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Basquing in the Glory

Maybe because I have tenuous ties to both Nevada (my maternal grandmother and great-grandmother both lived in the Silver State) and Basques (my father’s mother’s mother was Basque, though not in Nevada, Texas, more like. Would that make me 1/8 Basque? That might as well be zero, as I don't think anything less than a quarter counts for squat when claiming ethnicity), I actually read an article, "Meat and Greet,"  in today’s T Magazine.

Normally, my attention span for the section is next to nonexistent. I can’t get enthused over $13,000 shell-encrusted busts (statues not décolletage) and $4,300 capes. But dwindling cultures in far-flung parts of the country are interesting. It kind of reminds me of the incongruous Luso-American Cultural Center, a block from my apartment. There aren't any Portuguese in Carroll Gardens that I'm aware of, the building stands.

This isn’t Basque like the brand new Txikito–close in spirit to modern Spain–this is hefty mutt fare that has steeped in America's West for over a century. I’ve never tasted this style of cuisine, though I imagine the paella and lamb steaks are the equivalent of Italian-American veal parm and spaghetti and meatballs. I’d like to try it, though I’m not sure when I’ll have the opportunity. Idaho and Nevada, two Basque hotbeds, aren’t exactly on my radar.

Photo from Mike's Gallery

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