"The biggest I've done was for two hundred and fifty people. It took four men to carry the pan!" says Hector. "A paella for thirty people is manageable—it's normal."

From the way things look, and smell, those are going to be thirty extremely lucky, happy people.

Before firing up the pan at La Paloma, Macau's premier Spanish restaurant, Hector spent fourteen years working in restaurants across Europe. He is a veteran of the Michelin-starred Cal Rei Restaurant in Girona, Spain. Now at the helm of La Paloma, Hector champions his Catalan roots, serving up classic Catalonian cuisine.

La Paloma is nestled within the walls of the magnificent fortress of Sao Tiago da Barra, built in 1629 to protect Macau from invaders. Situated along the Praia Grande Bay, the fort was transformed in the 1970s into the Pousada de Sao Tiago. In a city of high rises and bright neon lights, this hotel charms with its old stone walls and tranquil setting.

The terrace décor is Mediterranean: white tile floor, an old stone fountain, and scattered tables under green umbrellas. Standing there with Hector, watching him tend the paella, reminds me of the Sunday afternoons I used to spend at my grandparents’ finca in Mallorca, helping prepare the family feast.

There are as many paellas as there are cooks in Spain, but the dish is traditionally made with rice, saffron, olive oil and various combinations of vegetables, seafood and meat. Hector has been building his paella gradually, one layer at a time, allowing the flavors to slowly meld together. Following the tried and true method, he pours the rice into the pan in the shape of a large cross, before slowly pushing it out in all directions.

Once the rice is in, stirring the paella is discouraged: the rice that settles on the bottom of the paellera will form a toasty brown crust, called the soccarat. This caramelized crust is a sign of well-cooked paella—it's the bit that everyone fights over. Kids in Spain push aside the rice and seafood and go straight for the soccarat.

Hector throws in a handful of saffron, its brilliant crimson hue and wild, bittersweet flavor the key to the perfect paella. Although the fragile threads are the most expensive spice in the world—it takes about 225,000 hand-picked stigmas to make a single pound of saffron—most people agree that paella without saffron would be like pizza without cheese.

Paella is not the only star of Hector's lunchtime Spanish feast. While the paella simmers, a trolley carrying a huge leg of cured pata negra—the famous Iberian ham—is wheeled out on the terrace. Hector takes up his knife and cuts slices that are almost transparently thin, which he piles on to a plate alongside slices of crusty bread topped with diced tomato and drizzled with olive oil.

Celebrated throughout Spain and Portugal and by enthusiastic eaters around the globe, pata negra has been called the holy grail of ham. It has a subtle, nutty flavor and, thanks to the evenly distributed fat, a creamy, mouthwatering texture. I love pata negra, and I have to exercise some serious willpower to slow down and save room for the paella—a wise decision.

Hector's bubbling paella Valenciana is a beautiful thing to behold. Shrimp, clams, squid, mussels, chicken, Spanish chorizo, peppers and beans are all mixed together in a stew of delicious abundance, every ingredient cooked to its perfect texture, all richly infused with the red saffron, with what turns out to be an absolutely perfect soccarat waiting underneath.

Spanish cuisine is my favorite. It's the food I was raised on. When I eat Spanish, I'm a tough, prejudiced customer—I want it to taste like the real deal. Hector's perfect paella has convinced me. When I yearn for the rich flavors and vibrant colors of Spain, when I need my Spanish fix in Macau, I know I can count on Hector and La Paloma.

Written by Jean Alberti, Macau.com's food and beverage columnist and Chef at Large.

Photography by David Hartung

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