Basque Fed

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.

Share on Facebook

During the holidays in País Vasco and throughout Spain, there are so many dessert options available that even if sweets aren’t your thing, you’re bound to have a favorite this time of year. In continuation of “A Time for Savory and Sweet,” this blog covers two more desserts – one with transformative powers, and the other capable of bestowing luck.

Mazapán, or marzipan, is something between a candy and a cookie. Made of ground almond and sugar, it is soft, yet dense against one’s teeth and is very sweet. To some it hints of coconut or pistachio; others taste the almond. Year-round it is molded into bite-size spheres and is covered in pine nuts. It is also shaped into various fruits or little animals. By the end of November, mazapán begins to undergo a month-long transformation. Made into large, compact blocks, it serves as the foundation for many types of turrón. Mixed with an egg white, it becomes the “anguila de mazapán.”

The anguila de mazapán is everywhere packaged in festive boxes for gift-giving, mostly among adults. It is marzipan in the shape of an eel (‘anguila’ in Spanish), and despite its name it is a popular and beautiful dessert. After turning a golden-brown in the oven, the almond-flavored eel is decorated with white frosting and surrounds a constellation of colorful frutas escarchadas (candied fruits). The frosting seems unnecessary on an already sugar-laden dessert, but the candied fruits are a must. The addition of citrus, pineapple, or berries is just the “twist” of flavor that a piece of sugary mazapán will have you craving.

Anguilas de mazapán with candied fruits and almonds.

Though the anguila de mazapán is a sight for the eyes, the roscón de Reyes is the holiday season’s centerpiece. A dessert with special significance, the roscón is to el día de los Reyes Magos (Three Kings Day) what eggs are to Easter, what cake is to a birthday. It is a ring-shaped cake, bready in texture and sweet like a sweet roll, shared by family and friends on the Eve and day of los Reyes Magos. Its presence on these two days is a given, which might explain the craze for roscones leading up to the fifth and sixth of January.

The phones in pastelerías (pastry shops) start ringing the first week of December as people order large and small, plain and cream-filled roscones, each one for a different purpose. The small roscones are for the little ones awaiting gifts from los Reyes Magos. The custom is to place a shoe underneath one’s bed; by morning, a small roscón may be inside. The larger roscones are for family events. The plain roscón without any filling is saved for breakfast on the Eve of the los Reyes Magos. The roscón filled with whipped cream is eaten for dessert after lunch on January 6th, el día de los Reyes Magos.

Smaller versions of the traditional roscón de Reyes, which features candied fruits on top.

A large, cream-filled roscón de Reyes. Unlike its traditional counterparts, this roscón is topped with powdered sugar.

While the eating of the roscón de Reyes is a Spanish tradition, the Basques like to add their own touch when making it. Whereas plain water is typically used in the baking process, Basques like to infuse it with esencia de flor de azahar (essence of orange-flower blossom). French Basques go a step further, mixing small pieces of dried fruit into the roscón batter and topping the cake with pebbles of sugar.

"La Galette des Rois," or roscón de Reyes, made in the French Basque Country.

The roscón is the same, yet different everywhere. Despite its nuances from place to place, there is one thing that ties them all together. Hidden within every cake is a small figurine believed to give luck to the person who finds it on their plate (or in their mouth). In the end, however, everyone wins. The roscón brings an end to the holidays and there is little doubt that as much as we anticipate Christmastime and our favorite seasonal sweet, it is soon after their arrival that we look forward to their departure. A year may be long for the next anguila de mazapán or roscón de Reyes or whatever else, but it is worth the wait. And our stomachs will surely be grateful.

Share on Facebook

In País Vasco, where every celebration or event revolves around the act of dining together, it’s not unusual to hear locals bemoan this “tradition of eating,” oftentimes beyond capacity, and in the same conversation happily resign themselves to it. Eating quality food around a table with those closest to you is an inextricable part of Basque culture, and one that features in their daily lifestyle. The holidays are no exception, testing the limits of one’s stomach at every turn, offering up some savory and a whole lot of sweet.

December 21st marks the official first day of the holiday season in País Vasco in what is known as el día de Santo Tomás (The Day of Saint Thomas). This day has nothing to do with Saint Thomas, nor does it have any religious connection. It is a celebration of two foods – txistorra[1], a sausage historically eaten during the winter months following the November matanza, or “pig sacrifice,” and talo, a corn bread not so distinct from the soft tortilla found in the Americas.

In the cities of Donostia-San Sebastián and Bilbao, el día de Santo Tomás is actively celebrated on the streets and in plazas and cafés. In Donostia, people crowd the Plaza de la Constitución in the Parte Vieja, the oldest part of the city, where food stands line its periphery. Behind the stands, txistorra is grilled by plump, old men, while women roll, pound, pat, and finally grill the flat, circular pieces of talo. Served warm, it is wrapped around the txistorra. Other stands serve sidra[2] (cider) which spews from its barrels into plastic cups for 1 euro, and is in fact the only way to wash down txistorra with talo.

Txistorra with talo, ready to eat.

People here love txistorra followed by a shot of sidra. It’s a flavorful sausage with a mild spicyness. Sidra, an alcoholic beverage, is bubbly and refreshing, with a distinct apple flavor that is at once sour and vaguely sweet. In large amounts, this combination can awaken one’s sweet tooth, which is satisfied by the stands selling pastel vasco (Basque tart) and artisanal chocolate cake by the piece.

A celebration of food and drink, el día de Santo Tomás is also preparation for even more eating. On la Nochebuena or Christmas Eve, Basques unite with family for dinner, and come together again on Christmas Day for a large lunch. New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day follow the same format. While there is little agreement on a typical meal with regard to these celebrations, one item is consistent on almost every holiday dinnertable – dessert.

