pa?

One of the enduring oddities of the british upper classes is their insistence on sending their pre adolescent children to instiutions which, to the rest of the world resemble correctional facilities. A yet odder practice is that of the lower middle classes virtually bankrupting themselves to do the same. At the age of 11 I found myself the privileged recipient of such an education, one of the great features of the English public school is the English school dinner. Being pre pubescent and largely unobserved by adults our diet (contrary to what Ms Rowling would have you think) was somewhat unorthodox. Amongst the crumpets slathered in butter and marmite, cheese and jam sandwiches and the “tuck” secretly stashed in various bedside hidey holes one delicacy remains clear in my memory. Composed entirely of condiments available at every meal the ketchup sandwich was a mainstay of our diets.A traumatic incident early in my academic carreer had seen me withness the “kiev” being injected into the “chicken” with a syringe, necessitating that at least once a week, my main course be constructed from the condiment table.

20 years later, having strayed from the “sensible” middle class career path of my dorm-mates I find myself living in a small catalan town and more specifically sitting in a small Catlan bar. But some things haven’t changed. The combination of starch and sweet still accompanies every meal, albeit in a slightly more grown up fashion. The Catalans love their Pa amb tomaquet and there is none of the associated “food guilt” that one feels when secretly smearing Heinz on mother’s pride; this is gourmet comfort food and it even shares the colours of the flag of this Mediterranean nation.

Like all such simple foods the dish is entirely reliant on its ingredients; the bread has to be fresh, and crusty. No self respecting bar owner would pass off day old bread (anyway it finds a higher purpose in Catalonia’s rich stews). Flautas, baguettes as thin as a broom handle, provide the perfect crunch to fluff ratio when lightly toasted. Next they are rubbed with local garlic and anointed with fruity olive oil, preferably alberquina olive oil from the tiny, flavor packed fruit of local vineyards (which often accompany any drink order as a complementary bar snack). The piece de resistance is, of course, the tomato. A special type of tomato is used, bred to impart all of its flavor without undue moisture. These rubbing tomatoes are sliced In half and kept, face down, in a glazed earthenware dish where they serve for several rounds of bread before passing on to the second life of all “past-perfect” produce, the cassola (stew pot). The preparation provides a healthy, and tasty basis for the entrepa which make up a typical breakfast but never a lunch, grabbing a sandwich on the go says terrible things about one’s priorities, work is important. The Catalans pride themselves on leading the Spanish economy but just as much value is placed on a sense of superior aloofness, and on lunch.

Variations exist but to eat them without first sampling the original is like getting your impression of Aretha Franklin via American Idol. Fernan Arria riffs on the theme with more success than most, deconstructing the dish and layering it in a shot glass. A memorable meal with a Catalan friend after a night out on the cava saw him reflecting soulfully over a slice of pizza “this is just like pa amb tomquet really, except there’s lots of other nonsense on top” when reminded of this later he proceeded to defend his claim “the bread’s not as good either”.

The Catlans, despite their world leading role in many respects. Have not spread their cusiine with the colonizing fervor of the Italians, or the aspirational value-tied fast food of the US. Thus while all over the world people enjoy hamburgers, pizza and pasta slathered in tomato sauce the simple preparation of bread and tomato has not found its way far from the ancient nation of the Catalans. Even in Madrid, bread is served plain or perhaps with oil. The catlans of course, would tell us that this is because nowhere else are the tomatoes as flavourfull, the bread as crunchy and light, the garlic so pungent and the oil so fruity – they might be right it’s certainly better than Heinz on sliced white.