Basque Fed

Last weekend I took the train thirty minutes south from Donostia-San Sebastián into the heart of Gipuzkoa.[1] A friend picked me up in Alegia and from there we drove to Altzo, a small town of 400 citizens located on the top of a hill. It’s like most small towns – there’s one main street along which the town hall, library, church, and ATM are all situated. And between the library and church is the town’s one and only restaurant, Arandia Jatetxea, which has presided as such for well over a hundred years.

These hills and farmland can be seen from the restaurant's doorstep.

Facing Arandia Jatetxea is a plaza, and beyond that, postcard-quality scenery of Basque mountains and farmland. It’s a restaurant that’s been passed down from generation to generation, and is now in the hands of Maixabel Arandia, the current owner and chef. She, with the help of her daughter and sister on the weekends, prepares food for a loyal crowd who expect familiar and nourishing dishes.

The original stovetop and oven still in use at Arandia Jatetxea.

The Menú del Día, the three-course menu served on weekdays, and the à la carte menu, or “la carta,” which is served on the weekends, showcase Basque home-style cooking at its most traditional. Entry into the kitchen is further proof of this as a pot of alubias (local red beans) boil on one burner, while its “sacramentos”[2] of morcilla (blood sausage), chorizo, and berza (cabbage) simmer in a mixture of water and their own juices on the side. Meanwhile, Loli, Maixabel’s sister, prepares a variety of croquetas  (croquettes) in one corner, and Lorena, Maixabel’s daughter, stuffs pimientos de piquillo[3] with a house-made bacalao (cod) filling in another.

These piquillo peppers are first stuffed with a cod filling, and later baked until golden.

Within a month, however, the alubias dish will lose its place on the menu, a position it has enjoyed since November. The abundance of fresh spring and summer products will happily replace heavier dishes like this, which are best eaten during the winter. Instead, “menestra de verduras,” a thick soup of local spring vegetables, will feature on the menu for about 25 days between April and May, followed by a slew of seasonal summer salads.

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The relationship Arandia Jatetxea has with its customers is telling of the restaurant’s success. Maixabel, her family, and the close-knit group of waitresses who work there, greet everyone who enters the door like a member of the family. They answer questions with enthusiasm and lend a patient ear to requests and suggestions. What Maixabel and her customers have is “confianza,” or trust. It is a bond that supports communication between both parties – diners ask for the addition of a certain dish (more pasta for athletes and salads for dieters) or the elimination of another, and Maixabel will sometimes deliver.

This dialogue between the chef and her diners has offered many opportunities to play with the menu. Arandia’s ensalada de bacalao (cod salad), a tiered salad consisting of six distinct layers of vegetables and seafood, is a modern take on a salad which places equal importance on both flavor and presentation. Despite creative dishes like this, Maixabel and her staff don’t stray too far from the traditional. That’s why people visit Arandia Jatetxea after all. So that they can eat cogote, a traditional Basque dish of baked head of merluza (hake), if they so desire. But Maixabel offers another merluza option – merluza al horno con salsa de pikillo (baked hake with a piquillo pepper sauce) – for those who desire home-style cooking that is both beautifully presented and technically sophisticated.

Arandia Jatetxea is what some might consider an institution. And a rarity. It is a restaurant run by a family who likewise treat its customers as such. The food reflects the familiarity that exists between the establishment and its diners. It’s wholesome cooking that will warm you on a cold day and cool you on a hot one. You can meander about, drinking wine for hours before sitting down to your meal, usually shared with all members of the family. There’s no rush nor are there formalities. It’s not unlike going to grandma’s on any given Sunday, hanging out, and then sitting down when the meal is finally ready. That’s what the people do who eat at Arandia Jatetxea – fulfill their own traditions while breathing life into the tradition that is this restaurant.

[1] Gipuzkoa is one of the three provinces that make up the Basque Country. It is the province within which the city of Donostia-San Sebastián is located. It is more or less the equivalent of a county within a state.

[2] Sacramentos refer to the sides that always accompany a bowl of alubias.

[3] Pimientos de piquillo, or piquillo peppers, are a type of red pepper grown in Navarra.

