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Chorizo Stew with Chickpeas, Spinach, and Lemon Recipe

Chorizo Stew with Chickpeas, Spinach, and Lemon Recipe

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This hearty stew is full of flavor with a generous helping of dried chorizo, cinnamon, cumin and paprika. Opt for low-sodium chicken stock, canned tomatoes, and chickpeas to balance out the saltiness of the chorizo.

Click here to see Recipe SWAT Team: Chorizo


  • ½ cup finely chopped red onion
  • 2 cloves of garlic, minced
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 10 ounces dried, uncured chorizo, sliced ¼-inch thick
  • 1 cup low-sodium chicken stock
  • One 14 ½ ounce can diced tomatoes, no salt added
  • One 15-ounce can chickpeas, rinsed and drained
  • ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • ¼ teaspoon ground cumin
  • ½ teaspoon sweet paprika
  • 1 teaspoon sugar
  • Pinch of cayenne pepper
  • ½ teaspoon sea salt
  • ¼ teaspoon freshly cracked pepper
  • 2 handfuls of spinach
  • Lemon wedges, for serving


Heat a pot over medium heat. When the pot is hot, add the onion and garlic, followed by the olive oil. Sauté the onions until they begin to soften and add the sliced chorizo, coating it in the olive oil, garlic, and onion.

Add the chicken stock, tomatoes, chickpeas, and all of the spices. Bring the stew to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer for 20 minutes until the soup begins to thicken. With a measuring cup, scoop out ½ cup of the chickpeas and mash with a fork.

Pour the mashed chickpeas back into the pot and stir. Just before serving, add the spinach and stir until the spinach wilts. Serve immediately with crusty bread and lemon wedges.

Spanish cod stew with chickpeas

From the team behind The Great British Bake Off, this Spanish stew has combination of rich chorizo with tender chickpeas and flaky cod and is deliciously spicy. Once you've prepared the ingredients, it's a breeze to cook. For something a bit more special, you could use salt cod or baccalau, which has a firm, silky texture. Soak it overnight before cooking.

  1. Heat the oil in a large frying pan and fry the chorizo over a medium heat for 3&ndash4 minutes until just starting to become crisp. Remove with a slotted spoon to a bowl and set aside.
  2. Add the onion to the pan along with the hot and sweet paprikas and the crushed chilli. Cook for 8&ndash10 minutes until softened, stirring occasionally. Add the red wine, tomatoes, oregano, water and sugar. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes.
  3. Return the chorizo to the pan and add the chickpeas and the pieces of cod. Bubble gently for 3&ndash4 minutes until the cod is just cooked. Taste and add more seasoning, if needed. Sprinkle with the parsley and serve.

This is one of 130 seasonal recipes featured in The Great British Bake Off Winter Kitchen by Lizzie Kamenetzky (£20, BBC Books), with photography by Nassima Rothacker.

From the team behind The Great British Bake Off, this Spanish stew has combination of rich chorizo with tender chickpeas and flaky cod and is deliciously spicy. Once you've prepared the ingredients, it's a breeze to cook. For something a bit more special, you could use salt cod or baccalau, which has a firm, silky texture. Soak it overnight before cooking.

This is one of 130 seasonal recipes featured in The Great British Bake Off Winter Kitchen by Lizzie Kamenetzky (£20, BBC Books), with photography by Nassima Rothacker.

25 thoughts on &ldquo Spanish-inspired Chickpeas, Chorizo and Spinach, inspired by the written word &rdquo

This looks so fresh and full of flavor! Very nice!

I wonder if the natural mold that grows on aged chorizo is specific to where it’s made, like certain cheeses or sourdough bread, both of which taste of where they are produced and what people are around.

