eggs a la sartre

My first encounter with tortilla de patata was in a bar in the medieval Spanish town of Toledo. I was in my 20s and backpacking through Europe on an existential quest. It wasn’t going all that well. It seems I had been poorly instructed in existential questing. I was, however, pretty sure it involved spending a lot of time in bars smoking and reading poetry that made absolutely no sense.

Which was what I was doing about the time my existential drinking buddy, Rafael, started getting weepy--again--about Cary Grant’s daughter. He said he used to be married to her. He said this pretty much all the time.

“I was married to Cary Grant’s daughter!” he roared for the 32nd count that day, eliciting a symphony of had-it-up-to-here groans from the rest of us. The bar owner grunted and clapped a dish of tortilla de patata down on the bar. This was clearly intended to keep Rafael’s jaws working at something besides repeating that damn story. Rafael, a good-natured local fellow who latched on to tourists for friendship and free drinks, sorrowfully pushed the plate toward me. “No puedo,” he said.

A Spanish tortilla, you must understand, is totally unrelated to our familiar Mexican burrito wrapper. In Spain, tortilla means “omelet” and patata means “potato.” So it’s a potato omelet, with the emphasis more on potatoes than eggs. But tortilla de patata is much more than the sum of its ingredients. It’s the national comfort food and signature dish of the Iberian peninsula.

Like one of those three-way reversible Ronco gizmos, the tortilla de patata is a versatile thing; its function changes according to the way you slice it. Typically a bit smaller than a pie, it can be cut into quarters and served as a main course with salad or soup. Sliced into small squares and impaled with a toothpick, it’s a tasty appetizer.

Then there’s the bocadillo de tortilla de patata--a starch bomb of a sandwich made by inserting an oblong cut of tortilla de patata into a sliced baguette. These are sold at train stations and bus stops and are the all-purpose Spanish utility ration. Spaniards, you see, get nervous when they find themselves stranded more than 40 feet away from the nearest food vendor, even though the maximum distance between cafes anywhere in the country is probably 50 feet. So the well-prepared Spaniard is likely to have tucked in his or her pocket a paper-wrapped bocadillo de tortilla de patata in case of emergency.

Back in the cafe, I munched on my tortilla de patata while Rafael washed the bar with his tears, and I felt a little of my angst, ennui, Weltschmerz, or what have you, begin to lift. My fondness for the dish took a while to announce itself; it circled around and got me from behind. But before long it would take its place alongside the acrid fumes of tobacco negro and the blissful chewiness of jamon serrano as one of those sensual memories that anchor your sense of place.

At home in Los Angeles, I make a tortilla de patata every three or four weeks; it’s great for between-meal nibbling. It’s also an economical and popular way to feed guests at parties. I used to make only one at a time, but I’ve found that a gathering of a dozen or so people will consume three without leaving a crumb. I’ve also found that a bocadilla de tortilla de patata is good energy food for hiking in the Angeles National Forest. In fact, it’s a good thing to have on any journey, existential or otherwise.

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TORTILLA DE PATATA

Serves 8-12 for tapas, 4 for supper*

3/4 cup olive oil

1 medium onion, very finely chopped

4 medium-large baking potatoes, peeled, in 1/8-inch slices

salt

6 large eggs

1/2 cup peas

1/2 cup diced ham

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Heat oil in skillet, add onion and cook very slowly for about 20 minutes. Skim off onion and discard. Add potato slices one at a time, making layers and salting each layer lightly. Cook slowly until potatoes are tender, lifting and turning them as they cook. Drain in colander and pat with paper towels. Reserve about 2 tablespoons of the oil. Wipe out skillet.

In large bowl, lightly beat eggs and add some salt. Add potatoes, peas and ham and press with back of slotted pancake turner to immerse them in egg. Let sit at room temperature about 10 to 15 minutes.

Heat 2 teaspoons of reserved oil in skillet to smoking point. Add potato mixture and press with back of pancake turner to spread mixture evenly in skillet. Lower heat to medium-high and cook until tortilla is lightly brown underneath, shaking constantly.

Slide tortilla onto dish, cover with second dish, and invert. Add another teaspoon or so of reserved oil to skillet, heat again to smoking point, slide in tortilla and continue to shake pan until tortilla has browned on other side. Turn tortilla twice more, to perfect its shape, and cook it about 30 seconds on each side. Cut into wedges and serve.

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food stylist: Christine Masterson

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Martin Booe last wrote about chili for the Entertaining section.