Escalivada-A Barbecue Salad

We've been in Barcelona for a while now and have enjoyed every single morsel of the Spanish food we've tried. We started in tapas bars where tasty flavors of eggs with potatoes, blood sausage with chickpeas, and deep-fried chicken livers were piled on bread to soak up the cava and Rioja being drunk around us. We moved on to the kiosks in La Boqueria market where we imbibed on everything that came out of the sea. Razor clams sizzled on hot skillets. Plump, juicy mussles popped open with steam. We cracked the shells and sucked the heads of coral-colored prawns. In the afternoons, we nibbled on slices of jambon Iberico and Manchego cheese. Five months of eating the Spanish cuisine has made olive oil flow through my veins and a ham leg cling to my hips.

Our friend, Rita Golden Gelman, had been living in Barcelona for the past two months of her nomadic life and had often explored Spanish fare with us. On one of her last nights in town we went to Inopia, a tapas barowned by the pastry chef of El Bulli (the number one restaurant in the world).



We pulled bar stools toward the high counter in the brightly lit room and found ourselves devouring skewers of spiced lamb; so tender they practically evaporated on my tongue, creamy bowls of potato salad spiked with salt cod and griled sardines on a toasted baguette that ruined my favorite tuna fish sandwich for life.

I loved it. Rita loved it. We consumed it all. I pushed back from the counter bursting with that content glow one gets when one is well-fed and happy. But, it was Rita's last night and her last chance to taste all of Spain.

"I wonder if there are any vegetables?" she asked.

I thought back to our meals together and realized that she was right; we'd eaten our way through every flavor but the vegetables. I knew they were out there. I saw them heaped in colorful piles in the market stalls. But, what did Spanish cooks do with them?

Inopia knew what to do. "Escalivada," the waiter told us, knowing what we'd like. "Barbecue salad."

What? We both looked confused. How well did lettuce hold up on a wood-burning fire?

"I don't know." Rita shrugged. "Maybe it's a translation thing."

She was right. It all made sense as soon as the dish was placed in front of us. Scintillating roasted red peppers melded with silky soft eggplant. A drizzle of intense-yellow olive oil pooled around the vegetables and glossed their flesh. A smoky aroma wafted to our senses.

I smiled. Rita smiled. Of course, barbecue salad!




Escalivada

4 small eggplants
2 large yellow onions, still in their skins
2 red peppers
2 yellow peppers
3 tomatoes
6 cloves of garlic, still in their skins
1/4 cup Spanish extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon Sherry vinegar
1 teaspoon sea salt
12 grinds of black peppercorns

Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.

Toss the whole eggplants, onions, peppers, tomatoes, and garlic in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Roast in the oven (or barbecue on a grill) for 45 minutes until the eggplants are soft and the peppers are charred with black skins. Cool the vegetables. Peel the eggplant and chop roughly. Peel the peppers and remove the seeds inside; slice in long 1" thick slices. Peel the onions and slice in wedges. The tomatoes will be soft and practically fall apart when you peel the skin, creating the sauce for the salad. Mash the tomato flesh with the peeled garlic, Sherry vinegar, olive oil, sea salt and pepper.

Taste for seasoning.

Serve at room temperature with grilled meats, spread on bread, or as an appetizer salad.

victoria allman