Posts by krista

La Cuchara de San Telmo

La Cuchara de San Telmo and Zeruko were the only pintxo bars I visited twice. The variety of food demanded it and both left me with the feeling that I didn’t get an adequate initial experience due to the bodies-to-open-space ratio. During the first La Cuchara excursion on a Sunday afternoon, we had to squeeze and hover until a ledge opened up and then instantly felt the pressure to free up our space (this is what it normally looks like inside). It’s a popular place.

On a Tuesday night, though, the narrow room was practically empty. We weren’t even hungry, but had to seize the opportunity luxuriate in the relatively open space. It was just us and a motley crew of European men speaking to each other in heavily accented English about how horrible American food is because one of them was taken to a Southern restaurant where he was served fried alligator that was flavorless with batter thicker than the meat. But did it taste like chicken? More than once I overheard Europeans speaking in English about Americans customs. Of course our food isn’t all fried, but yeah, at most non-upscale restaurants the check will be brought before you ask for it.

Foie con compota de manzana. Simple, seared foie gras with apple jelly and plenty of coarse sea salt. For 3,6 Euros? This dish sums up San Sebastián’s affordable luxury.

Vieira “toro” envuelta en tocineta de bellota. I goofily pride myself on my Spanish food vocabulary (not my conversational skills, definitely not those). I know the words for mussels, clams, razor clams, langoustine, lobster, shrimp, soft-shell crab, crab, many fish, and spider crab and cod cheeks in Basque…ok, I’ll stop, but I had never heard the word for scallops. I just chose vieira because I liked the toro in quotes and figured it would be something playful. Um, and I could parse that there would some sort of ibérico bacon involved. Yes.

Oreja de cerdo ibérico salteada y crujiente. I will always order a pig’s ear anything if available. Spanish and Filipino preparations always get the gooey/crisp thing right, though I had never encountered an entire ear served whole like a steak. Usually, I see this cut sliced into chunks or ribbons. Maybe it’s just to disguise its original origin?

Pulpo salteado con hojas de berza asada. Ok, I learned another word: berza. I hadn’t expected any cabbage on my pintxos. Charring the octopus and sautéing the greens turned both kind of sweet.

Canelón casero de carnes de cocidos. Boiled meats doesn’t make this filled pasta tube sound so attractive, but you know it’s not going to taste like gray shoe leather. I chose it because I only wanted something small (this was on the already-full-of-foie-moriclla-and-suckling pig second spontaneous visit). One useful thing that I noted after being able to get an unobstructed view of the menu, was that you can order any pintxo as a ración, which would be entrée-sized in the US (we’re the only weirdos who call the main dish an entrée—it seems like everyone else in the world uses that for appetizers) or half that. Maybe you’d like a whole plate of canelónes?

La Cuchara de San Telmo * Calle 31 de Agosto, 28, San Sebastián, Spain

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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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La Cepa

La Cepa is the worn, wood-accented type of bar that just seems wrong free of cigarette smoke haze. You don't acheive that dusty patina overnight.

People just smoke in the doorway, anyway.

I did wonder what years of indoor smoking must have done to all of those hanging hams.

I only tasted bursts of pure porkiness, more meaty than saline and smoothed by fat, in these slices—a media ración—of jamón Jabugo.

You won’t find dazzling culinary stunts at La Cepa. Sometimes you need a rest. We’d already spent Saturday afternoon standing and sampling pintxos and weren’t in a mood for any cerebral hours-long tasting menus, so we returned to La Cepa simply to sit down for bit and enjoy simple homestyle food. This is not a complaint, but it’s easy to fall victim to palate (and foot and stomach) fatigue on a trip like this. A similar thing happens in S.E. Asia; after a few nights and days of street food and hawker stalls in appetite-killing heat, you just want to absorb some air conditioning indoors for a meal or two. Comfort over exploration.

Ensaladas mixtas, I learned, are more than just tossed lettuce and tomato. Olives and  hunks of oil-cured tuna make it more of a meal salad. You are provided with oil, vinegar and salt to create your own dressing, but never pepper. I wonder what peppermill sales look like for Spain compared to the US.

Callos aren’t Basque at all, but I was feeling like tripe instead of some of the larger beef and fish dishes that were on the menu. The blubbery, spongy ribbons were braised in a tomato-based sauce, thickened naturally by collagen, plain as that. Some recipes call for morcilla or chorizo, but this version had no more than a few bits of jamón—La Cepa is a hammy place, after all—to complement the organ meat.

Neither of us knew what magras were, but James ordered it anyway. It turned out to be a cazuela of ham and eggs really; long slices of jamón and three (yes, three) poached eggs floating around in a tomato sauce that didn’t taste like the callos despite similar appearances. 

