Congrio con Ensalada Tibia de Habas-Longaniza

To be honest, I didn’t really like favas at all when I first tasted them as a college student in Chile. My host family boiled the hell of out of them to the point of a drab olive green and ate them, including the bitter outer skins, cold. Ugh. Back in the States, I later tried favas (double shelled) at a Portuguese restaurant in Tribeca, Pao, and fell in love.

When I returned to settle in Chile in 2001, I was determined to learn how to treat these poor vegetables with some respect. In Chile there are two growing seasons: one in the fall and one in spring. Therefore we can eat fresh favas almost year-round and the season is just starting so they are extra sweet! I quickly learned that they need to be double-shelled. The wrinkly outer skin has a slight bitterness and chewiness that detracts from the sweet green pod inside. A quick 3-minute blanch loosens up the skins enough to avoid going crazy peeling them.

Lesson 2 learned : favas have a very strong flavor, almost meaty, so they can stand up to spicy, smoky, earthy, and hearty sauces. My favorite experiment to date has been this Spanish-inspired accompaniment using the local longaniza, a spicy pork sausage similar to chorizo, and sherry vinegar. For our Culinary Tour in Santiago, I serve this salad with roasted conger eel (a cousin of monkfish) and a medium body red wine like Carmenere. This combination blows clients away—yes sausage, fish, and red wine can share the same plate happily.

1 1/2 cups fresh, double-shelled fava beans*

2 tablespoons olive oil

½ cup chorizo sausage, finely chopped

1 red onion, thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon pepper

1 tablespoon sherry vinegar

1 tablespoon Olive oil for drizzling/brushing

1 tablespoon finely chopped cilantro

 4 4-oz. conger eel (or monkfish) fillets

Sea Salt/Black Pepper to Taste

2 Tablespoons minced parsley

In large pot, bring 2 quarts (2 liters) water to boil. Add the raw fava beans and blanch for 3 minutes. Drain and shock in ice water. To remove the intensely green fava, using your fingernail, break the wrinkly pouch and peel it off. 

In large skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Add the chorizo and cook for 2 minutes. Add the red onion and cook until slightly caramelized, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, cook for one minute. Add the fava beans and cook for 3-5 minutes. Remove from heat. Season with salt, pepper, sherry vinegar, a drizzle of good olive oil, and the cilantro. Mix well before serving.

 Preheat the oven to 350F. On an oven sheet, place the fish and brush with olive oil. Season with fresh black pepper and sea salt. Roast for about 10-12 minutes. Conger eel will render a lot of liquid as it cooks and slightly curl up. Monkfish, similarly is a dense, meaty fish although it may take a couple minutes longer depending on the thickness. With all fish, the clear flesh should become opaque and it will have a firm yet soft texture if you touch it. Fish should always be served al dente to avoid overcooking it. 

Spoon the beans in the center of the plate and mount the fish. Sprinkle the chopped parsley on top for garnish.

Serves 4.

Sopaipillas are deeply rooted in the collective gastronomic nostalgia of Chileans. Particularly on rainy days, Chileans dream of coming home to a warm kitchen filled with the sweet smell of these fried breads. Biting into these hot stacks at onces with a steaming cup of tea instantly raises your body and transports most people to memories of their childhood. A comfort food at heart, sopaipillas are also dunked briefly in thick molasses-like syrup, chancaca, aromatized with orange peel and cinnamon. They are lovingly called sopaipillas pasadas, “soggy sopailpillas”, as they sop up all the sweet nectar.

Sopaipillas prevalence is surely due to the abundance of pumpkin grown year-round in Chile. Ranging in maturity from light yellow in the summer to a deep orange in the winter as the gourds mature, the flesh is boiled or roasted and kneaded into the dough. In the south on the island of Chiloé, potatoes (sweet or plain) replace the pumpkin and sopaipillas are many times the daily bread on tables at breakfast and tea time.

Sopaipillas are also sold throughout the country as street food from carts where they are eaten usually for breakfast, piping hot with boiling cups of nescafé on cold winter mornings. Although delicious plain, the brave-hearted tingle their palates by adding a dollop of spicy chili sauce on top.

Typically sopaipillas measure 4-inches wide, although many restaurants now serve smaller 2-inch versions. Perfect for light snacks before dinner with the classic fresh tomato-cilantro pebre, or with onces on a cold, rainy day, leftovers also are fantastic toasted for breakfast or grilled with Chile’s addictive, mild queso fresco, similar to the Mexican cheese now found in most US supermarkets.

