Munto
Munto isn’t a bar you read about on blogs or in travel articles. It’s “regular” (pronounced in the way I can’t do: reg quickly with a rolled R, then goo lar). I popped in because it wasn’t unbearably crowded, but not in a warning sign, stay away manner. (Never mind, that as soon as I scored a stool, a group stumbling, singing–Euro sports fans, always with the chanting–soccer celebrants took over.)
The selection of pintxos on the counter were workhorse, and more representative of what you might see in a corner bar in any neighborhood, which meant bocadillos, lots of things stacked on bread like at Casa Senra and plenty of room temperature mayonnaise. The amount of chopped seafood bound by the eggy emulsion sitting for hours at a time would likely violate NYC health codes, and maybe common decency.
We’re probably just prudes because my chopped pork pintxo topped with sliver of jamón was good (and that wasn’t just txakoli clouding my judgment). The jamón, sun-dried tomato, brie and oregano wasn’t bad either.
Tiny fried eggs (quail?) were also commonly found as garnish, this one covering pimiento and more jamón. I’ve considered throwing a pintxo party (everyone's invited!) especially since I have a slew of recipes from Pintxos de Vanguardia a la Donostia to work with. But honestly, I would probably end up putting together something like this, not the poached quail egg lollipop with baby eels from Zeruko.
Munto * Calle de Fermin Calbeton, 17, San Sebastián, Spain
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