Paella on the Beach in Valencia

On my first trip to Spain, I stayed in a small guesthouse in Valencia run by a family. On Sunday, they invited me to a family paella on the beach.

The grandfather made it in a pan as wide as a bicycle wheel, over an open fire of orange wood. He'd been making it every Sunday for fifty years. Everyone had a job. The kids gathered wood. The mothers chopped. The grandmother supervised and corrected everyone.

When it was ready, the whole family, about twenty people, gathered around the pan with forks. You eat paella straight from the pan, each person working toward the middle from their own spot. The best part, the crispy bottom, is called the socarrat, and everyone fights over it.

The grandfather gave me the first bite of socarrat. Everyone cheered. I've been back to Valencia twice since. They've invited me to Sunday paella both times.