Yield: 5 dozen

3 1/2 cups (about 2 ½ pounds or 1 kilogram) cooked mature pumpkin (Substitute: butternut squash)

1/4 pound (125 grams) vegetable shortening, softened

2 teaspoons sea salt

8 cups (roughly 1 kilogram) plain (all-purpose) flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ cup water, lukewarm

1 quart (1 liter) vegetable oil for frying

Preheat the oven to 200ºC/400ºF.

Cut the pumpkin in medium-sized cubes and place on a greased oven tray. Massage with a few drops of olive oil and cook until tender, about 20 minutes. Remove and let cool slightly.

Mash the pumpkin while warm, using a ricer. Alternately, use a food processor, pulsing to purée thoroughly. Add the softened shortening and salt to the pumpkin. Sift the flour and baking powder together and add in batches to the dough until it is no longer wet and does not stick to your hands. Dust your hands with flour as necessary throughout the kneading process. If the dough is on the dry side, add the water little by little, kneading to incorporate.  The dough should be soft but not elastic or rubbery.

Tear off walnut-sized balls and roll out to 1/4-inch (5 millimeters) thickness. Using a circular biscuit cutter with a 2 ¼-inch (6 centimeter) diameter cut into rounds. In a pinch, a clean tin works brilliantly. Collect the scraps and knead back into a ball until all dough has been used. If you do not wish to immediately prepare all the sopaipillas, you can wrap them in wax paper to freeze for up to 3 months.

Fill a deep pan or wok with several inches of clean vegetable oil. Heat over high heat for 10 minutes. Test a small piece of dough for temperature. The dough should turn golden brown. Add each sopaipilla to the hot oil and fry for 1-2 minutes on each side until golden brown. The sopaipillas will puff up slightly as they cook. Drain on paper towels. Serve hot with chili sauce or tomato pebre. If you wish to eat them sweet, drizzle them with honey, maple syrup, or the molasses recipe below.

Molasses Syrup for Sopaipillas Pasadas

2 cups molasses (substitute: Demerara sugar)

2 cups water

Whole cinnamon stick

Orange peel slices from one orange 

In a large pot that will hold the sopaipillas, bring the water to a simmer. Add the molasses, cinnamon, and orange and fully dissolve molasses. Lower heat and let simmer for 5-10 until the syrup thickens slightly. Add the sopaipillas and submerge them in the syrup for about a minute. Serve immediately on a plate to catch the sweet, sticky sauce.

Chile, like a long string bean, extends over 2,600 miles from north to south, or 17º S- 56º S at Cape Horn. The regionality of the country’s ingredients is staggering. In the north, Andean and Peruvian staples like quinoa and chuño, freeze-dried potatoes; olives from Azapa; papayas from La Serena; and rich shellfish like scallops. In Magallanes where the continent ends, delicious meats like king crab, Patagonian toothfish (mero) hail from the icy southern waters as does grass fed lamb from the windy grasslands. In the central cradle, known as the Valle Central, our home is one of the few Mediterranean climates in the World, with a cornucopia of fresh produce, cheese, olive oils, seafood, and meats.

Twelve hours south of Santiago in the rainy, lush lake district, rolling green pastures, native forests, and quaint German farms dot the landscape. This area, generally referred to by Chileans as the “sur”, usually conjures up a nostalgic sigh followed by a flash back of a German onces, tea, with kuchen; perhaps feasting on a curanto; or just a blur of that inspiring verdant, bucolic landscape. Much of Chile’s dairy and meat production is concentrated from Osorno down to Puerto Varas, where cows seem to outnumber humans. The area was settled in the 1800s by the Germans and as you meander the curvy back roads along the lake shores, old Bavarian-looking farms house craggy, petit apple orchards. Natural fences are murta and blackberry bushes. Even in the peak of summer, a brief sprinkle and the fresh, cool air is totally invigorating. 

In February, I went on a foodie expedition with my local buddy, long time Puerto Varas expat Vicki Johnson, to scout the best artisan beers like Colonos; delicious homemade German sausages from Nueva Branau; rich, cheeses from the little port on Lake Llanquihue known as Puerto Octay; roasted wild boar; hard (apple) cider, delicious chocolates from her shop in downtown Puerto Varas, and murta, fresh gooseberries, everywhere. There’s something seductive about the south. Maybe it’s the clean air. The gorgeous emerald green countryside and shimmering lakes. The eternal smell of a warming fire burning. Or the friendly people. Santiago seems, thankfully, a world away when I am there.

