Now in the seventh year, Paella Fest has become something of a local legend. When the invite came through, I knew it wasn't something to miss.
We arrived to find Ellie's station behind three gas burners, each topped with a wide steel paella pan, bubbling and alive. Flanked by friends Armando and Keegan, the team turned out nearly 18 pans over the course of the evening, vegetarian, seafood, and chicken.
Paella traces its roots to 18th-century Valencia, Spain, a communal rice dish built around what was available, often snails, rabbit, duck, and beans. At its core is bomba rice, a short-grain variety prized for its ability to absorb flavor without losing structure. The process starts with a sofrito, onions, garlic, pepper, and tomatoes.
Cooked down slowly in olive oil until deeply caramelized. Then come the spices: saffron, paprika, warm and aromatic. Liquid is added, and from that point on, no stirring. The rice absorbs, settles, and eventually crisps along the bottom of the pan, forming sokarat, that golden, crackling layer that defines a great paella.
At one point, Ellie glanced over and signaled five minutes. Soon enough, a bowl appeared in my hands, heaped with rice, and finished with a generous scrape of that prized sokarat. There's no formal invitation to this party. You hear about it, you show up, and if you do, you're in for the next year.
Gatherings like this, potlucks, backyard barbecues, meals built around shared effort, remind me that the best part of food isn't just what's on the plate, but the people gathered around it.
