February 16, 2012
The Best and Worst of Canarian Food
The Canary Islands are said to have the most original gastronomy in Spain. The islands, about 60 miles off the coast of Africa, have culinary influences from Africa, Latin America and the Spanish peninsula, as well as recipes of the islanders’ own creation. There are two “delicacies” unique to the Canaries that every visitor should try at least once—and in the case of one of them, once is quite enough!
Potatoes
The humble potato was brought from Latin America to Europe by Spanish conquistadors, although no one can say exactly when the first one was imported or from exactly where it came. Despite claims that Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Francis Drake introduced it to England, this appears to be the stuff of legend. Historians believe that the tuber arrived in the latter part of the 16th century. There are records of potatoes being sent from Tenerife, the largest of the seven Canary Islands, to Antwerp in 1565. It is thus assumed that this dietary staple of most of Europe first arrived via the Canaries.
The sweet potato also may have arrived via the Canary Islands; in England it was the most common potato during the Elizabethan years. At that time, sweet potatoes were sold in crystallized slices with sea holly (Eryngium maritimum), a thistle-like plant with a blue flower that grows on sand dunes throughout Europe, as an aphrodisiac. Shakespeare mentions this sweetmeat in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” (“Let the sky rain potatoes…hail kissing comforts and snow eringoes”), and the Empress Josephine introduced sweet potatoes to her companions, who were soon serving them to stimulate the passion of their lovers. (Shakespeare also mentioned Malmsey, also known as Sack, an important wine export in the 16th and 17th centuries. Originally produced in Tenerife, the main area of production is now the Canary Island of Lanzarote.)
Known locally by the original Indian name of papas, the Canarian potatoes people dine on today are direct descendants of those said to have come from the Andes in the 16th century. Small, wrinkled and knobbly, black, red and yellow, they have their own distinctive flavor. (You may well hear of two local varieties, Kineua and Otudates—versions of “King Edwards” and “Out of date,” respectively, words said to have been stamped on the sacks when they first came to Spain and were mis-read by the non-English-speaking locals. But this story smacks of a local giggle at the dumb tourists’ expense, given that it was the Spanish who introduced the potato to the English.)
The traditional way of cooking papas is with a large amount of sea salt (they were originally cooked in sea water), the quantity being decided on by putting the potatoes in fiercely boiling water and pouring in enough salt until the potatoes float. They are served in a small dish, with a white encrustation of salt on them and known as papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes). Traditionally they are accompanied by mojo picon, a piquant sauce made from garlic, paprika, cumin, breadcrumbs and wine vinegar.
The dish is an accompaniment to almost any meal or can be eaten on its own, washed down with Canarian wine. Simple and simply delicious, no one should leave the Canary Islands without having tried papas arrugadas con mojo picon.
Gofio
Few gastronomical products can be used in either sweet or savory dishes, added to white coffee and stews, toasted, combined with almonds and raisins to make sweet sausages, to create a fake ice cream and ersatz crème caramel, spooned into glasses of milk for children’s breakfast, or used as a bread substitute. Gofio is one of them—and whatever you do with it, the net result is usually disgusting.
Endemic to the Canary Islands, gofio is milled grain that resembles wholegrain flour. Once the basic food of the Guanches, the original inhabitants of the islands, every Canarian is brought up on the stuff and cannot understand why foreigners would rather eat deep-fried cockroaches than this exemplar of island cuisine. It was always a vital staple when food was in short supply and was taken to the Americas by Canary Island emigrants, where one hopes it faded away.
Such is the islanders pride in the product that in 1990 they founded the Canary Island Gofio Producers Association, which has “successfully promoted gofio and won it its own quality label ‘Gofio Canario.’” After the first mouthful you wonder why; it is an acquired taste, but one not worth the time and cloggy mouth to acquire.
The following recipes illustrate the wide use of gofio.
Paella de Gofio (Lump of Gofio, according the Spanish translation)
Ingredients: ½ kg of gofio, ½ glass of oil, sugar, salt
Method:
- Knead the gofio with the water, salt, sugar and oil until you get a thick paste.
- Form a cylinder with it and cut into slices.
In other words, oily dough with a sweet and salty flavor.
