Tortilla de Patata

When I was fifteen, I accompanied my cousin Kate and her dad, "Uncle" Michael, on a 7-month stay in Salamanca, Spain. We lived in a furnished three-bedroom apartment with two bathrooms (amazing when you think about it), a living room, and a sizable kitchen with the world's smallest washing machine set into the wall. My bedroom wall had a reproduction of a famous Jesus on the Cross painting, in which a gangrenous Messiah wept down upon my sleeping, Jewish form. Other rooms had crosses, and the girls' bathroom had a beday. Which blew our minds, and which we used to clean our feet.

At the time Kate was a fairly picky eater and I was a vegetarian, neither of which are ideal conditions for eating in Spain where ham is king and there are all sorts of amazing, adventurous dishes to try like fresh sardine bruschetta, paella, baby squid in lemon, olive oil and garlic, giant salads with tomatoes, olives, tuna and hard boiled eggs, Basque panfried trout stuffed with bacon, and a cocktail called Tinto de Verano, which combines Fanta Limon with red wine and is actually pretty good. In addition to being difficult eaters, Kate and I were also teenage girls, which meant that we spent a lot of time mooning over creamy American peanut butter and 6pm dinner times and crinkling skeptical noses at late night tapas. What a waste of a culinary opportunity, though I know we each grew up a lot during that often difficult but wonderful stay. We also grew up into eager eaters, so perhaps exposure, if not ingestion, has its benefits.

Amidst the seafood that Kate wouldn't touch, and the meat that I wouldn't eat, we discovered the humble tortilla de patata, or potato omelet. Creamy on the inside, barely crispy on the outside, egg yolk-yellow and rich with the flavors of olive oil and caramelized onion, the tortilla is a simple dish with a deep soul. Spaniards eat it at room temperature, cut into wedges or, better yet, placed between two pieces of fresh bread just lightly rubbed with olive oil or mayo. Kate and I used to walk down to a tapas bar on the Plaza Mayor and share bocadillos de tortilla de patata and coca-cola in glass bottles for dinner. Sometimes for dessert we'd eat coconut ice cream that arrived in the coconut shell. I remember the waiter snickering at us just a little each time we arrived, maybe because we were eating a traditional snack for dinner, or maybe because of our accents, and maybe because the simple omelet brought us so much pleasure.

I started making tortillas of my own in graduate school, when my friend Erin lent me her fantastic tapas cookbook, Tapas by Penelope Casas. The secret to the dish is an obscene amount of olive oil, which you use to slowly simmer very thinly sliced potatoes and onions until tender. You don't want to fry or brown the potatoes! They sort of boil in the oil until partially translucent, and this draws out the sweetness of the potato and creates a velvety mouth-feel. The second important trick is learning to flip the omelet. I'm still learning this technique, but at least no longer break them. What you want to do is heat the omelet pan until very hot, which helps prevent the eggs from sticking. You'll probably need to help the omelet remain unstuck by periodically shaking the pan and running a metal spatula around the sides and under the omelet. When the omelet is cooked on the bottom, place a plate over the pan and invert the omelet onto the plate so that the uncooked side is resting on the plate. Then, carefully slide the omelet back into the pan to finish cooking. Ideally, the tortilla will be golden yellow on the outside and moist within. In all honesty, I've only ever managed golden brown; I don't know how Spanish chefs achieve a yolk-yellow finished product. Just be sure not to overcook the tortilla. You want it dense and moist inside, not dry.

It might take you a few tries to master the flip, but regardless of how your tortilla emerges from the pan it will be delicious. It's a tiny bit salty and rich, with layers of creamy potatoes and dissolving onions. Eat it with a salad and some crusty bread, grab a glass of light red wine, and you'll be a happy chica.

The following is based on what I remember Penelope Casas's recipe, but I tinker slightly with the type of potatoes I use (tonight they were baby goldens from the farm, with a sweet onion) and have occasionally added a green like kale.

Ingredients:
around 3-4 russet potatoes, very thinly sliced
1 onion, I prefer sweet, very thinly sliced
1 C olive oil
1-2 tsp coarse salt
4-5 eggs

Technique:

1. Pour the olive oil into a nonstick or other skillet (I use a cast iron). Bring to a medium-high heat--it's ready when a test piece of potato sizzles gently on contact. Lower the heat to medium-low, to sustain the simmer.
2. Place a layer of potato slices in the skillet and sprinkle lightly with salt. Now add a layer of onion slices and salt. Repeat until all of the vegetables are in the skillet.
3. Let the potatoes and onions simmer until tender but not brown, stirring occasionally. Don't worry if some of the slices break.
4. When the potatoes and onions are soft, remove the pan from the heat and drain the vegetables. I like to place the strainer over a bowl in order to save the olive oil, which should amount to 1/2-3/4 C. This olive oil should be stored in a jar in the fridge and used over the next few days to cook or dip bread. It's delicious.
5. In a separate, large bowl beat 4-5 eggs until frothy. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
6. Add the potato mixture to the bowl, mix, and let sit for 5-10 minutes.
7. Meanwhile, clean the skillet and add 1-2 T of olive oil. Heat until very hot but not smoking.
8. Add the egg-potato mess to the skillet and cook until the bottom is golden.
9. Flip the tortilla using the method described above and cook until golden.
10. Set the tortilla aside to cool slightly and eat plain, with a tomato sauce or salsa, or a garlicky aioli.