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Posts tagged ‘Tapas/Pintxos’

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Three Continents, Three Boroughs

onomea kalua pig

Onomea Despite New York Times attention and practically being across the street from my apt, I have always been resistant to Onomea. Maybe it’s all the starch. Maybe it’s the small menu. There are really only five entrees and drinks-wise, three beers and two rums that you can mix with fruit juices like strawberry-guava. The mom-and-pop vibe works, though. Being NYC, the portions are reasonable and there’s a salad taking up one quadrant of the dish, a green anomaly you wouldn’t see sullying a plate lunch in Hawaii. The kalua pig, pulled roast pork shoulder that’s not wildly dissimilar to North Carolina bbq, feels like mixed-up picnic fare when taken with bites of rice and macaroni salad. The appetizers will have to wait–my dining companion doesn’t eat pork or raw fish, squelching any shared poke or spam musubi.

donostia quad

Donostia With Huertas just a few avenues over, the East Village is turning into a pintxos destination. I’ve yet to see anyone capture the San Sebastian spirit fully, but at least we’re getting closer. Txakoli is on tap and montaditos are the showpiece, displayed on the counter yet prepared to order. Grilled halloumi and mackerel breaks the cheese with fish rule deliciously while thick aioli topped with curling octopus legs, and razor clams anchored by a white bean puree both present seafood on bread in a more traditional manner. Of course, you can also just have Spanish charcuterie and cheese.

uma plov

Uma’s I’ve never been down with the whole still burgeoning Rockaways scene, but sometimes you acquiesce. Uzbeki food seemed like an odd choice for the neighborhood, odd enough to try. The service and food were a little wonky, which wasn’t unexpected considering the lackadaisical energy heavy in the air. The beef in the plov was tender, not too lean and almost lamb-like (the meat I really wanted) in flavor. The rice, though, was just shy of fully cooked, creating a chew that nearly reminded me of the grit that kept turning up in my mouth after sitting on the windy beach near a crumbling dune. That said, I would still go back. It’s a popular place and nearly nothing on the menu is over $10.

El Born

twoshovelBrooklyn has never been strong for tapas, and North Brooklyn has never done much to help matters. Mercat Negre was kind of odd, so was Cadaques to a degree and now it’s shifted French,  and Bar Celona had that hard-to-get-past name and died a slow death. El Born, joining the new Greenpoint restaurant brigade,  has potential.  At least it’s trying something new.

Keeping with the original tapas spirit, the narrow room is taken up mostly by a long bar with a few small tables and stools against the opposite buff brick wall (there are a few larger tables in the back). Good for a drink or two and a few small plates of food. With that said, it’s still one of those mysterious math places where a majority of menu items are under $15 and yet you still end up spending $100 when all is said and done.

el born gin & tonics

The restaurant also taps into the Spanish fondness for gin and tonics, a.k.a. gintonic, with four variations including #2 (Bulldog gin, Fever Tree tonic, lemon peel, licorice) and #4 (Hendricks gin, Schweppes tonic, cucumber, black pepper, lime) pictured here.  And yes, there’s a kalimotxo.

el born pa amb tomaquet

Many of the ingredients are Spanish, but the preparations aren’t totally classic. Pa amb tomaquet, which was brought out like an amuse, was one exception.

el born croquettes

Croquettes are a tapas staple, but  less common are ones filled with mint, goat cheese and pine nuts propped on a base of apple sauce (not applesauce).

el born fried rabbit and citrus aioli

I was going to say that Greenpoint is having a rabbit moment, but the fate of Glasserie’s much lauded shareable hare is undetermined and I don’t see the  conill amb allioli on El Born’s current online menu. The bony chunks are coated in chestnut flour, fried, presented in a paper bag (I could’ve sworn there was rosemary in there too) and served with a citrusy aioli. Definitely order this chicken nugget alternative if it’s available.

el born steak toast & pig foot broth

Picaña’ amb brou  is the Catalan answer to roast beef au jus. Slices of rare steak on toast with a rosemary-perfumed pig foot broth is high on presentation, though not necessarily the easiest to share or decipher. Sipping makes more sense.

The only dud was the cauliflower gratin, which apparently wasn’t  impressive enough to merit a iPhone shot (this was not intentional). Instead of a browned casserole thick with manchego and bechamel, the reality was a dish of steamy florets sitting in a pool of  thin white sauce. Who needs a gratin anyway? Eat a salad if you’re feeling vegetable deprived.