Gofie Escaldao (Scalded Gofio)
Ingredients: 1 liter strained fish broth, 1 sprig of mint, ¼ kg of gofio
Method: Place the gofio in a dish with the sprig of mint and slowly add the boiling broth. Keep stirring to avoid lumps.
In other words, a waste of good fish broth.
Perhaps the best description of gofio is found in Paul Richardson’s excellent book on Spain, Our Lady of the Sewers.
Canarian friends of mine had warned me it was vile, and it is. Mixed with milk, it forms a thick sludge that sticks to your palate and has to be removed by increasingly desperate movements of the tongue. It would be like eating wallpaper paste, except that the cloying pale purée is partly redeemed by the toasty malty taste that could be kindly described as ‘comforting’. On the whole, though, gofio is one local speciality I would cross the street to avoid, along with Tibetan yak-butter tea and jellied eels.
Best avoided by everyone other than those who take a gastronomic delight in day-old coagulated salted porridge with lashings of condensed milk on it.
Guest blogger Derek Workman has written for Food & Think about paella and English puddings.
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During the Spanish Civil War and later, during The IIWW, Gofio was the staple diet of the Canarian people.Fortunately, gofio is not so necessary today but is still apppreciated. Obviously, not everyone like it, but you couldn’t say it until you’ve tasted it…
PS: “whatever you do with it, the net result is usually disgusting.”: this actually sounds disgusting..
(by a student from Gran Canaria)
Good post about Canarian potatoes, they are delicious, especially with grilled fish and seafood, and the mojo sauce mentioned. With regard to gofio, whatever you might think about it, most holidaymakers won’t come across anyway it in the restaurants they frequent in Lanzarote or the other main Canary Islands. You can find it in tapas bars sometimes. What’s it like? Well, like couscous, it depends what you add to it -garbage in, garbage out etc. Try it with some roast veg or peppers and garlic, and your opinion might be different!
The picture is not of true “Papas arrugadas” but of what is being served more and more these days – new potatoes of various varieties covered in sea salt. True “papas para arrugar” are the papas bonitas variety these are much more mis-shapen than those in your picture, they are “knobbly” and have lots of eyes and they NEED cooking for hours till the water boils away to become soft. Unfortunately they are very expensive now and that is why restaurants are going more and more for the cheaper options.
Aww! I really liked gofio when I visited Gran Canaria! That said, I didn’t eat it at a touristy place, but in a small hole in the wall restaurant in Las Palmas that a Canarian friend took me to. I’m not usually one who eats fish, but I loved it made with fish stock. I also really liked the sweet gofio mousse we had for afters. I, like the commenter above, do think it depends on where you go and how it’s made. To be fair, though, I’d had similar things made of corn masa (or from masa harina, the dried version) when I was growing up in California and it’s very similar in taste. :)
Gofio is definitely a love it or hate it foodstuff, even for Canarians. Some won’t have a meal without including gofio somewhere while others say that they ate so much of it in the old days that they can’t stand the sight of it.
The biggest problem with appreciating it is the texture. It’s like dry peanut butter and sucks up saliva. Don’t put too much in your mouth ath onthe!
However, visit a local market where they are milling fresh gofio from still-hot roasted kernels of maize and and you understand its attractions. The rich malty smell (a mixure of popcorn and beer) hits that spot in the brain that makes you go mmmmm.
As for gofio escaldado it is traditionally served with sweet red onion pieces. You use the onion like a spoon to scoop up a bit of gofio and then eat the lot. The sweetness and bite of the onion cust through the texture of the gofio and it all goes down well. Inexplicably most restaurants only bring out enough onion if you ask for it.
Your recipe says a spring of mint. In fact gofio escaldado needs much more. Shove a good handful of mint leaves in when you mix the gofio with the fish broth.
The most approachable way to try gofio is as gofio mousse or gofio ice cream. They are both light and not cloying at all.
Here’s a different look at gofio that doesn’t dismiss it as revolting!
http://www.grancanariasunshine.com/2012/11/in-defence-of-gofio-canary-islands-soul.html
Gofio is great, sweet or savoury. I even love the children’s cereal: gofitos. Seriously, to savour the island, you’ve got to try it. It’s number seven on my Top 10 Ways to Experience GC: http://www.savoirthere.com/6469/top-10-ways-to-experience-the-real-gran-canaria/