Oh Terry, I just wrote about Barcelona today and you are bringing me back there with this delicious sounding recipe! Wonder if it might be nice with a little sherry thrown in? Nigella’s spanish stew, of which I am a massive fan, makes great use of it and the taste is wonderful…

Carolyn—Leave it to a science writer to think about the mold. I’m guessing that most commercial producers of chorizo rely on commercial starter mold cultures, but you do raise an interesting question about how smaller producers might achieve this and whether or not it affects the taste and the whole terroir aspect of sausage production. Among other things, for instance, the diet of the pigs would have a definite influence on the flavor, as would the source of the paprika used.

Laura—Some sherry might make a good addition. Although so would throwing a little sherry into the diners. Marion’s long been a fan of sherries, but I only recently got interested in them at a sherry tasting at the National Restaurant Association’s annual show.

Thanks for the chorizo primer…combining them with chickpeas sounds a perfect match–both bold flavors.
I like to share a little aside to the sherry discussion, specially the ‘adding it to the diners’ part. It reminds me of your other blog today, about the tote-your-own shopping bags. When I lived in England the village liquor store sold sherry out of big, was it oak? casks, just like out of Poe’s story. You brought your OWN bottle in and they filled it: amontillado, golden, I forget the selection. I thought that was pretty cool.

This looks so yummy. I love chorizo, and this does indeed look like a speedy dinner!

I hate chorizo that is all heat and no flavor. It’s happened more times than I care to count. I have to start writing down all the meat counters at the market that I visit and keep a running tally on who has what. I’m still looking for the right balance, and when I do, this recipe is at the top of the list to try.– Jean

oh yes sir! so I’ve done these flavors before, minus the chorizo, in a bread-thickened stew with some tomato. while that’s certainly yummy, I’m always up for a new way to use chorizo–I think I get into a rut, being down here in Texas, of always employing it at breakfast, or occasionally as a component for stuffed portobellos. I’m certain it will thank you for offering it a new job in my kitchen.

Protein, chickpeas and spinach- sounds very nutritious! A beautiful dish!

You’ve hit on 3 staples in my kitchen with this post! I’m a first time visitor to Blue Kitchen but enjoyed my visit and have subscribed so I don’t miss future posts. Nice work!

Carol—Thanks so much for the cool sherry story! We bought some grapeseed oil from a place here in Chicago that will give us a discount on our next batch if we bring in the bottle for them to refill.

Thanks, Alta! Yes, it is an impressively quick dish.

Jean—Check the ingredients list. If it doesn’t include chiles, you’re probably okay.

Nishta—Chorizo with portobello mushrooms sounds absolutely wonderful!

Thanks for stopping by, Miakoda!

Welcome to Blue Kitchen, joan Nova!

I came, I saw, I ate. (Spanish chorizo took some getting.)

Checking ingredients lists can work when there are some. I usually go to the west side market here in Cleveland. They are not prepackaged meats. — oh well, gives me an excuse to experiement.

altadenahiker—But once you got the Spanish chorizo, the hardest step was done, right?

Jean—Sounds like you’re getting great stuff then! Just ask the guys behind the counter how spicy it is—they can often be quite helpful.

Nice to read about Spanish chorizo. I’ve been using Mexican Chorizo, but never quite knew what to do with the harder version. It reminds me of the Tyrolian sausage I grew up with. I will have to try this recipe.

Otehlia—It really is closer to sausages in its density and texture. I hope you enjoy it!

I love that great blogs like this have great blog rolls on the side. It is like food linking heaven in here! I will be back if I don’t get lost.

Thanks so much, Zac! After a quick look at your blog, I’ve already bookmarked it. I’m a sucker for good, thoughtful writing. And I love the Jill quotes. You’re right—no one will really come to know your wife from these brief statements. Calvin Trillin’s wife Alice knew that people got completely the wrong impression of her from his writings. But in both cases, they will have some sense of your wonderful marriages, and perhaps that is enough.

Yeah, the wife totally knows as soon as she says something that may end up in the blog. Sometimes she starts with saying: “And this is NOT a Jill quote!”

I just found this recipe from a link on Summer Tomato and cooked it tonight – delicious!

I’m glad you liked it, Liv! I love when older posts like this one get new comments.