El Born * 651 Manhattan Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Gotham West Market: El Colmado & The Cannibal

twoshovelApparently, there are two new bacon boards in Hell’s Kitchen: one at BarBacon (which I only learned of today) and another at The Cannibal inside Gotham West Market. The latter might get lost in all of the charcuterie on offer, but it’s worth a look if you aren’t into delving into pig’s heads, chicken livers or raw lamb.

cannibal bacon board

Left to right, this is house made back bacon a.k.a. lardo, what I heard as “lamb bacon” but another thought was “ham bacon,” though admitted that was redundant, and jowl. The firm and crispy mystery bacon in the middle was the universal hit, despite being the slightest bit gamey. Lardo draped on the hearty wheat bread and drizzled with maple syrup (left condiment) is also a good move.. The bacon fat is only for the hardcore.

cannibal pretzel & cheese

We all know fried brussels sprouts flavored with mint now. These, tossed with generous crumbles of salty country ham are different, meatier take. I got overly excited at the sight of liquid white cheese, thinking of my processed favorites. This blend was oddly flavorless, though, almost like thick opaque water. There was a mild sharp cheddar after taste, but not enough to make an impact.

el colmado oysters & cava

El Colmado has a happy hour deal worth walking three avenues for in the urban arctic. $11 will get you six oysters (Malpeques on this occasion) with mignonette sauce and a glass of cava. To be honest, I just a seat at the nearest counter upon entering because I had some time to kill. The oysters were a nice surprise.

el colmado bocadillo de calamar

The mini bocadillo contained an octopus body (grilled, not crispy as advertised and as I’d envisioned–like the ones in Madrid) paired unexpectedly with a minty sauce.

el colmado patatas bravas

Patatas bravas were not only spicier than any version you’d find in Spain, the plate was also larger than anticipated, which is one of those things that’s hard to gauge with NYC tapas, regardless of using price as a guide ($10 vs. $7 for the bocadillo). Instead of pure potato with a spicy brava sauce on the side, these were coated in a chile powder then swathed in aioli.

Ivan Ramen will have to wait.

El Colmado and The Cannibal at Gotham West Market * 600 Eleventh Ave., New York, NY

Francesca

When the news broke (ha, assuming restaurant openings/closings qualify as breaking news in your world) that Frankie’s 17 was turning Spanish and rebranding as Francesca, my only thought was that I wish it had been the original location instead. Yes, 457 has remained wildly popular since day one, but how much Italian food can one neighborhood sustain? Or rather (selfishly) how much Italian food can I continue not to eat?

It happened that the same Friday afternoon I was pining for pintxos on Twitter, Serious Eats posted a slide show of the new menu at Francesca. I knew I wasn’t going to get the San Sebastián experience I was craving—it’s just not going to happen in NYC for a gazillion reasons.  (I’ve already speculated why the true pintxo bar experience would never work here and won’t bore you again–in a nutshell: too expensive, not sufficient concentration of bars.)

Francesca creamed leeks, idiazabal, membrillo, jamon serrano

What looks like smoked salmon from afar is really jamón serrano drizzled with a viscous membrillo. The sweet and salty components sit atop a slice of Idiazabal and a big tuft of creamed leeks, and would be at home on the counter of any respectable pintxo bar.

Casa senra bar

Like this. A more traditional version of a pintxo bar at Casa Senra.

Zeruko pintxos

Or modern like Bar Zeruko.

I want that buffet-like feeling of walking into a crowded venue and seeing an entire bar covered in delightfully unrecognizable things layered on bread, stuck with toothpicks, maybe even gelatinized or radiating smoke,  like you've entered a canapé-filled party where anyone’s invited if you have $10 to spend—and foie gras or gold leaf might even schmooze its way into that equation. And that’s the other thing, the couple of dollars for a dish and a couple bucks more for a glass of wine—or more commonly a zurito, a small glass of beer—adds to the democratic appeal.

Francesca mushroom, morcilla, setti anni brotxeta

The brotxeta of morcilla, mushrooms, and peppers (setti anni–also served at Frankie's) exemplifies the quick and creative ethos, as well.

