The Spanish eat a lot of eggs, though just about never for breakfast. Apart from a mid-morning slice of tortilla de patatas (see page 124)—for me, nothing is better than a slice of yesterday’s tortilla and a café con leche at about 11 a.m.—eggs are not considered morning food. But for a simple lunch or dinner, well, that’s a different matter.
While Spanish egg dishes can be simple in preparation, their flavors are often rich and complex. A pair of eggs fried in extra-virgin olive oil and served with hand-cut slices of Iberian jamón and fried potatoes (see page 132) along with a glass of bold Ribera del Duero wine makes a most exquisite meal.
Excellent eggs are not hard to find. In the country’s covered food markets, there is usually a stall or two dedicated to selling only eggs, offering a wide selection of options, from free-range, corn-fed chicken eggs to tiny speckled quail eggs.
While sold fresh across Spain, quail eggs seem to be most appreciated as part of a Basque pintxo, or tapa, fried and “mounted” on a slice of baguette with a slice of cured jamón. But they are tricky to crack into the pan to fry—you don’t so much as crack them as cut off the end with the tip of a paring knife and gently tip the contents out of the shell and into the pan—and sometimes even more devilishly tricky to peel when boiled.
But never are eggs as delicious as when fresh—really fresh. In the summer we have a treat at the finca (estate) we’ve rented in Menorca. My girls head down the hill to the gallinero (henhouse) in the morning to pick up the eggs. The dozen hens at the finca are a local Menorcan breed—beautiful birds with brilliant black plumage and a great white spot on their heads—that, unfortunately, largely take the summer off from laying. But there are always one or two hens who indulge us, and offer a steady if slow supply. When asking about this summer recess, someone repeated the old saying, “Por San Antón, huevos a montón.” (That is, on Saint Anthony’s Day [January 17th], there are tons of eggs.) I looked up that expression later and found there was another, just as fitting: “Por San Antón, todo ave pon.” (For Saint Anthony’s Day, every bird lays.)
In the savory Spanish kitchen, eggs are probably most enjoyed in tortillas (Spanish egg omelets). While the potato tortilla—often with some onion to help keep it moist—remains the classic, it can be prepared with any vegetable, depending on the season. Eggplant. Zucchini. Mushrooms. Artichokes (see page 126). Asparagus. It is a happy coincidence that the hens’ peak laying season is the same as many of the tortilla’s more delicious fillings.
While the trick of a good egg tortilla largely rests in flipping it, a good revuelto is more about stirring. In revueltos, eggs are scrambled with sautéed ingredients. Well, scrambled is not exactly the correct word. The name comes from the verb revolver—to turn or to stir. That’s a closer way of describing the light stirring used when cooking. Shrimp and asparagus (see page 128), say, or some wild mushrooms (see page 130), are quickly sautéed in a pan and then the whisked egg is poured over them. After a few seconds, the eggs are turned using just a couple of wide sweeps through the pan with a wooden spoon until the eggs are just set but still moist. Simple, perhaps, but also marvelous-tasting.