LONDON — Every dish has a story to tell, but that story often isn’t what you expect or, indeed, want it to be.
Take paella as an example, arguably the most famous of Spanish dishes around the world and the inspiration behind my recipe here. I thought, naïvely, that I would start my preamble with some historical notes about the humble origins of this Valencian star dish, and those would then naturally and smoothly lead me to my own adaptation of the recipe. In short, my modern take on a classic. In reality, things turn messier, and I find myself embroiled in an Anglo-Spanish wrangle.
The very beginnings are more or less indisputable. Paella, named after the round, shallow metal pan in which the dish is cooked, has its origins in Valencia, on the Mediterranean coast of Spain. In the 10th century, North African Muslims, who ruled the region at the time, started planting rice in the Albufera lagoon. Their love of saffron as a way of seasoning the rice and painting it a voluptuous gold was still there in the mid-1800s, centuries after the Muslim departure, which is when paella as we know it was established. It was a communal dish cooked by laborers over open fire, which gave it a distinct smokiness.
Because the dish cooks in the oven, and not on the stove, you won’t get the crunchy crust the Spanish call “socarrat” on the bottom of the skillet. But the crunchy bits that develop around the edges of the roasting pan help make up for that.CreditAndrew Scrivani for The New York Times
Other than rice and saffron, the original paella Valenciana would, quite strictly, have had rabbit meat in it, as well as chicken, possibly snails and a few types of beans. This was the version that was canonized as the “authentic” dish. It is safe to assert, though, that other versions were also developed as ways to use up whatever seasonal vegetables and proteins were on hand. Seafood paella, using the Mediterranean’s bounty of fish and shellfish, was also established and recognized alongside the land-focused variation.
The 20th century brought paella dispute, as Spanish food grew more popular beyond Spain and unorthodox variations began popping up. On top of that, a large number of tourists — a significant proportion of whom were British — arrived in Spain in the 1960s, demanding toppings that purists considered anathema. The midcentury British writer Elizabeth David published a recipe containing chicken, prawns and mussels, a surf-and-turf combination that was not so digestible for proud Spaniards. Still, David stood behind her version, claiming it was given to her by “a Spanish friend.”
The latest chapter in this delicate story came in 2016, when the British chef Jamie Oliver tweeted about his recipe for paella containing chorizo, adding fuel to a fire that had been recently ignited by Britain’s vote to leave the European Union, and inflicting extra insult on Spaniards who were already feeling tetchy about that decision. “Adding chorizo to a paella should be an offense!” said a commenter on Mr. Oliver’s website. On Twitter, someone suggested that their version of fish and chips combines duck and eggplant.
This is the level of emotion in the debate that I have unknowingly thrown myself into. My hope is that my “paella” (notice that I have used quotation marks for cover), with all its transgressions — from the chorizo to the chiles to the rectangular roasting pan to the baking in the oven instead of over fire — will somehow go unnoticed, and seamlessly join a proud tradition of adjustments and adaptations. In any case, a good story and a hearty meal are sure to be had.