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Andalusian-style chickpeas and spinach

As Spaniards would say, this dish is ‘bueno, bonito y barato’, which translates as ‘good, beautiful and cheap’. It couldn’t more true. Like many other peasant recipes from Southern Spain, this chickpeas and spinach are a fine example of how to make the most of simple and humble ingredients.

Yes, it has an unquestionable Middle East influence. In fact, there were the Persians who brought spinach and Phoenicians who first imported chickpeas to Spain. Yet after so many centuries, we can truly say that this is now a very traditional Andalusian dish.

You can find this recipe in tapas bars all over Andalusia. Although in all honesty, we’ve never had a better version of it than during our trips to Seville, and more specifically to some corner bars in the stunning working class neighbourhood of Triana.

Give it a go and we guarantee you that it won’t be the last time you cook it. And in the very remote case you’re still not 100% convinced about it, just read this wonderful article about the science-back health benefits of spinach by Helen Nichols and we promise you’ll be cooking this recipe straight away!


  • 400 g Fresh spinach - You can use frozen spinach too!
  • 400 g Tinned Spanish chickpeas - Buy the best quality you can afford
  • 1 tbsp Cumin seeds
  • 1 tbsp Sweet pimenton - Alternatively use smoked paprika
  • 0.5 unit Fresh cayenne pepper - Alternatively use any other red chilli you like (this is optional anyway)
  • 2 slices Bread - Day old country loaf preferably
  • 3 cloves Garlic - Thinly sliced
  • 1 tbsp Sherry vinegar - Alternatively red wine vinegar
  • 1 tbsp Salt
  • 1 tsp Ground black pepper
  • 6 tbsp Extra virgin olive oil


  1. Wash the spinach thoroughly and cook in boiling water for 3 minutes. Drain well and reserve.
  2. Coat a hot saucepan with olive oil and fry the garlic until golden brown. Reserve.
  3. Fry the bread in the same oil until golden brown and crunchy. Reserve.
  4. Use a mortar and pestle to grind the cumin seeds until you get a fine powder. Then incorporate the salt, pepper, cayenne, bread and garlic. Pestle it all together.
  5. Once you have a paste, lose it a bit by adding the Sherry vinegar and also a bit of liquid from the chickpeas tin. Mix well and reserve.
  6. Using always the same saucepan, sauté the spinach for a minute or so before adding the Pimenton, the mortar paste and the chickpeas.
  7. Stir well under a low temperature for 5 minutes so that all the flavours mix well and come nicely together. If it gets too dry or the consistency is too thick, add some water.
  8. This is now ready to be served. You can optionally sprinkle some extra Pimenton on top or serve with some fried toasts to accompany this food.

Of course you can also use a food processor or even a hand mixer instead of the mortar and pestle. I must admit though that I much prefer the texture obtained by using the mortar.

Catalan Garbanzos and Spinach Ingredients:

To make this recipe for Catalan chickpeas and spinach (cigrons amb espinacs), you will need:

  • Chickpeas: Chickpeas are typically sold extra cocidos (extra-cooked) in Spain, which makes them wonderfully soft and juicy in this dish. But if you are living outside of Spain and want to make your chickpeas extra-soft, just boil them in water for 10-20 minutes and then strain before adding them to this recipe. (Or you can just skip that step and use them straight out of the can.)
  • Fresh spinach: I often double the amount of fresh spinach in this dish because I love it so much. But feel free to use as much as you would like.
  • Raisins: Golden raisins are more typical in Catalonia, but any color of raisins will do.
  • Pine nuts: I love the buttery taste and crunch that toasted pine nuts add to the recipe. But feel free to sub in toasted almonds for a more affordable option.
  • Olive oil: Which we will use in the sauté and also to drizzle on top at the very end.
  • Garlic and onion: Which we will sauté to add extra flavor to the dish.
  • Spices: It’s debatable whether additional spices beyond salt and pepper are authentic in this dish. But many restaurants serve this dish with either paprika and/or cumin, which I think add great flavor, so I have included them in the recipe below.

