Mixta Maravillosa
Spain, true to its name, serves great paella
By Don Waller
Considering this city was founded as El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles del Rió de Porciúncula by the Spanish in 1781, there's not a lot of Spanish restaurants around. So if you had a craving for paella - the dish that was virtually synonymous with Spanish cuisine until the concept of tapas captured foodies' imaginations several years back - your options were, and still are, fairly limited. Unless you wanted to cook it yourself ...
... and for that, you absolutely must have one of the large, shallow, flat pans from which the dish takes its name. Reportedly developed in the mid-19th century to feed agricultural workers, the original paellas combined rice, beans, and snails or rabbit. As the dish's popularity spread to Spain's coastal regions, enterprising cooks added cured meats, chicken, and the entire bounty of the deep.
Because making paella requires enough cooking time for the medium-grain rice to absorb all the liquid (chicken and/or seafood stock, and white wine that's been infused with saffron) - and a fully-loaded 18-inch paella pan will feed six starving souls, paella has a well-deserved reputation as being pluperfect for parties.
But when you've got a serious desire for paella - and you're not up for doing it yourself - then you'd be best served by going to Spain. Not the country, but the unassuming, 48-seat restaurant tucked into a mini-mall on Glendale Boulevard on the southern border of Silver Lake.
Which is just what I, and a trio of fellow paella fiends, did on a recent Sunday evening. Spain offers three other paellas (chicken, seafood, and a vegetarian version), but we're here for the paella mixta ($27.99 for two; $55.98 for four), which incorporates clams, mussels, calamari, crab, scallops, and shrimp alongside bites of fish, chicken, and smoky pimentón-laced Spanish chorizo (harder and drier than its Mexican namesake), as well as peas and strips of piquillo peppers (similar to red bells, but sweeter).
It's a metaphorical symphony of savory flavors, but the keynote in any successful paella is the socarrat created by the portion of rice and sofrito (tomato, onion, and garlic sautéed in olive oil) that caramelizes during the last minutes of cooking and sticks to the bottom of the pan. We greedily scrape the pan clean, add a squeeze of lemon from the wedges that garnish the dish, and - with a different taste in every forkful - enjoy the party on our collective palates.
As noted, paella takes a while to prepare. (If you're in a hurry, or ordering take-out, call a half-hour ahead.) Since we're already cross-eyed with hunger, we each opt for one of the 27 tapas dishes on the menu, choosing papas bravas ("brave potatoes"), which are chunks of fried spuds served warm in a could've-been-spicier, tomato-based sauce ($5.49); calamares a la roma, lightly battered and fried squid ($7.99); champignones al ajillo, mushrooms sauteed in garlic ($7.49); and boquerones, anchovy filets with lemon ($9.99). The last proves less fishy and salty than anyone expected and is the surprise hit of the table.
Foregoing any of the 15 Spanish, Argentine, and Chilean wines available, two of us split a half-pitcher of house sangria ($9.99). The others select bottles of domestic and one of the two Spanish beers on hand ($2.99 and $3.49, respectively).
Although we can't finish the paella, we decide to share a single dessert. I'd prefer to investigate the eye-popping tatantela (bread pudding with a flan topping), but my tablemates request the (semi-sweet) chocolate flan ($3.49) to crown the evening.
A family-owned operation with friendly service and stereotypical décor (Spanish soccer team banners, a map of the homeland, etc.), the restaurant shares space with a deli stocked with Spanish meats, cheeses, and a dizzying array of imported foodstuffs.
They also sell paella pans for those who think they can do better at home. But when your paella jones is comin' down, there's no place like Spain.
Published: 09/20/2007
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