My Desire to Eat

jangura: iz. appetite, ~ izan  to be hungry, to feel like eating.

The Basque (Euskera) language suffix "-gura" is used to signify the desire for something. Usually, the word jangura is translated as "appetite." But literally, jan-gura means the desire to eat.
In my head, when I think about the word jangura, it's more than a desire, it makes me think of the need to eat.

The making of my Jangura

Part 1 - Chorizo:

I was born in Bilbao, Basque Country, in the northern part of Spain, but moved to Donostia, San Sebastian, at the age of 3. Over the years San Sebastian in particular, but also Bilbao and the Basque Country - Euskal Herria - in general, have become culinary destinations for people who love food. Even the New York Times and Food and Wine think so.

I grew up in a pretty traditional Basque/Spanish household where my mother took care of all the cooking. She was influenced by my maternal grandmother, who was also an amazing cook and who had a passion for simple food cooked with basic ingredients. Ama Luisa (grandma) would ladle "sopa de cocido" for me (the quintessential Spanish soup made with pasta or rice added to the stock of slowly cooked beef, chicken and marrow bones, among other things - check out We Are Never Full's post on cocido, which includes a healthy serving of Rachel Ray bashing, always a favorite dish) and would refer to the red, fatty goodness rendered by the chorizo as Love. The love she poured into her cooking and the lovely flavor chorizo gives to any dish are two things I've always kept close to my heart. Chorizo is something I can't live without. It's my go-to snack, my basic ingredient. It has a bit of umami quality when added to a meal, that type of flavor that makes you wonder what is it that makes something taste so good.

My mom still tells me the story of the day she and I (approx. age 2) came back home from the butcher. She had a grocery bag with a nice chorizo sticking out of it. Then the phone rang and she went to pick it up, leaving me in the kitchen for a moment. I managed to grab the chorizo out of the bag from my stroller and when she came back she found me with my face covered in red grease, happily gnawing at the chorizo, which by now was covered in baby drool and pretty much useless. That is when my love affair with chorizo began.

Mom is an amazing cook herself. I will never, NEVER be able to cook pescado en salsa verde that tastes like hers (and don't be fooled by this link, if you try this recipe you may come up with a decent version, but it still won't be as good as mom's). Although... maybe the fact that the fish she gets has been brought fresh that very morning from the port could have something to do with it. After all, I have to deal with Albany bought fish, which is often of less than desirable freshness. But I'd rather keep thinking that there is some sort of supernatural quality that my mother has that makes her fish so good.

Part 2 - Coming to America:

I was sent to America at the young age of 17 to find a suitable husband... wait, what? OK, just kidding, to learn English. I somehow ended up living in Southern Kansas for 9 months. I was Fez before Fez even existed. I was one of three foreign exchange students in a remote, tiny high school where some people thought that Spain was somewhere in South America. This was a long time ago, way before Food Network, Travel Channel, the term foodie (term which I don't necessarily like, for the record) so my experiences with food were pure Americana (BBQ, burritos, pizza, food court Chinese, etc.) By the end of the 9 months my cooking skills were still very underdeveloped, even though I was supposed to help with dinner once a week. I spent most of my time discovering the delights of vending machines: M&Ms, Funyuns and the like. The school lunch included something called Frito Pie. I still remember the taste of it. It was fascinating, yet substantially gross. I gained a lot of weight, mastered the language and went back to Spain.

Back home I rapidly lost all the weight (gotta love being 18!) and started college. That's when I started experimenting with food at my grandma Mari's house, driven by my newly discovered love of Chinese and Mexican food, both of which were just becoming popular in the Basque Country. I would throw all kinds of random ingredients in a skillet and would wait to see what happened. Most of the time I ended up with a very strange concoction that would not taste horrible but wasn't very good either. That said, I was playing with limited tools.

