The Art of Paella

Spain's Greatest Community Food

My Paella

It’s a warm October evening in Barcelona.

The narrow streets of the Sarrià neighborhood are closed to traffic and filled instead with families, music, children running in every direction, and the unmistakable aroma of wood smoke, saffron, garlic, and onions slowly cooking somewhere nearby.

People aren’t looking at their phones.

They’re talking.

Laughing.

Sharing bottles of wine.

Grandparents are watching grandchildren dance through the streets while neighbors who have known each other for decades catch up over folding tables.

This is the Festa Major de Sarrià.

A week-long celebration of the neighborhood’s Catalan heritage.

I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing it twice now.

There are parades.

Towering gegants walking through the streets.

The famous correfoc, where brave souls voluntarily run through showers of fireworks while dressed as devils.

Castellers building astonishing human towers several stories high.

And then...

There is the paella.

The first time I stumbled upon it, I honestly wasn’t prepared.

I thought I had a respectable paella pan back home.

Twenty-four inches.

Pretty substantial.

Turns out, I was adorable.

The locals essentially looked at my little pan, collectively said, “Hold my Estrella,” and proceeded to roll out a paella pan that had to be pushing four feet across.

There are moments in every man’s life where he simply accepts defeat.

This was one of them.

I took the shot to my masculinity and moved on.

Watching these neighborhood cooks work was fascinating.

Nobody appeared to be in a hurry.

Nobody was trying to become internet famous.

Nobody was filming TikToks explaining the “Top 5 Secrets to Perfect Paella.”

People simply knew what to do.

One person stirred.

Another added stock.

Someone else tended the fire.

The conversation flowed just as naturally as the cooking.

Paella in this respect isn’t really a recipe but more of an event.

Sarria' - Barcelona

For those unfamiliar, paella originated in Valencia, on Spain’s eastern coast.

Traditionally, it wasn’t loaded with seafood.

In fact, the original versions were surprisingly humble.

Rice.

Rabbit.

Chicken.

Green beans.

Maybe a few snails if they were available.

It was farmer’s food.

Everything cooked together in one large pan over an open fire.

Simple ingredients.

Shared by many people.

Over time, regional variations emerged across Spain.

Much like BBQ here in the United States.

Texas has brisket.

The Carolinas have pulled pork.

Kansas City has burnt ends.

Memphis has ribs.

Nobody is wrong.

They’re simply proud of their own tradition.

Spain is very much the same way.

Travel along the Mediterranean coast and you’ll find seafood paellas loaded with mussels, prawns, squid, and clams.

Head inland and you’ll encounter chicken, rabbit, and vegetables.

Some are vegetarian.

Some feature duck.

Some use black squid ink.

Everyone has an opinion.

Which naturally brings us to chorizo.

Paella purists will passionately tell you that chorizo has absolutely no business anywhere near a traditional paella.

I understand their position.

I respectfully disagree.

Look...

It’s chorizo.

It’s an incredibly flavorful pork sausage.

I like sausage.

I like rice.

I especially like sausage and rice together.

I’m willing to risk international diplomatic consequences over this one.

Since Spain was in the FIFA World Cup final, I decided to make my own version at home.

Chicken thighs.

Spanish chorizo.

A proper sofrito of onions, garlic, and tomatoes.

Bomba rice.

Chicken stock infused with saffron.

Then comes the hardest part.

Waiting.

You don’t stir.

You trust the process.

Eventually the liquid disappears.

The rice begins to gently crackle against the bottom of the pan.

That’s when the magic happens.

The socarrat.

That beautifully caramelized layer of crispy rice that every paella cook secretly obsesses over.

Get it right and you’ll hear people scraping the bottom of the pan with their spoons trying to steal the last little crispy bits.

I’ve seen the exact same behavior around a brisket.

Funny how food works.

The more I travel, the more I realize every culture has its version of comfort food.

Meals that don’t exist to impress.

Meals that exist to gather.

To celebrate.

To slow people down.

To give them an excuse to sit together for a while.

For Spain, I think that’s paella.

And maybe that’s why I enjoy it so much.

Sure, the saffron is wonderful.

The rice is fantastic.

The socarrat borders on magical.

But that’s not what I remember most.

I remember an entire neighborhood cooking together.

Kids running through the streets.

Music echoing between old stone buildings.

Complete strangers sitting shoulder to shoulder around enormous pans of food.

It reminded me a lot of great barbecue.

The food gets everyone to show up.

The people are why you stay.

And honestly...

I think that’s the real art of paella.

-Ed