Mantecados, polvorones, and turrón are the sweets of las navidades (Christmas holidays) in País Vasco and throughout Spain. Indeed, if there is one thing that unites Spaniards gastronomically, it’s their love of postre (dessert) and there is no better time than the months of November, December, and January to enjoy what only Christmastime brings.

Mantecados and polvorones at first sight look like cookies because of their round shape. Often wrapped in paper and twisted closed at the ends, they are both made with flour, lard, sugar and cinnamon, in differing quantities. Mantecados contain more lard, while polvorones contain more flour, thus proving extremely brittle to the touch. Some people opt to smush them between the palms of their hands so they maintain their form. Others simply open them and pick up the pieces. The most popular mantecados and polvorones are made with ground almond and are eaten with their cousin, the turrón.

Turrón is perhaps this country’s favorite dessert, a statement that can be corroborated by many sources. Turrón, like mantecados and polvorones, is unique in the world of sweets. There are two types – the hard kind and the soft kind – which are cut into thick bars. Golden brown in color, the original turrón is made with four ingredients: almonds, honey, sugar, and egg whites. Nowadays it is easy to find it made with chocolate, caramel, or walnuts, for example. Though these variations satisfy different cravings, the original is worth a first try. The soft kind has a rich almond flavor similar to that of almond butter. The bar has a smooth texture accented with crunchy bits of nuts. A thin layer of honey and oil glaze its exterior, adding a degree of moisture and sweetness otherwise lacking in the dry, nuttiness of the bar itself. This is the perfect dessert to have with milk, coffee, or tea.

The way Basques celebrate their holidays and special events can be likened to the way Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. Whatever the event may be, it is always associated with a particular food just as turkey is always associated with Thanksgiving. Cheese in September, alubias (beans) in November, txistorra on el día de Santo Tomás, sidra in the winter, and so on. The holidays here bring us a day of savory, but they revolve around sweet. In supermarkets, grandmothers and children alike fill bags by the kilo-full of mantecados and polvorones, and quickly move on to the tables of turrón. Everyone has their preference. And still some decide to wait because the season of sweet is not yet over. On January 6th, el día de los Reyes Magos (Three Kings’ Day) arrives, which can only mean one thing: the cake named in their honor, the roscón de Reyes, is finally set upon the table.

[1] A sausage, similar to chorizo, made in the Spanish regions of País Vasco and Navarra.

[2] An alcoholic drink made from fermented apple juice served year-round, but available at the most authentic sidrerías (cider houses) from January to April.

Share on Facebook

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.

Share on Facebook

What better way to begin this blog on none other than two gastronomic events of great significance to both locals and the international community alike. In Tolosa, a mountain town thirty minutes outside of San Sebastián, the “Feria de la alubia” (Bean Festival) took place this past weekend (November 19-22), overlapped and followed by the “Congreso Internaciónal de Gastronomía” (International Gastronomy Convention) in Donostia-San Sebastián (November 22-25).

Two events that exemplify the versatile nature of Basque cuisine, Tolosa’s alubias festival is a celebration of a bean, its past, and its presence in traditional Basque fare, while San Sebastián’s Congreso Gastronomika is a forum dedicated to the discussion and exploration of Basque cuisine and its future, without borders or limitations.

Perhaps the best thing about events like these is the ability to see (and taste!) the two very different sides of the regional gastronomy. “La nueva cocina,” inspired by France’s nouvelle cuisine, has given way to “la alta cocina” (the equivalent of the kitchen’s haute couture), now the subject of this week’s Congreso Gastronomika. Basque and Spanish cuisine have reached such heights thanks to a strong base from which to build. And Tolosa’s alubias are a perfect example of that base (one of many), and its festival a showcasing of it.

While San Sebastián’s Congreso Gastronomika opened its doors with a day of tastings, talks, and classes to the public, the next three days carried a 350 euro price tag to share meals with the best of the best chefs from around the world. In the end, Tolosa’s Feria de las Alubias proved a more accessible option. Over a two-day period, Saturday and Sunday, Tolosa’s alubias festival was a mix of txapela (beret) and pintxo[1] contests accompanied by the sounds of marching bands and what seemed like all the town’s people in the main square. Saturday was a day for Tolosa’s alubias producers as they competed to win the prize for the best alubia. Sunday brought together nearly two dozen chefs from around País Vasco to prepare the award-winning bean to win the prize for the best alubias recipe.

As 21 chefs swirled their pots in preparation for the final tasting, assistants handed out pintxos of morcilla (blood sausage) and txistorra (locally elaborated chorizo), and glasses of red wine. Five elderly men assembled themselves, spoons in hand, and tasted each pot. The winners cheered and drank shots of cider in celebration. The event culminated in a grand lunch, as most normally do. Rows of tables were topped with bottles of wine and plates of sliced hams and pates; a baguette was placed beside every plate.  An unlimited supply of alubias served with the typical sides – berza (cabbage), morcilla, txistorra, tocino (bacon), and costilla (ribs) – all thrown in the same bowl and mixed together made for a hearty autumn meal. Dessert was the icing on the cake, as rice pudding accompanied Tolosa’s very own tejas and cigarrillos – sugar cookies elaborated with almonds and butter.

While a meal with the stars would have revealed a lot about where Basque cuisine is going, this weekend (and this blog) was about an adopted staple and a tradition. The bean is from the Americas, but the Basques made it their own, and the Tolosans make it the best. Once a year, just after the harvest, they celebrate the care with which they take to make a great product, display it for all to see, and eat it together as one large community-family. A celebration of a bean, it turns out, is a celebration of the Basque way – it is an appreciation for that which nourishes the body, shared and experienced with others, always around a table.

Look for my next blog on Wednesday, December 9. Thanks!

[1] The local name for ‘tapas.’

Share on Facebook