The only spice to be found in grandma's kitchen was smoked paprika, pimenton. This became love affair numero dos. Smoked paprika has become readily available in the United States. It has nothing to do with standard paprika, that odorless, tasteless red powder most people are familiar with. It has a very intense, smoky essence. I've been accused of being too generous with it, but I can't help myself. I just love it. I use it very liberally in sopa de ajo, garlic soup. Garlic soup is my version of American chicken soup. I love it when I'm not feeling well. That said, you can't get very creative with just smoked paprika, as amazing as it is.

After I finished school I wasn't sure of what I wanted to do with my life. The job situation in Spain was pretty bad. Then someone talked to me about coming back to the U.S. for graduate school, an option I hadn't considered. So I applied to a couple of schools and ended up at the University of Iowa.

There were quite a few people from Spain in grad school as well as many amazing people from Central and South America (you know who you are, and I miss you all dearly!) We all loved food and would get together often to cook, drink wine and of course, to party (which became pretty legendary; they called us "The Spanish Armada") Inspired by these wonderful people, I began to cook more and more, and I started feeling pretty comfortable and confident around the kitchen. Also, Iowa City had a great Coop and Farmers' Market, which made it all much easier. And an amazing selection of restaurants from different countries. AND I didn't have my mother to cook for me and I missed the food back home a lot. That's when my more serious attempts at cooking started.

Part 3 - The greatest inspiration of all:

So, I was attending grad school in Iowa City, and go figure! I met this incredible guy that I totally fell for. Now, all I had to do was convince him that he should fall for me, too. And what better way than to cook him a meal. I cooked meatballs in red sauce for him. Not very original, but easy, cheap, and hard to screw up, as well as delicious. Apparently it did the trick because we've been together ever since. I'm embarrassed to admit that I wasn't very adventurous with other types of food back then. It was thanks to him and also my wonderful roommate of a couple of years that I tried Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese and Korean food  for the first time. Then I became obsessed with Asian cuisine.

We eventually moved from Iowa City to Kansas City. We were pretty broke, but I was still extremely obsessed with those amazing, bright, new flavors that I had just begun to discover: cilantro, lime, fish sauce, sesame oil, chili pastes of all textures and heat, Thai basil... you name it. So, I had to start figuring out how to make these dishes myself. Fortunately, Kansas City also had great farmers' markets, Asian food markets and restaurants. I started experimenting again, this time with the appropriate range of spices and sauces, and slowly became relatively proficient at it. It also helped that the incredible guy was there every step of the way, appreciating my efforts, being patient when my Basque temper kicked in when something didn't turn out the way I wanted it (struggles with sushi rice, anyone??) and eating my food, and loving it (or so he says!)

Finally, we moved to Albany, and here we are to this day. We have met so many incredible people, who love and appreciate food and love to eat as much as we do, and who have joined the incredible guy as relentless sources of inspiration, appreciating my efforts in the kitchen, sharing new ideas, recommending food and restaurants... you also know who you are.
I'm happy that the food scene in Smallbany has been improving substantially over the last few years, with great additions like Ric Orlando's New World Bistro (just make sure you don't order the burger, but do order the blackened string beans and anything from the "forbidden pleasures" section of the menu - that is, if you are really into food) and Dale Miller's, although I wasn't as blown away the first time I had it as I thought I was going to be. Which gives me the perfect excuse to give it another try, no? Also, I discovered the wonders of 677. I don't eat a lot of red meat, but they have great appetizers, which makes it a more budget friendly option as well. And it's always a blast to sneak over there for lunch. Also, I can't wait until Master Saso is back in the local food scene, because I've barely recovered from the trauma of his restaurant closing. Another great thing that Albany has: the Coop, which sells both my loves: chorizo and pimenton, along with paella rice and Basque cheeses like Idiazabal.


I couldn't forget to mention my other source of inspiration, my little sous chef, who is always there to keep me company and to volunteer to test ingredients so I can be sure that the ahi tuna and shrimp are always nice and fresh...
Laister arte!