March 04, 2005

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Palo Alto Online

Studying the other Peninsula

by Elaine M. Rowland

On a recent Sunday afternoon, 13 people came together in the immaculate kitchen of Iberia Restaurant to learn from a master of Spanish cooking.

I'd been charged with sauteing a chorizo and vegetable filling for empanadillas, spicy little turnovers. Finding the pan a bit dry, I added extra olive oil and looked up to find Iberia chef/owner Jose Luis Relinque, his eyes intense, looming beside me.

"How much olive oil did you put in there?" he asked.

It occurred to me then he might not appreciate my modifying his recipe --after all, who wears the stripy chef pants in this kitchen?

I admitted to "about a tablespoon."

"How much?"

"A little more than a tablespoon?"

"How much?"

I didn't know what the right answer was, but I knew he was still waiting for it. He picked up the oil and prepared to pour, a smile spreading on his face.

"Oh... how about 'a lot'?"

"Very good," he laughed, pouring in a half-cup of fragrant oil.

I'd forgotten his comment that morning about using fats to bring out foods' flavor in cooking. In fact, Relinque champions olive oil (preferably from Spain) as the hallmark of Spanish cooking.

"The flavor of a good olive oil will permeate everything," he said.

Born in Seville and raised in Barcelona, Relinque has a passion for authentic Spanish food that translates into his restaurant's menu of paella, tapas and regional specialties. And while his favorite dish is always the latest addition to the menu, he also professes a love for the art of slow-braised lamb as well as simple, olive-oil-fried fresh fish and cold beer. The only deviation from authenticity seems to be operating hours, which are not the late, late hours found on that other, Iberian peninsula.

But he squeezes much into each "short" day. From 9:30 a.m. until sometimes 11 p.m., he's at his Menlo Park restaurant, overseeing operations. "Running a restaurant in its entirety -- from the kitchen to the dining room -- is multi-tasking at its best," Relinque said.

And that's not even counting the Red Terrier Public House (a bar inside Iberia, named after the dogs he co-owns), a catering business, the Rock of Gibraltar specialty-food store next to Iberia and the Sunday-afternoon cooking classes he also runs.

Relinque began the classes seven years ago, as a contribution to a school fundraising auction.

"People are always curious to find out what's going on in a restaurant's kitchen. What better thing to do that than open our kitchen, of which we're very proud?"

Classes include an introduction by Relinque over croissants and coffee before sending students into the kitchen. The sangria flows until the recipes are completed and it's time to taste the results. Everyone swaps stories over the day's assignments: perhaps ensalada de escalibada (a roasted veggie salad) or pa amb tomaquet y pernil (tomato-rubbed bread topped with ham and, naturally, olive oil).

Relinque laughs, "I hate to call it 'cooking class' because it's not as though we learn anything -- but we have a good time."

He's kidding, of course, since he dispenses copious knowledge and patience as he coaches students to stuff empanadas without splitting them, whip aioli to the right consistency, or chop vegetables without endangering fingers.

In a more serious moment, he explains what he hopes people take away from his classes: "The idea that we shouldn't revere recipes: we should use them." And, "the idea that even if they are complete neophytes to a kitchen, they can cook."

Over tapas in January, students also learned the origin of the stuffed chicken in his Rock of Gibraltar store. Stuffed chickens -- though familiar in Spain's old-style food stores -- rarely come with a story like Amber's. Amber had been Relinque's pet, and fell into a torrid, multi-species love triangle with his two other pets, Lilah the duck and Houdini the rabbit. It nearly proved fatal for Amber when Houdini flew into a jealous rage one day, but Relinque found a quick-thinking vet who, for a mere $700, saved Amber's life. Today, she is immortalized in a glass box in his store.

After attending a class, I asked how Relinque remained calm in the face of a dozen knife-wielding strangers loose in his kitchen.

"I have lots of experience," he said.

Of course, experience only covers the predictable. He also relies on improvisation and a little que sera sera.

"A restaurant is a comedy of errors -- as long as you remember to laugh."

As food is Relinque's way of life, so stepping into Iberia Restaurant for a class or a meal is like walking into his home: the Food Network plays on TV over the hand-crafted bar, and he and his loyal crew (with him, on average, 15 years) work hard to ensure guests enjoy good food.

Relinque has fond memories of entertaining since arriving in California in 1974 -- including a batch of bathtub sangria for new friends. (The landlord was less impressed, preferring a permanently white tub to red.)

Thousands of miles from his mother's cooking, Relinque's quest for good food led him into the restaurant business. He started as a dishwasher, learning the ropes and English. One night at St James Restaurant in San Mateo, after staggering up two staircases with a full tray, he inadvertently sighed loudly in front of a customer. She asked, didn't the restaurant have dumbwaiters?

"No, all the waiters here are very smart," Relinque replied.

He laughs now, "Actually I was the dumb waiter."

Though Relinque makes self-deprecating jokes, he's proud of his restaurant, whose wine list scored the Wine Spectator's Best Award of Excellence. As for his mother, "She is extremely proud of the restaurant, although she will never tell me. And, of course, during her summer visits, she is constantly making 'suggestions'... Let's not forget, though, she still is my best teacher."
[info box] Cooking classes run $60-$90 per person. For more information visit www.iberiarestaurant.com or stop by Iberia at 1026 Alma St. in Menlo Park; or Rock of Gibraltar next door.

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