Student: Tekla Nachbar

I’ll admit it – I’m a sucker for all things Spanish. I love the language, the music, the culture, the wine; but most of all, I love the food. So when I found out that Culinary Communion was offering a Tapas cooking class, I signed right up!

I was thrilled about the nearly three hours of small-group instruction, plus (and here’s the real hook) you get to eat everything when you’re done. Truthfully, I had tried to sign up for the tapas class before, but it had full been full. So when I was able to get a spot I was pretty excited. I could already taste the albondigas (meatballs) and potato-onion tortilla. There was just one problem: my Dad was visiting that week.

So what was a tapas-lover to do? I took a deep breath and signed my Dad up, too.

Father-daughter cooking adventures might seem normal to some, but this was definitely a stretch for us. First of all, my father lives in White Bluff, Tennessee, where fried catfish and cornbread is considered a gourmet meal.

Secondly, my Dad’s not exactly nimble with a knife – unless he’s cleaning a fish. So I was nervous. I hoped his patience would last long enough for us to get to the eating part. I also hoped there wasn’t a competing NASCAR race at the same time as our cooking class.

To his credit, my Dad surprised me. He was incredibly curious about the cuisine, and even looked up the origin of the term tapas before we went.

The class was great, too! We had a ton a ton of fun: chopping, measuring, stirring, and sautéing away. Of course, during class my Dad was charmed by a “gun” he found in the utensil drawer; it was a pistol-like laser that you can point at a skillet to read the temperature. He had so much fun with the gun I don’t think anyone else had a chance to use it!

Dad w/his “gun”

Our instructor, Senior-Chef Katie Coleman, did a fantastic job with our group. And the fruits of our labor were delicious: albondigas, Serrano ham wrapped dates, mushrooms with garlic and sherry, patatas bravas (a fried potato dish), gambas (shrimp) basquaise, crema catalana, and of course – sangria!

My Dad loved it, too. When he got back to Tennessee he sent me this email : “I haven’t brought up the tapas thing with the breakfast boys yet. They already think I’m weird and I don’t want to push them over the edge with cooking conversations. (Men in Tennessee tend to barbeque and take out the trash, not cook.)”

Well, Dad, you’ve officially been to tapas class. Tell the boys what you will, but I think we both know the truth!