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  • ½ pound dry garbanzo beans
  • 1 red bell pepper
  • 1 green bell pepper
  • 1 tablespoon canola oil
  • 4 red potatoes, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
  • 9 ounces Spanish-style chorizo, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
  • 1 yellow onion, cut into large chunks
  • 8 cloves garlic, or more to taste
  • 1 teaspoon paprika
  • ½ teaspoon salt, or more to taste
  • ¼ cup dry sherry, or more to taste

Put garbanzo beans into a large container add enough cool water to cover by several inches. Soak beans 8 hours to overnight. Drain and rinse before using.

Set oven rack about 6 inches from the heat source and preheat the oven's broiler. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil.

Halve both the red bell pepper and green bell pepper from top to bottom. Remove and discard the stem, seeds, and ribs. Arrange pepper halves with cut sides down onto the prepared baking sheet.

Roast peppers under the preheated broiler until their skins have blackened and blistered, 5 to 8 minutes transfer to a bowl and tightly seal bowl with plastic wrap to steam the peppers as they cool until the skins are loosened, about 20 minutes. Remove and discard skins. Slice peppers.

Heat canola oil in a pot over medium heat. Cook and stir potatoes in hot oil until browned, about 10 minutes add chorizo and continue to cook and stir until chorizo is hot, 3 to 5 minutes more. Stir peppers, onion, garlic cloves, paprika, and salt into the potato mixture cook, stirring infrequently, until the onion softens, about 10 minutes more.

Stir soaked garbanzo beans into the mixture. Pour sherry over everything. Bring the mixture to a simmer, reduce heat to medium-low, place a cover on the pot, and cook at a simmer until the beans are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.

Braised Coconut Spinach & Chickpeas with Lemon

Yield Serves 4 as a main dish or 6 as a side

  • wheat-free
  • fish-free
  • peanut-free
  • vegetarian
  • shellfish-free
  • pork-free
  • pescatarian
  • gluten-free
  • tree-nut-free
  • soy-free
  • egg-free
  • red-meat-free
  • alcohol-free
  • Calories 424
  • Fat 26.4 g (40.6%)
  • Saturated 18.6 g (93.1%)
  • Carbs 40.7 g (13.6%)
  • Fiber 11.3 g (45.0%)
  • Sugars 8.8 g
  • Protein 14.5 g (29.0%)
  • Sodium 878.4 mg (36.6%)


sun-dried tomatoes, chopped

large cloves garlic, peeled and minced

peeled and grated fresh ginger

Finely grated zest of 1 large lemon

dried hot red pepper, or pinch red pepper flakes (optional)

(15-ounce) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

(13 to 14-ounce) can coconut milk

freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus more as needed

For serving:

Toasted unsweetened coconut


Heat the oil or ghee in a large, deep Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until the onion is beginning to brown, about 5 minutes. Add the sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, fresh ginger, lemon zest, and red pepper, if using. Cook for 3 minutes, stirring frequently.

Add the chickpeas and cook over high heat for a few minutes, or until the chickpeas are beginning to turn golden and are coated with the onion and garlic mixture.

Toss in the spinach, one handful at a time. This will take about 5 minutes stir in a handful or two and wait for it to wilt down and make room in the pot before adding the next handful. When all the spinach has been added, add the coconut milk, lemon juice, ground ginger, and salt. Bring to a simmer, then turn down the heat and cook until the chickpeas are warmed through, about 10 minutes. Taste and season with more salt and lemon juice if needed. Serve hot over roasted sweet potatoes, with cilantro leaves and toasted unsweetened coconut to garnish.

Recipe Notes

Serving: This is thick enough to eat on its own with a fork, but it's also saucy enough to serve over pasta, rice, quinoa, or another grain.

Storage: Leftovers can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. Freeze in individual portions for up to 3 months. Allow it to thaw overnight in the fridge and then reheat gently over low heat on the stove.