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Imagine a room, not too large, not too small, with high ceilings. At the far wall, three gigantic, wooden barrels are lined in a row. They’re the kind you might associate with wine fermentation. The floor gently slopes down from all directions to a drain. And around it and throughout the room are long tables and benches. It’s cold outside, and it’s also cold in this room. Through a door on the right a man rolls in a parrilla (grill) whose coal glows red and orange. Still, it remains cold.

Outside there’s a patio with a large barbeque grill built into the wall. It’s black with soot. There are other doors along a low-roofed building to the left, leading to still other rooms.

This building is a sagardotegi, the Basque word for ‘cider house” (in Spanish it’s ‘sidrería’). One can drink sagardoa (‘cider’ in Basque) any time of year, but traditionally the season of visiting sagardotegis and drinking cider begins in January. The apples are harvested between September and November. They then undergo a process of fermentation that can last from 2 to 5 months. So by January, the first cider is ready to drink.

Surprisingly, a trip to the sagardotegi revolves not around cider, but around the relationship between cider and food. The actions of getting up to drink and sitting down to eat are constant and characterize the entire experience of visiting a sagardotegi. The moment one settles down to indulge in a forkful of creamy tortilla de bacalao (a cod omelette) is likely the same moment the ‘txoko’ is announced.

A plate of bacalao and pimientos verdes with a healthy sprinkling of salt.

Shouted out by anyone who feels like it – a friend at your table, the guy across the room, or even the owner – the txoko is a call for more cider. Oftentimes it means an exodus of diners to the sagardotegi’s cellar where spouts are opened and cider explodes out in a fast and steady stream. Though the taste of cider varies considerably from barrel to barrel, almost every gulpful has a chance at excellence depending on whether it’s been properly aerated. For this reason cider is always served, whether from the barrika or botella (barrel or bottle), from a distance and in small amounts. The contact with air affords the cider a fizziness that, if not drunk quickly, is soon lost while waiting in one’s glass.

A man catches perfectly aerated cider into his glass.

After the umpteenth txoko, it is back to sitting down. With little more than a fork and a knife, diners share the food placed before them with their companions. The meal is always the same – it’s the menu served at all sagardotegis: first, tortilla de bacalao, second, bacalao con pimientos verdes (cod with roasted green peppers), a large chuleta (steak), an endless replenishment of bread, and a finale of queso, membrillo, and nueces (cheese, quince, and walnuts).

Queso and membrillo with a basket of nueces.

The enjoyment of cider requires the “perfect storm” of different elements. Cold weather, friends, and good food bring out the crispness of the cider that would otherwise seem flat in another environment. Bundled up with empty glasses in hand, the people rush en masse to the cellar and different rooms of the sagardotegi to help themselves to cider that is sometimes sweet, bitter, acidic, or smooth. The flavor of apple is its only constant. Savoury, home-cooked food waits on the long tables, its steam slowly disappearing into the thin air. The people return, sit down, and indulge. The cycle continues and still no one notices the cold.

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Food is particularly good here in the Basque Country. To be honest, it is particularly good throughout Spain. That said, this week’s blog breaks a rule – it goes beyond its Basque bounds and briefly into La Rioja. Not to would be a shame, and since rules are meant to be broken, so they will be.

Good food is easy to come by whether in the seaside city of Donostia-San Sebastián, the mountain town of Tolosa, or in wine country’s unofficial capital, Haro. Discerning, however, between good food and its delicious counterparts is not a passive act. It’s a deliberate search for what’s in-season in these parts; it is a matter of knowing and choosing wisely, whether in a restaurant or at the market.

December and its fellow winter months stand up to the challenges of cold, wet weather offering up what cold, wet weather does best – hearty vegetables and the wares of caza (hunting season). It’s also impossible not to see “setas” and “hongos” (wild mushrooms) on every menu, a holdover from the recent fall forage. They often take center-stage marinated and/or grilled as an appetizer or accompaniment to a big piece of meat.

Hongos marinating in olive oil.