Francesca lomo

A fried egg covered slices of lomo, just fatty enough to remind you why grocery store pork loins are so wretched, and a pile of oil-slicked peppers and onions, piperrada, that had been cooked-down soft.

Francesca cheese

Instead of raciones, of which there were as many as the pintxos (five) we tried a selection of cheeses (Valdeón, Torta del Casar, and Idiazabal) all good, and a plate of jamón Serrano. The thinly shaved, cured meat could’ve been prosciutto. I guess if I wanted that luscious, substantial ham that could never be confused for lunch meat, we should’ve sprung the extra four dollars for Iberico.

Francesca sherry cocktails

The sherry cocktails were fun, and you don’t really see spirits being manipulated to creative ends in the Basque regions like you do with the food. Txakoli is txakoli. And kalimotxo? You might not want it. #3 (East india sherry, dry vermouth, orange bitters, seltzer) and #1 (Fino sherry, sweet vermouth, cinnamon syrup, whiskey barrel aged bitters). I also tried a glass of Benaza Mencia, a lighter red that I'm still getting a feel for.

If I happened to be in the area between 5pm-7pm, which I probably won't, I would stop by the bar for a happy hour snack and discounted cocktail

I'm not an eavesdropper (well, I try, but my hearing isn't always sharp enough) but it was hard not to take interest in the older couple sitting nearby who lived on the Upper East Side,  were somehow drawn to dining on Clinton Street,  yet had never heard of Frankie’s and hadn’t been to Carroll Gardens. As much as I hate the dated food media “make the trek to Brooklyn” trope, it’s refreshing to be reminded of that the celebrated Brooklyn artisan only has so much reach in reality.

Afterwards, we weren't terribly hungry, but in the spirit of a tapas crawl (Tapeo 29 and 1492 Food are both a block away) we went traditional at Tapeo 29 (more Madrid than San Sebastián, and too dark for photos) and had cazuelas of sweet cider-braised chorizo and garlicky shrimp with lots of bread and glasses of cava and Garnacha. My pronunciation of the red wine was corrected (I feel silly saying any non-English word as if I’m affecting an accent that’s not mine) and in a way the unasked for authoritativeness was endearing in a way that Francesca wasn't. I'll let the transformed pintxos bar get its footing before making any rash judgments, though.

Francesa * 17 Clinton St., New York, NY

Bar Basque & Txikito

Ever since experiencing Basque food in its own element, I have become insufferable. Ok, not really, but I have wondered why there aren’t real pintxo bars in New York City when we have so many other niche culinary ventures. I’m envisioning a counter teeming with trays of small, high quality, totally creative, reasonably priced ($3 short pours of txakoli, not $12 like I experienced this weekend and $5 plates, not double digits) gems to be consumed while standing or on stools at a bar. It’s so crying out for a Brooklyn treatment. Could you street-food-ize it or make it pop-up?

If I were the opposite of me, I would make this happen despite my complete lack of business sense, industry experience and capitol. Like this is the part of the T Magazine or New York profile where the subject says, “I liked kombucha…so I started a kombucha company” or “I loved s’mores as a kid…so I’m now producing artisanal graham crackers. It’s a full time job.”  Uh huh. Myself, I’ve wanted to start a category (tumblrs just don’t do it for me) A to C, documenting these inexplicable journeys from idea to execution.

There are factors holding back pintxos bars in NYC: price, as I already mentioned, and the bar thing. Americans like to sit down and stay in one place when eating a meal and you couldn’t have a crawl anyway without a concentration of options in the same area. One destination pintxos place wouldn’t cut it.

This week I tried two extremes: Bar Basque (comped, I must point out) and Txikito (on my own dime—the difference between the two meals was almost exactly $100 on the nose, though mostly because I tried far fewer things at the latter not because the quainter restaurant is bargain-priced) to see the state of Basque cooking in the city.

Bar basque hall Bar Basque is just as bombastic as one may expect from a Chodorow production. The relentlessly red panels, ticker tape blue digital squiggles racing along the surface, and wall of windows open to a giant outdoor movie screen is like a lounge in an Asian capital that has a tough door policy for locals while letting in all Westerners even if they’re clad in Old Navy. When people said, the décor is like Blade Runner, I thought they meant that metaphorically, but Syd Mead, Bar Basque’s designer really did have a hand in that movie’s sets. It was jarring to see Annie Hall, a film only five years older than the sci-fi classic, playing on the screen visible from most tables. 1977 Manhattan contrasted with 2011’s interpretation of cinematic 2019.