After returning home, I yearned intensely for those Southern flavors. Apparently the universe was listening. On Friday afternoon, coming back from running errands around the Plaza de Armas, I just happened to stumble upon a brand new delicatessen, Lecker, bringing the flavors of the South to Santiago.

Opened by Osorno native Heidi Kramm Marty, lecker in German means “delicious” or “tasty”. Most certainly, she has captured the spirit of this business in its name. This deli is a direct artery to the south.
I first noticed they stock Nueva Branau products: kassler, a succulent sliced smoked pork; sausages from morcilla to knockworst; costillar ahumado, smoked ribs. They also have wild boar salame from La Reconquista and the full line of Puerto Octay dairy from a Swiss style cream cheese to the classic smoked cheese and ethereal butter. A specialty hard-to-find is the manjar blanco, the true milk caramel, fully white, not camel-colored. Jams abound with unique flavors like strawberries and Rosemary; pears in ulmo Honey, a southern tree; Araucaria pine nuts with red Peppers; and the indigenous murta, a type of gooseberry.

The best part?, It’s only three blocks from my apartment, although I would go regardless of location. Ahh finally, a true slice of the south in the Santiago.

Lecker

Monjitas 620, between Miraflores and Mac-Iver (Metro: Bellas Artes)

664 4358 or www.lecker.cl

Open: Mon-Fri 10am-2pm; 4-9pm; Sat 10:30-4pm

Puerto Varas may very well be the “Portland” of Chile. It’s lush. It rains a lot. The town is steeped in Chile’s Germanic history yet laid back and modern. It has a stunning natural setting on the shores of the azure Llanquihue Lake with vistas of the conical Osorno Volcano. It’s a hip town that has gone green, as in organic vegetables and environmentally conscious peeps. And recently, it has joined the rankings of a serious foodie town. For only having a permanent population of 15,000, there are a lot of great joints, gourmet restaurants, artisan breweries, cheese, and sausage makers to delight residents and visiting foodies. You know exactly what I will be doing when not off trekking up a volcano or fly fishing: exploring the food.

On my last pass through Puerto Varas in March, I lunched at a favorite local picada, Donde el Gordito. Inside the old municipal market, this narrow, petit eatery seats no more 25 diners. The place reminds me of my great aunt’s living room: elegant yet slightly weathered wooden chairs, dainty curtains, ornate hand-painted plates. Foreign bills and coins, left as tips by tourists, are pegged to the wall.

The owner “Gordito”, affectionately meaning “chubby” in Chilean speak,  welcomes you with a warm look in the eye. He invites you into his restaurant, which feels more like his home. It’s really cozy. Tables are tight so you may rub elbows with your neighbors. No worries, everybody is here for the same thing: honest food and good vibes.

 When Gordito asks if you would like a pisco sour, please, do not even think about it. It’s a no brainer. As he shakes up these potent lemony cocktails, his wife will take your order. The menu at first glance has a dizzying amount of options. Just stick to the seafood–or steak. Although everything on the menu is incredibly fresh, Gordito’s brother, Alejandro, is the fish monger next door and reels in ethereal sea bass, hake, sea urchins, salmon, clams, and oysters every morning. 

Standouts are the towering gut bomb bistec a lo pobre, seared steak on top of a mountain of french fries, caramelized onions with a fried egg; the paila marina, a sort of Chilean bouillabaisse; a creamy chupe, casserole with crab or abalones; trout from the lake; for the adventureous, a plate of intense sea urchin tongues; and their most decadent creation, the grilled corvina, sea bass, with a crab sauce. Just a crab sauce? I don’t think so. Made with copious butter and cream and flambeed with a shot of cognac, the half a pound of fresh crab (per serving) is stirred in with a only a little salt to enhance flavor. When this hit the table, I had a flashback to old school recipes from the 1950s. Then it hit me, wow, it’s totally post modern!  

Portions are gigantic and prices are ridiculously reasonable. However, what makes this place is Gordito and his wife. They truly make you feel like long lost family. By the time you leave, hugs, kisses, and phone numbers will be exchanged. Maybe some foreign coins given for the wall. That’s my kind of dining.

Reservations recommended at lunch or with a big group.

San Bernardo 560

Puerto Varas, Chile

(65) 233-425