Food is erotic. If that phrase shocks you, you’re probably new here. If that phrase somehow insults you or makes you feel uncomfortable, maybe I’m not the writer for you. If you know food (or me) intimately enough, you probably read that first sentence and thought to yourself, “No shit; tell me something I don’t know.” But, that’s what I’m afraid of, my friend. What if I can’t tell you something that you don’t already know? I mean, erotic is easy. Sexuality is in our nature, as long as we don’t get in our own way–after all, we’re animals. Look at a peach. Take a slow, juicy bite. Yada, yada, something about its juices dripping down your throat or slowly trickling down your chin or whatever. Food is erotic and we all know it to be true. However: recently, I found myself wondering why Spanish food and wine is so romantic. For me, that feels like a more challenging topic to traverse. Romance and sex are not the same thing–not even a little bit. I’m not certain that I’m the right tour guide to take you on a journey where we explore how food and romance (dare I even say the dirty, four letter word, “love”) are intimately and inextricably interwoven. As the self proclaimed queen of heartbreak, I’m probably a bad ambassador for all things appetizing and amorous. But being bad at love has never stopped me from trying before. 

I’m no historian. Cold hard facts don’t really get me off in the same way that fanciful fairy tales do. I live for a good story–like the tale behind the word “paella.” The story of paella is so romantic and lovely that I don’t care whether or not it’s true; it can live in my head rent-free forever and I’ll always make sure there’s space for it. As the story goes, this world-famous Spanish dish was first created by a man for his lover. The name of this dish comes from the Spanish words “para ella” which translates to “for her.” This is infinitely more romantic than any boy who has ever put my name into some garage-band level, shit-rock song. The bar for bare minimum effort has been raised. I want a lover who crafts brand new, delicious dishes in my honor or bust. The words “for her” whisper in my subconscious like a siren song. Is anything even allowed to be this romantic? Is paella what love tastes like? Does love this limitless and unyielding actually exist in the real world and does it always come with rice? These are all questions that plagued my mind on my long walk to Bravas for their Paella Night Experience. 

It had snowed early in the day, but not long after dawn the skies gave way to an unyielding rainfall. Midwestern winter was in full swing. The air was bitter, cold, and practically unbreathable. The rain pelted like frigid shards of glass stinging my reddened, icy cheeks. I didn’t dare leave any inch of skin exposed that I could comfortably cover. Bundled in my winter warmest, with unfamiliar romantic ideals as my secret company, I trudged the slushy, sloppy blocks to Bravas. The daylight hours had been dismal. (Well, it’s winter in Fort Wayne: hope your favorite color is gray!) But by the time it came to venture to Bravas, the darkness of night was upon me–though it was only early evening. I wondered, “Is this romantic?” It certainly didn’t feel romantic–plodding and clomping my Doc Martens through slush while shivers colonized my spine and soon claimed my jaw as their new capital. I imagined romance to be less cold and damp; though perhaps equally shaky, but from different causes. I suppose that sometimes these things are simply about your perspective. That movie-magic, picture-perfect kiss at the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s would realistically be soggy, cold, and smell like rancid New York City garbage. Does romance often smell like trash? That can’t be right–it must smell like all matter of intoxicating things–it must smell like paella. 

Pintxos: like tapas, but not. It’s how the evening began. These little snacks, native to Northern Spain, were served family style at a table full of strangers. That’s fine, because once the pintxos get busted out, strangers quickly turn into friends; and friends are basically our chosen family. We enjoyed scrummy marinated olives and heavenly pan con tomate–two small plates that any fans of Bravas are likely highly familiar with. They’re well-loved for a reason. Boquerones graced the table. (Anchovies marinated in olive oil, vinegar, garlic, and a little parsley; for the uninitiated.) Is it wrong to say this plate, one of the most simple of the evening, was also one of my favorites? Ya girl is in her fish era. I recently got a hat that says “Anchovy Club.” I’m not secretive about where my loyalties currently lie–it’s with stinky little fishies. There were also these super, ultra tender beef skewers, which I’m sure you’d like to hear more about…but, like I said, my loyalties are to the fishies. All of the aforementioned little bites shared two major points in common–all were delicious and all had the serious potential to make your breath stink like crazy. Which begs the question, “Is Spanish food romantic because it forces your lover to adore you despite anchovy and garlic breath?” To pair, a glass of sparkling wine–in the style of Champagne, but not Champagne. Acidic, bubbly wines pair great with little nibbly foods. A great way to start the evening? You betcha. But, who’s surprised? Bravas always brings their A game. 

The first plate of the evening was a winter salad built mostly of greens and beets dusted in a festive snowfall of cheese. I’ll be real with you: I’m still learning to love beets. While this may not have been my favorite salad ever, it was well loved by all those around me–and those around me were well entitled to their opinions. As luck would have it, I sat across from the owners, head brewer, and chef of Parlor City Brewing. As people who enjoy beets, they dug this salad. (So, trust their professional opinions and not mine.) I still got down on the wine pairing; an Albariño. Super acidic and citrusy, this was a gulpable sip. I may have been a bad girl and not eaten all of my vegetables on this particular occasion, but I definitely got more than my fair share of fruits–in the way of fermented grape juice. 

