of rice leftover on my plate, even after loudly voicing how full I was. This claim also didn’t stop me from scoffing down the teeny, tiny tarts offered up for dessert. What a feed.
Leaving that charming venue, out beyond their pink-lit windows, we set off for a walk through the city to digest and discuss the culinary performance we had just experienced. Also with the ulterior motive of trekking our way to Mapo Gelato for one of their granitas to top off this feast of a day. A dollop of milky mascarpone ice cream dissolved itself into the enticingly red strawberry ice as I slurped it up before it could melt its way down my fingers. This is what I imagine is served as you walk through the gates of heaven. Now queue the indigestion and necessary Gaviscon tablets because this was the most delicious, luxurious and filling day of eating I’ve ever had.