The back dining room (the bar was full of Spanish speakers glued to the big Real Madrid- Barça matches) was clearly for tourists, though not a trap. However, it was the only place I experienced big groups of stereotypical Midwesterners, two tables at opposite ends of the room filled with balding men in khakis and belt-clipped phones, who appeared to be in town for business, not gastronomy. I preferred the young Latino-looking (are there short, brown Spaniards?) couple who’d moved on from their bottle of Cava to shots. How do you say p.d.a. en español?

La Cepa * Calle 31 de Agosto, San Sebastián, Spain

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Casa Senra

I thought I was becoming a seasoned pintxo-orderer by the time I ended up at Casa Senra, mid-way though vacation. Apparently, I still had fear in my eyes. “No tiene miedo!” said the young man behind the bar, nudging us to just pick up a plate and start plopping things on it. (Not all places are d.i.y., though, which is why I was waiting to see if another customer just jumped in or had things plated by staff.)

I ended up only picking one because my heart was set on a few cooked dishes. It’s amazing how much flavor can be crammed onto one slice of bread: anchovies, jamón, green pimientos, cheese and caramelized onions. I guess I should take back what I said earlier about not seeing meat and cheese together on pintxos.

Choosing with your eyes can be fun, but the more elaborate pintxos need to be ordered from the menu. Wow, I’m just noticing a wild mushroom dish with Coca-Cola sauce scrawled at the bottom.

My txampi con foie y suave allioli got attention from strangers—and for good reason—the architectural wonder nearly appears to have been sealed in fondant. That is the work of the so-called smooth aioli, which is blanketing a fat mushroom, block of foie gras and a bread base in all of its emulsified glory. How can a person who can only stand mayonnaise in small doses down a creation like this? I ate first, internalized later. Basque country is no place for gastronomic mental blocks.

I’m not 100% sure what’s going on with this montadito de txipiron pelayo y bakalao. In places like Barcelona, a montadito is essential a pintxo, something stacked on bread like the anchovy cavalcade above. Here, anything on anything seemed to be a montadito and I’m guessing that the bottom layer where the advertised squid (txipiron) was lurking. Its ink certainly played a role, as did the rectangle of salt cod crowned with frizzled leeks.

What I’m completely clueless about (any insight would be appreciated) is what Pelayo means. I can’t determine if it’s a region, style or breed of squid or something else, altogether. I get the sense that txipiron pelayo is a non-descriptive namesake like oysters Rockefeller or veal Oscar.

Casa Senra * San Francisco, 32, San Sebastián, Spain

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Bergara

Bergara skewed more traditional than Hidalgo 56. To be honest, I was a little more interested in the décor than the food because even sharing two small pintxos per stop, the third restaurant is where you’re likely to start busting a gut. But the main reason my attention was divided was because the room was a charming grandma/old sea captain mishmash of nuts.

Ceramic tea kettles in the shape of cats wearing dresses shared shelf space with steins painted with men’s faces. My spot on a picnic bench put me in direct view of the backlit elephant in the room. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the glowing tableau of pintxos interspersed with more bearded mugs and prancing cherubs. Luckily, I managed a quick photo before the staff turned off the light and started sweeping.

Do you see a pattern forming? 10:30 pm really is the weeknight dining tail-end in San Sebastián.

There is that txalupa, a fritter of wild mushrooms, langoustine, cream and cava, next to two massive béchamel-and-ham filled croquetas. I told you, third meal is the dangerous meal. I didn’t know any better–croquetas in NYC are often tiny little things.

Bar Bergara * Calle General Artetxe 8, San Sebastián, Spain

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Hidalgo 56

Bar-hopping isn’t all about la Parte Vieja, a.k.a. San Sebastian’s old town that quite possibly contains the densest concentration of pintxos bars on earth. Gros, the neighborhood across the Urumea River that’s accessible by numerous bridges (it’s not an undertaking like crossing the Brooklyn Bridge on foot) is a little lower key.

The Kursaal, a glowing auditorium, was on the Gros side, directly across the river from our apartment. I’d wanted to eat at the restaurant inside, Ni Neu, but it was closed the nights I had free eating time available (that sounds so creepy and regimented).

Nearly all newcomers (and likely, regulars too) order the volcán de morcilla. Yes, that would a blood sausage volcano. Instead of molten lava, the dark mountain of meat cut with rice, raisins and peppers is spouting a raw egg yolk sprinkled with salt. Add a swipe of apple puree and you have one complex, fun-to-eat pintxo.

Here, four rare slices of steak covered in potato crisps are served with “fondue” of naturally ripe and runny Torta del Casar. Earlier, we had been discussing how you might eat a plate of charcuterie or cheese, but you rarely see meat and dairy combined in a dish. This was as close as we would get to our dream Spanish cheesesteak.

Hidalgo 56 * Paseo Colon, 15, San Sebastián, Spain

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