Faith is the Editor-in-Chief of Kitchn. She leads Kitchn's fabulous editorial team to dream up everything you see here every day. She has helped shape Kitchn since its very earliest days and has written over 10,000 posts herself. Faith is also the author of three cookbooks, including the James Beard Award-winning The Kitchn Cookbook, as well as Bakeless Sweets. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with her husband and two small, ice cream-obsessed daughters.


  • 1 tbsp sunflower or mild olive oil
  • 1 medium onion, finely sliced
  • 2 garlic cloves, finely sliced
  • 75g/2½oz soft cooking chorizo
  • 1 tsp hot smoked paprika
  • 1 x 400g tin chopped tomatoes
  • 200ml/7fl oz just-boiled water
  • 2 tbsp tomato purée
  • 1 x 400g tin chickpeas
  • 75g/2½oz curly kale, rinsed, shredded, tough stalks removed
  • salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • crusty bread, to serve

Sometimes you need something that is quick to throw together and sticks to your belly like muck on a lavatory, and honestly, despite that unsavoury opening, this recipe for spinach and chickpea will do the trick. Doesn’t sound like the most exciting in the world, but it’s grand – nicely spicy, no meat and just yessss.

Before we get to the razzmatazz of the recipe, a note about our new book which is available to pre-order on Amazon and WH Smith now. There’s only a couple of weeks to go before this colourful little bugger is in your hands. If you pre-order now by clicking the banner below, if the price drops between then and now, you’ll pay the lower price! We get asked a lot why we didn’t release at Christmas and I would have thought the answer obvious: if someone bought me a ‘lose weight’ cookbook for Christmas, they’d have it pushed up their fundament. So that’s the reason, plus you know, we need time to write these and get the swearwords past our publishers. So! Don’t delay, do order today. If you loved our last book, and so many did, you’ll find even more of us in here!

Anyway, enough admin. Can we discuss hotel breakfasts? For me, the best part of staying in a hotel, aside from leisurely scattering bodily fluids all over someone else’s duvet and stealing everything that isn’t welded down, is the hotel breakfast. Long-time readers will also know that a Premier Inn breakfast is, to me, the pinnacle of good eating: as you’ve seen from both my waistline and my marital indiscretions I believe in quantity over quality, and being able to graze at a trough of heat-lamp solidified Costco fare is an absolute treasure. As it happens, I had cause to find myself in a Premier Inn a while ago (post first lockdown, so shush, snitches get stitches from bitches) and aside from my room being so far from the reception that going out for a cigarette meant crossing two tier levels, it was grand. I live for moments cast in electric magenta. My friend Tall Paul, of similar heft and capacity for eating, was joining me for breakfast.

How can it be possible to get every single item on a breakfast wrong? It was like a Dali interpretation of what a good cooked breakfast should be. Case in point: the toast. When we have previously breakfasted together it is my job to fetch enough toast that the shareholders of Warburtons can book themselves another week in St Moritz. That’s fine: I’m the master of working two rotary toasters at once and make skipping between the two into an elegant polyester ballet. It’s not a taxing affair, yet somehow in the haste to deny us all pleasures in life thanks to COVID, they’ve taken away that responsibility from the customer. You now have to owlishly ask for toast, tempering the amount you want lest the waiting staff wrinkle their noses in disgust and refer to you as Bacon-Tits in the kitchen.

Still, toast isn’t hard to get right, no? After forty minutes, Schrödinger’s Toast appeared: a sheet of midnight carbon on one side, totally uncooked on the other. It explained the wait at least, given they’d clearly prepared the toast by standing outside and holding it up to the December sun for thirty-five minutes like some sacrifice to the Yeast Gods before finishing it off in the blast zone of a nuclear atrocity. To make things worse, they had brought four tiny pats of butter for six slices of toast and everyone ought to know by now that this simply won’t do: we both spread our butter like a whore applies lipstick and we had to pester the waiter for more. He slapped it down on the table with a finality that suggested we weren’t to ask for anything else and a moment later, our breakfast was hurled onto the table with similar venom.

