Unfortunately, this cannot be a recipe. Nothing I can tell you could guarantee that your paella would taste like Francois's, unless you grew up eating it every Sunday like he did. Still, I like to think I learned something form watching him - the kind of knowledge you can only gain by watching someone else's hands work.
Francois prepared his chicken-tomato base ahead of time, which made the whole operation look effortless. When you think of how much thought chefs put into presentation, it's kind of shocking to think he'd be willing to perform in front of 50 people. There's plenty of opportunity to make something look unappetizing on the way to being delicious. But that never happened in his paella pan.
In goes the rice. Apparently the hardest part of making paella is fighting the urge to add extra - because the right amount of rice never looks like enough. It really doesn't look like enough once you add the saffron-chicken broth, with little clam buoys floating throughout:
One thing about cooking mass quantities - you never have to worry about the temperature dipping when you add a bunch of clams. If I was a clam, by the way, I couldn't think of a nicer send-off.
Now this is design 101, lesson 3 - contrast. I'm not sure what the connection between the eye and stomach is, but a visual punch always improves the flavor. Francois placed each mussel in the broth by hand, deliberately.
Here's the great thing about paella - you think it's almost done, but there are actually ten more steps to go, until you've gilded the gilding on the lily. The shrimp step follows the mussel step, and after that we have the sausage step:
Finally for his garnish, the simple pea. I like the way the peas settle into the calms and mussels - it's as if the paella is so delicious that they are eating along with you. Now you just need to find 49 of your closest friends--and why not, enemies, too, as they won't be for long once they start eating--to help polish it off. Rico rico.
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