Canned fabada: prices range from €1 to €4 depending on the brand

Canned fabada: the price ranges from €1 to €4 depending on the brand

Is it worth buying canned fabada, or is it a waste of money? The question runs through a conversation that starts with a very specific goal: getting hold of two thousand cans without making the wrong choice. The starting point is one brand, Litoral, whose label claims it contains no preservatives or other chemicals. From there, the discussion drifts toward what really matters to the buyer: which brand tastes best, how much it costs, and whether the whole idea makes any sense compared to cooking the dish at home.

The most frequent answer is not unanimous, but it is consistent: Litoral gets the most favorable mentions among those who say they have tried several. Hacendado's fabada comes up as the budget option, with fans who rate it above many restaurant versions. And at the opposite end, Campanal sneaks in as the premium choice: almost €4 a can at Alcampo and over €7 for the double-size one at El Corte Inglés.

What a can of fabada really costs

The figure that frames the whole debate is the price. Hacendado's fabada was bought for €1 a can in the most recent reference in the conversation. Litoral's sits in a similar range, with no exact figure. Campanal especial, on the other hand, comes in at nearly €4 at Alcampo, and the double-size one tops €7 at El Corte Inglés. The Consorcio sells it in packs of 12 at €3.33 per can, with free shipping from three packs on.

The comparison with homemade fabada is where the analysis falls apart. A calculation circulating in the conversation breaks down the traditional recipe: 200 grams of beans soaked overnight in a liter of water, a stock cube, a chunk of chorizo and, to refine it, blood sausage, ham or pork fat. Twenty minutes in a pressure cooker yields five servings at €0.6745. In other words, about 13 cents per serving versus the more than a euro of the canned version. The difference is no small matter: we are talking about multiplying the cost per plate by eight.

That said, the calculation does not include time. Or laziness. Or a freezer full to bursting. Several comments defend the can precisely for that reason: for someone living alone, cooking fabada means eating the same thing for days or freezing servings that then don't fit in the chest freezer. The can solves the format problem, not the flavor one.

Which canned fabada brand tastes best?

The hierarchy that emerges has three tiers. In the first, Litoral and Hacendado compete for public favor. Some claim the Mercadona one is "the same crap, but cheaper," while others elevate it to a masterstroke of a purchase for a euro. The disagreement is total and depends on each person's palate. A homemade tasting of cans from Litoral, Mercadona and DIA left Litoral and DIA ahead, with the Mercadona one "not much to write home about." Another voice, however, rates the Hacendado one as better than quite a few restaurant fabadas.

In the second tier appears Campanal, with two varieties: the regular and the especial. The especial is described as almost as good as restaurant fabada, better than many establishments'. The problem is the price, which takes it out of everyday shopping and turns it into an occasional treat.

And in the third, the fabada from Albo, which also has its defenders and ranks above Litoral in some isolated opinions. The conversation never reaches a firm consensus, but it leaves one clear idea: within the can, there are real differences, and price doesn't always explain them.

The debate over preservatives and canned food

Litoral's label, which boasts of containing no preservatives, opens a parallel front. Part of the conversation points out that traditional home preserves —jams, peppers, tomatoes— were made without added sugar or additives, and that companies can achieve the same with controlled atmosphere and pasteurization. Another part responds bluntly: poorly made home preserves have caused poisonings, and the fact that a product contains no preservatives does not automatically make it safer.

The real point of friction is not the chemistry, but the definition of fabada. Some consider the canned version an aberration and call for it to be banned. Others respond with crushing logic: canned fabada is made by putting fabes beans, chorizo, blood sausage and pork fat into the can, sealing it and cooking it. The same process as at home, in a different container. The discussion over whether that is fabada or not is, at heart, a discussion about the dish's identity, not its quality.

Canned fabada as a pantry strategy

The original order —two thousand cans— drifts into a conversation about stockpiling. One comment suggests that, if the goal is to have a pantry for an emergency, it makes sense to combine fabada with easily stored staples: beans, kidney beans, lentils, rice, chickpeas, flour, water, oil, salt, honey, baking soda, dried meat and fish, cured cheese. Another adds fruit in syrup, cockles and mussels so the survival diet isn't monotonous.

The can calculation intersects here with the gas one. One comment jokes about installing a methane boiler to take advantage of the gases produced by so much fabada. Another points out that canned fabada is a pasteurized product and that prolonged fasting does not pair well with a sudden change of diet. The conversation, which began as a shopping question, ends up as a treatise on how to feed yourself when the world gets complicated.

The practical conclusion is the least expected: the best canned fabada does not exist. There is only the one each person tolerates for its price. And at a euro a can, tolerance has a very generous limit.