In the Basque Country, there are many local, winter delights on offer. In an effort to learn about and experience them trips, festivals, and a fair amount of consumption was required. After visiting countless pintxo bars, restaurants, and tastings, it became clear that the following dishes composed the ultimate in-season meal.

Entrante (appetizer): Alcachofas con almejas (artichokes with clams)

The Blanca de Tudela, a variety of artichoke that is small and elongated, is grown locally to País Vasco’s south and east in La Rioja and Navarra.¹ Currently at the top of its game, the vegetable is everywhere often paired with jamón, Spain’s famous dry-cured ham. At El Rincón del Noble, a restaurant in La Rioja, they serve the local specialty with seafood. They’re marinated in a thick, emerald olive oil, grilled top-side down and served with steamed clams. The soft artichokes, creamy on the inside, crunchy where grilled, and glazed with a strong olive oil on the outside, followed by salty and slightly chewy clams, achieves a balance of textures and a subtly of flavor best suited for whetting the appetite.

Alcachofas con almejas in El Rincón del Noble, a restaurant in the city of Haro.

Segundo plato (entrée): Magret de pato con setas y salsa de castañas (duck breast with wild mushrooms and chestnut sauce) vs. Chuleta de Buey con pimientos del piquillo (ox steak with roasted red peppers)

A tie between duck and steak can only mean one thing: the duck must taste like steak. It’s served raw, sliced thick, and presented on a plate surrounding a heap of wild mushrooms. With a cast-iron pan set on the table over a small flame, you can grill the duck to your liking. It’s a lean meat, but the layer of fat on the outer edge of each slice provides just the right amount of moisture, not to mention flavor, to grill the duck and mushrooms to personal, juicy perfection. The large crystals of salt sprinkled on each slice bring out the meat’s depth of flavor. It doesn’t have that typical gamey taste; it’s like red meat with a twist. Paired with a wild mushroom and dipped lightly into the chestnut sauce, the bite is complete – it is lent a smokey, woodsy flavor with a final touch of sweetness.

Yet, the chuleta de Buey con pimientos del piquillo is tough competition. The chuleta, weighing in at a kilo, is meant to feed two people (about one pound per person). It is served rare, without the option of requesting otherwise, and lacks the crude, chewiness with which we often associate juicy red meat. Served with bright red peppers, roasted and skinned, the combination is dramatic. A piece of sweet, slightly acidic pimiento atop a chunk of juicy meat is a burst of flavors that both contrast and compliment one another. More than sweet meeting salty, it is the intensity and strength of both that proves unforgettable.

Chuleta con pimientos at the Fiesta del Chuletón (Steak Festival) in Tolosa.

Postre (dessert): Idiazábal con membrillo y nueces (Idiazábal cheese with quince paste and walnuts)

Idiazábal con membrillo y nueces is a typical ending to any Basque lunch, an event that can last hours. It is the kind of dessert offered almost anywhere, but Oquendo, a restaurant in Donostia-San Sebastián is great at transforming traditional dishes into art. Organized in three neat rows, this dessert is a beautiful display of the Basque Country’s wintertime fruits. Idiazábal is strictly the product of Latxua and Carranzana sheep, a breed native to the Basque Country, and is ready to eat by the fall and winter after having cured over the summer. A hard cheese, it is surprisingly low in intensity – a little salty, a little sweet, with a bite at the end – and yet it subdues the concentrated sweetness of the membrillo. Followed by a crunchy walnut, there is no dessert that incorporates these light, delicate flavors better after a long meal.

Idiazábal, nueces, and membrillo at Oquendo in Donostia-San Sebastián.

These dishes exemplify the variety and quality of seasonal meals served in and around the Basque Country. Indeed the presence of seasonal fare exists across a spectrum of menus in this region – from the avant-garde to the traditional – and necessarily means encountering similar food from place to place. This repetition can only mean one thing – menus reflect the desires of the people ordering. Basques love their land (they spent centuries fighting for and defending it), and above all, appreciate what it is capable of producing. They also seek to consume that which their fellow Basques have labored over and created. Finally, Basques seek the best, and since December is capable of what August is not, and vice versa, they choose wisely.

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