Litoral's fabada loses its flavor: which brands are replacing it

Litoral's fabada loses flavor—and the substitutes don't even hit a euro

Can you still trust a can of fabada to sort out a meal at an odd hour? A few years ago the answer was automatic: Litoral. It was the jar that went camping, the one warmed over the campfire, the one that saved a Sunday when nobody felt like cooking. The stew was intense, hearty and thick—so thick you had to add water to thin it. That's over. Regular buyers now describe a “much more washed-out” flavor, fewer fabes (Asturian beans) and less compango (Asturian meat mix), and more insipid broth. The brand that set the standard for years is no longer the safe bet in the pantry.

The decline isn't blamed on one specific batch but on a sustained change over time. And around that loss an awkward question has taken shape: if the benchmark fails, which can goes on the shelf?

What people blame Litoral's fabada for

The main complaint is texture and flavor. The stew that used to need water now needs salt, paprika and anything that brings back something like the flavor of a fabada. The amount of solid—fabes and meat—has shrunk, and liquid has taken over. Some detect a metallic aftertaste and too many preservatives. As for the plastic lining inside the cans, meant to stop the metal reacting with the food, some warn that it makes it inadvisable to heat the contents in the can.

In the background, a question of label, not palate, is throbbing. Litoral is a Catalan brand, and for part of the public that's enough to rule it out, just like other tinned goods from the same region. It's the culinary version of shopping with territorial criteria: the stew judged by the factory's postcode. One more ingredient in the basket, even if it isn't eaten.

The alternatives that hold their own

Among industrial tinned foods, the name that comes up most is Carretilla. And with it, a structural fact that explains prices and flavors: according to forum users, Carretilla absorbed La Noreñense, the historic Asturian firm, and its owner is Auchan. The same factory behind Noreñense's fabada also makes the own-brand legumes for Carrefour and the IFA group, so the label changes more than the contents. Anyone who suspects two different cans come from the same place may be right.

Mercadona's own-brand version, made by CIDACOS, sneaks into almost every recommendation list, with a lower price and, according to several consumers, better results than Litoral itself. Other names that appear are Albo, Louriño and El Gaitero. And above them all, in the premium range, the cocido montañés (Cantabrian stew) from La Ermita de Cantabria, a preparation in a glass jar that wins praise among forum users. The catch is the bill: it isn't cheap.

How much a can of fabada costs

Price has become a battlefield in its own right. Mainstream chains—Consum, Mercadona, Alcampo, Aldi—offer cans for under a euro. Carrefour's fabada, made by La Noreñense, costs 1,20€ and gets one of the harshest reviews: any resemblance to a fabada is pure coincidence, with a bean that isn't the right one and a ridiculous compango. You can eat it if there's no other option, but calling it Asturian fabada is another matter.

The lowest price cited is Carretilla in the large format: 1,85€ for an 865-gram can. The premium range plays in another league: La Ermita's 550-gram jar costs 4,5€, and the one-kilo jar, 8€. Outside Asturian stew, some turn to baked beans at 69 cents a can for a weekend breakfast.

Making it at home and storing it without losing the flavor

There's a third way gaining fans: don't buy fabada, make it. In a pressure cooker the stew is ready in around half an hour. The recipe holds no mystery: beans soaked the night before, the compango, an onion, water and wait. The sausage already brings fat, flavor and salt, so a final adjustment is enough. The effort-to-enjoyment ratio, they argue, is unmatched by any can.

For those who cook too much, storage remains. Freezing in containers works—it doesn't change the flavor, though some dispute that—and home vacuum-preserving in glass jars improves the stew with time. Those who master the technique apply it to everything: some stopped buying canned tuna after paying 2,5€ a kilo for fresh fish.

The cheap-can trick

The most widespread solution isn't to change brands but to fix what the factory doesn't provide. Buy the cheapest can, add a piece of Rioja chorizo and hot paprika, and cook it for another twenty or thirty minutes over low heat, and a mediocre stew becomes a decent dish for just over two euros. Some also add Tabasco to canned fabada, and its defenders say the heat and the hint of sweetness go well together.

In the end, the emergency pantry has become an exercise in controlled cheating: you buy the can for the tin and end up judging it by what the buyer adds on top. Canned fabada isn't dead. It's just that nobody buys it for its name anymore.