The bacon was one good vet away from resurrection, the hash-browns had all the structural integrity of an envelope full of custard and they even managed to bodge the beans up. Breakfast beans should be put into a saucepan and gently heated for approximately four days before being served, so the sauce goes as thick as a welder’s apron and leaves little red kisses in the corner of your mouth. This is especially pertinent with my dining companion as looking at the food smeared into his beard is my only reassurance he’s eating properly. Instead, we were given beans that suggested that the cook had parcelled them out individually moments earlier, perhaps wearisome of oncoming rationing measures. Not usually a disaster but when beans serve as the only moisture available on the plate, it becomes far more consequential. I’d have had a wetter mouth if I’d tucked into a plate of those silica balls that come with my boots.

They had made an attempt to gussy up the tomato by cutting it with pinking shears but frankly, if it didn’t work for my circumcision, it’ll do nothing for an ice-cold tomato. And the sausages: a good sausage is either (a) pink, cylindrical and devoid of any identifiable meat bar an eyelash or valve or (b) made with care and attention from animals that get tucked in at night by a kindly nanny. The middle ground is a waterbed of meh and it was in that meh that the sausages bobbed like turds in the sea.

But honestly, it was the egg that finished us off. A fried egg should be white and firm on the outside, with a sealed yolk that you can excitedly dip your toast into. Salt should be liberally applied either via the vessel on the table or your own thankful tears. What we were served was almost a magician’s trick: the perfect looking fried egg indeed, but one that you couldn’t dip your toast into even if you applied it to the sharp end of a pneumatic drill. I’ve never known an egg fight back – it was as though they had cast it from plaster. My friend likened it to those plastic facsimiles of food you get in the windows of restaurants in Tokyo and I was minded to agree, though disagreeing with him is never truly an option anyway, unless you like to be told why you’re wrong over the course of fifteen minutes, three slideshows and a ‘discussion’ that ends with him looking at you with a sage expression, resting his hand on your shoulder and shaking his head sadly whilst you boil with barely-masked incredulity.

Naturally, as we are British and fat, we ate everything put in front of us and were fully prepared to reassure the waiting staff how delightful the food was had they bothered to check in.

With the main plate finished, my mate nipped outside to smoke, such as he does treat eating as an interruption to his smoking regime rather than the other way around, and I was left alone to my own devices. Of course this is where the waiter took a moment to come over and whether he could get us anything else. I resisted the urge to ask for a pre-emptive air ambulance ride to the nearest gastrointestinal unit and instead requested, somewhat tremulously, some yoghurt. He met my gaze and said ‘cumpit‘ with a raised eyebrow. I confess, I was shocked and at once wondered how he knew – perhaps house-keeping had let him know the state of my room in advance – before realising he was actually saying compote in that gloriously bewildering accent where every syllable is murdered twice over before arriving at the lips. I agreed with him that it would be a sensible addition and he returned moments later with a bowl of yoghurt and a tiny bowl of berries which, rather like the toast, managed to exist in two states at once. I’ve never had my lips frozen and burned at the same time, and I’ve kissed Paul’s mother.

Breakfast finished, we both agreed to never speak of it again, chalk it down as an anomaly and, should the moment take us later, leave a snotty review on Twitter or suchlike. However, neither of us are petty enough to remember the detail, so I’ve simply and reasonably settled for a 1,200 word bitchfit on my blog instead.

Speaking of poorly presented food, here’s the spinach and chickpea stew, actually looking bloody beautiful!

How’s that for a plate full of stodge? But it’s so damn fine! Try our spinach and chickpea stew, or shush.

Only one syn, and you can leave the apricots out of the spinach and chickpea stew to make it syn-free!

Watch the video: Ρεβιθάδα στη Χύτρα Ταχύτητας. Άκης Πετρετζίκης (June 2022).


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