How the Arepa Became Spain’s New Market Food

Telenovelas, Casas de Indianos and transatlantic exchages

There’s often a disconnect between the symbolic weight a food carries and the experience of the person eating it – especially when that person is Instagramming it from Madrid’s Mercado de la Paz in Spain’s fanciest neighborhood. Roll in the arepa: the humble, golden corn disc from Venezuela (and Colombia, but that is another story) now found either fried or frozen across Spain’s food markets, far from the crumbling supermarkets of Caracas.

Arepas are Venezuela’s daily bread, a nostalgic nod to a pre-Chávez (Maduro) past that blurs timelines that range from cantos de pilón, female-sung songs that kept rhythm with the pounding of corn before industrialization, to the shiny new builds of 1980s Caracas when democratic rule was respected amid growing inequality. The Venezuelan diaspora, although politically fragmented, can agree on this.

With their subtle nutty flavor of sweet corn, they are the fatter cousin of the more famous tortilla used in a taco. A successful arepa needs to be crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Whether you like Cuban or Mexican flavors, arepas can be deployed quickly (without the dreaded tortilla press) to provide a foil to popular recipes like Pork pibil, Gallo pinto or Cuban picadillo. They are blank canvas that can be used in many Latin American recipes but take note, if you are a stickler for rules and authenticity that every country does not use corn tortillas or arepas. For instance while Costa Rica does (hello Torti Ricas, a beloved brand) Peru doesn’t.

Once the edible equivalent of the national flag, the arepa became collateral in Venezuela's decades-long political tragedy. Its prime ingredient, Harina P.A.N., Venezuela’s once ubiquitous and cheap pre-cooked cornmeal, is no longer a household staple but a premium brand, out of reach for seventy percent of the population. It has to compete in a manipulated market with inferior brands like Kaly and Mimasa, that want to break its “hegemony”. Chavez cleverly delivered his messages with arepas by either opening “Socialist Arepa Stores” or using the flour bags as vessels for propaganda.

In It Would Be Night in Caracas or La Hija de la Española (2019), the writer Karina Sainz Borgo describes the arepa as nothing less than a vessel of democracy: “True democracy dwelled in that industrialized product. Whether rich or poor, everyone ate that starch, which was baked into so many of our memories.”

Meanwhile across Spain and the USA, you can find Harina P.A.N. in at least two cheerful colors (plus a sweet version for cachapas) in nearly every neighborhood import shop, an abundance that almost seems cruel. There is even a new whole grain one.

When Venezuela was a little like South Korea

The recent wave of Latin American culture and immigration is not a new phenomenon. Latin America, especially Venezuela, began shaping Spanish popular culture decades ago, largely thanks to television. In the 80s and 90s, Venezuela was a land of creativity, possibility, and dazzling export-ready talent.

Venezuelan telenovelas were global hits, watched from Israel to the U.S and remade assiduously. As a little girl growing up between Central America and Spain, I was obsessed with them. Despite my father’s fierce resistance I watched them in secret.

The telenovela or in Spain culebrón that introduced Spaniards to the country was the chart-breaking Cristal, set in a glamorous fashion house and centered on a working-class woman’s rise to power. Its final episode in November 1990 stopped Spain in its tracks; 18 million viewers (almost half of Spain) tuned in. Its powerful mix of glamour, pain, love and hope captivated the nation and, in turn, taught us a new jargon that proved useful in the subsequent waves of immigration: chamo, chévere, mi amor and vaina, among many others.

Apart from Janet Rodríguez, the lead actress in Cristal, we knew Venezuelan women were the perennial winners of Miss Universe in a time when beauty pageants still mattered. Maybe that’s why I insisted on using LUX soap, the one endorsed by glamorous women.

But it wasn’t just telenovelas. Singers like El Puma, Franco de Vita, Carlos Baute, Rudy La Scala and María Conchita Alonso were household names. And I had a crush on Los Chamos. Many Venezuelan actors migrated to Spain, and their soft, lilting accents became part of the soundtrack of Spanish TV. After this, coupled with the rise of Chavez and the welcoming immigration policies of Spanish president Rodríguez Zapatero, Venezuelans from all economic classes came in droves to Spain.

This journey had a precedent, but in reverse. After the Spanish Civil War, millions fled to Latin America, with many landing on Venezuelan shores. That is why we always felt like they were extended family or parientes. And, like many Latin Americans, they brought a warmth and tact (mano izquierda) that has softened our bluntness. In that era, Venezuela dominated a cultural space we didn’t realize would eventually disappear.

Rich Venezuelans are nothing new

And for all the worries about wealthy Latin Americans buying up Spain (especially Madrid), it’s hardly a new phenomenon. Spain is dotted with casas de Indianos, a glaring reminder of the wealth amassed by returning emigrants and their brood. These Indianos were Spaniards who struck it rich in Latin America and came back eager to flaunt it. They built extravagant homes borrowing from eclectic architectural styles combining tropical flair with Hansel-and-Gretel whimsy, but all with one clear message: we made it.

Casa de Indianos Ribadesella, Asturias.

For all the transatlantic comings and goings, the food of Latin America did not earn a seat at Spain’s culinary table until recently. We were too provincial. To me, arepas are the quickest route to a Latin American inspired meal that you can whip up at home; cousins to Mexican panuchos and Salvadoran pupusas, but way way easier to make.

Harina P.A.N. is far easier to find in Spain than Mexican Maseca. The dough is wonderfully pliable, like edible Play-Doh, and delivers fast, crispy results. Great for families with lots of little idle hands.

A Recipe for Small Grilled and Fried Arepas (straight from the bag)

Ingredients:

2 cups Harina P.A.N. (yellow or white)

2 ½ cups warm water

1 tsp salt (or to taste)

1 melted butter (optional)

Oil for cooking (neutral or olive oil)

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Mix all the ingredients together in a bowl and knead with your hand for about two minutes, just until the dough comes together and feels smooth. Cover it with a clean cloth and let it rest for five minutes.

If you're making small cocktail-sized arepas, weigh the dough and divide it into 20 equal balls, each weighing around 40 grams. I usually use my kitchen scale for this. But if I'm just cooking for my family, I don’t bother weighing, I simply divide by eye. As you form the dough balls, keep them covered with a cloth, as the dough tends to dry out quickly.

When you're ready to shape the arepas, keep a bowl of water nearby to moisten your hands. This helps to prevent cracks and makes the dough easier to handle. Take one ball at a time and gently flatten it with your hands into a disc. If the edges start to crack, add a few drops of water to the dough and knead it briefly by hand to bring it back to the right consistency.

While you shape the arepas, heat a lightly greased cast iron griddle or pan. Place the arepas on the hot surface and cook them for a couple of minutes on each side, just until golden and marked with griddle lines. You can serve them right away or keep them warm in a low oven (but not too long) while you prepare the rest.

If you prefer a crispier finish, shallow-fry them instead. Heat a pan with enough oil to cover the bottom. Once the oil is hot, fry the arepas until golden on one side, flip, and cook the other side. Transfer to a paper towel to drain off any excess oil, and keep warm until serving.

The simplest and laziest way to eat arepas is with a bit of butter and, if you like a kick, a touch of hot sauce. You can also cut in half and stuff with a variety of ingredients.