The soup course was a masterfully crafted caldo gallego. Composed of pork broth, white bean, potato, jamón, and kale, caldo gallego is a quintessential cuisine of Northern Spain. Nutrient and flavor dense, this dish utilizes “unto.” We could call it rancid pork fat, we could call it ‘salted and cured’ pork fat, or we could keep it real and just call it the flavor-bomb that gives caldo gallego its je ne sais quoi. Whatever it is, it’s worth trying twice–because it’s good enough that you’ll want a second taste. It was soup weather outside and this was an ideal soup to enjoy on such a day. It was warming and soul nourishing. (Sort of like love is supposed to be, I guess.) To pair, the Bodegas Raúl Pérez Ultreia Godello–which brings me back to my curiosities about romance. Why is Spanish wine so utterly flirtatious, bordering on seductive? This white boasts pear and lemon–and I know I said I wouldn’t talk about minerality anymore in 2024 but as I type this up I’m a little tipsy and it’s late so let me, just one last time, lazily mention the minerality and salinity of this wine. Big yum. Recommendable sip. Make this something you gulp in 2024. If you can have it with some caldo gallego, even better.

Now, the reason we were all there. The pièce de résistance: the paella. A simple dish of bomba rice, sofrito, organic chicken, butifarra sausage, and saffron coming together to be greater than the sum of their parts–and their parts were all pretty great to start with, so imagine what happens when you skillfully combine this supergroup of ingredients. Was this the best paella I’ve ever had? Yeah, sure–I’ll give that accolade to Bravas. It was absolute top notch paella. To pair, a wine I’ve come to have a bit of a crush on: the Ultreia Saint Jacques Mencía. I’ve written about this wine before: dry red, higher acid, and super food friendly. With delicate tannins and delicious fruitiness, it’s no wonder I’m smitten with this bottle. I revisit it–perhaps more than I should. I suppose it’s like a lover. I enjoy it, so I return. If I ever stop enjoying it, I’ll stop returning. But I don’t envision myself falling out of love with it any time soon. 

Dessert was bonkers, to say the very least. An apple crisp with vanilla ice cream is typically nothing to go bananas over–but what if I told you that the ‘crisp’ part was made of Cheez-Its. (I feel like I’m giving away a big secret. Sorry, fam, but the tea had to be spilled.) I haven’t had Cheez-Its since elementary school. I had a turtle named Waldo who I would feed Cheez-Its as a little snack–that goofy reptile went apeshit for those cautionary-orange-hued crackers. Waldo was one of the first creatures I ever loved. He was also one of the first creatures I ever lost. When he died, I swore I’d never eat Cheez-Its again. Like, I guess my thinking was that since Waldo could never eat Cheez-Its again, I too would never eat Cheez-Its again in solidarity. I know the logic doesn’t exactly track: but I was a grieving child. I don’t have to make it make sense. I had a big feeling and that’s how I coped with it and I stuck to that promise for over two decades. Then Bravas sneak attacked me with Cheez-Its in my apple crisp. Thanks, Bravas. No, but really–thanks, Bravas, because I was kind of obsessed with the sweet and salty pairing. Also, sometimes moving on takes a little push. I feel like I grew a lot tonight. It’s important to know when to let go–and for everything else, there’s apple crisp. They paired it with a Sherry. I won’t pretend to know much about Sherry; it’s a blind-spot for me in my wine studies. I simply haven’t had very much exposure to this wine. What I can say is that this particular Sherry sparked my curiosity–so I’ll definitely consider exploring more Sherry. A little bird told me Bravas is expecting a bit of a shake-up in terms of their wine menu in the very near future, so perhaps you’ll be able to go and sample this Sherry. When I say “perhaps,” I really mean it sounds like this is something you could presently go to Bravas and ask for, if you wanted to. I suggest you do. 
Spanish food is easy to fall in love with–especially the paella from Bravas. Thoughtfully paired with quaffable wines, I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening. It was fun, delicious, and–above all else–simple. From the dishes presented to the family-style picnic table dining experience, everything about the night was just really simple. The thing about simple things is that they have to be really perfect to be good: there’s no grandeur to hide behind. Simplicity can be difficult to achieve and even more impossible to execute flawlessly. Bravas did it–seemingly without breaking a sweat. So, here’s the moment where I admit that my fears were founded: I am indeed a bad ambassador for this journey. Simplicity completely goes against my understanding of romance. For me, love stories are generally either triangles or tragedies–riddled with confusion, anxiety, and most definitely never a happy ending. The way I’ve previously viewed romance, there’s nothing simple about it. But, this meal forces me to change my perspective. Romance is simple. At least, it’s supposed to be. If we’re going to search for love, we should search for a love like paella–simple, quality ingredients coming together to make something greater than the sum of their parts. It should be something that develops with time and attention. There’s no quick shortcut, microwave ready, television-dinner-style substitute that comes close to the real thing. Love, like paella, requires effort–something so pure and simple, it need only be tended to properly for it to flourish. If you don’t tend to it properly, no amount of added extravagance or truffle oil will save it–you’ll only muck it up and make it worse. I want a love like paella. But, until then–pintxos, paella, and some Spanish wine from Bravas are the perfect placeholders to fill the vacant space in my heart. Spanish food is romantic–more romantic than any lover I’ve ever known. I don’t know the feeling well enough yet. I’d like to know it better someday; which I suppose means I’ll have to eat a lot more Spanish food. Lucky me. If your lover doesn’t bring paella to the table: send them packing. I am accepting applications for lovers and fast tracking any applicant who will take me to the next Paella Night at Bravas. I will relentlessly crave their paella until the next time that I’m lucky enough to enjoy it again. I’ve had a taste of romance: and I want more.