All the show might give the impression that eating was secondary, yet the food is quite good. Spanish ingredients abound—you will get your Idiazábal, jamón and olive oil—while a whole series of seafood crudos and escabaches seem more like the product of chef Yuhi Fujinaga’s imagination. There is not a lot of raw fish traditionally eaten in Spain.

 

Bar basque gin & tonics

While light and effervescent txakoli is the wine most associated with the Basque region, gin and tonics are also a Spanish favorite. (I drank them by the tumbler-full at Madrid’s deco Museo Chicote) The list of modernized variations, each paired with a unique brand of spirit, including the rosemary and chile with No. 209 Gin above, was clever. Cocktails and a few shared plates of food might be the best way to enjoy the restaurant, which doesn’t feel like the right venue for a drawn out multi-course meal.

Bar basque starters

Idiazábal croquetas and yellowfish tuna tartare “push pops” with red wine caviar.

Bar basque crudo

Of the lightly marinated items playfully presented in cans—Spain is the king of preservas; entire grocery aisles are devoted to canned mariscos—the mussels with pimento de la vera, onion, garlic and fennel were my favorite. The meaty blobs, hit with smoked paprika seemed right on and the crimson oil and caramelized aromatics left behind made the best bread dip. 

There was also Spanish mackerel with shallots, chiles and coriander seeds, octopus, black olives and tomato confit, and Yellowfin tuna with ajo blanco and chimichurri. The only dish that felt a little clunky were the sea scallops with Mediterranean flavors. On paper black olives and preserved lemon seemed fine, but the olive puree smudged on the plate (which I genuinely thought was refried beans) overwhelmed the raw seafood.

Bar basque mains

The smoked trout with jamon butter trumped the pudding-like pork belly with baby clams, if only because the fish had its crispy skin showcased.

The heirloom tomatoes with Pedro Jimenez sherry vinegar, were simple, greenmarket and somehow very American. I’ve been researching where to eat in San Francisco next week and this falls squarely under the hyphenated style they like to call Cal-Spanish. Everything gets the Cal prefix by using local produce and serving it simply.

Bar basque desserts

Leche frita with chocolate and passion fruit sauces and piña colada flan with caramelized pineapple.

Is it ok to admit that the real reason I wanted to go to Txikito was to see the adorable food wallpaper in the bathroom? I’m a sucker for design. Fewer than ten blocks from Bar Basque, the Chelsea restaurant is cute, rustic, woody, the dead opposite of the theatrics occurring adjacent to the Eventi Hotel. Then again, on my way out my exit was blocked by a white-haired gentleman demanding enthusiastically, “Give me the best seat in the house!” I thought that only happened in movies. Also, that’s not someone who would appreciate pintxo-hopping.

Txikito morcilla

Like most Spanish restaurants in the city, the offerings tend to be more like raciones than tapas. The morcilla, stuffed into wonton skins like spring rolls, is mild in its fried shell and on the tapas end of the scale. Little rich bites.

Txikito melted cheese

I was sitting at an odd angle from the blackboard, so I did not catch which mild, oozy cheese this was. Perked up by two anchovies and a bed of softened grilled red pepper strips, the fondue-style dish serve with bread was a little like Spanish queso, no Velveeta needed.

Txikito salad

Arugula hides the poached egg, the most important part of any such dish. The tiny, battered, fried fish covering the whole tufted affair added great texture and a hit of salt like barely fishy canned onions. Who would like to make a green bean casserole with these instead?

Txikito squid ribbons

Txipirones, a.k.a. squid, cut into ribbons and served with…what was described as pine nuts and sweet onions. I had been picturing a sweet-savory thing with raisins even though nothing really led me to believe there would be any chunky dried fruit. This was more creamy,  rich with concentrated natural sweetness from the onions, and the kind of topsy-turvy dish that wouldn't be wildly out of place in San Sebastián.

Salinas, Basque chef Luis Bollo's new restaurant, is also on my radar. Though when I see a restaurant running specials like Salinas did this morning with Gilt City, I now get suspicious thanks to The Bad Deal.

Bar Basque * 839 Sixth Ave., New York, NY
Txikito * 249 Ninth Ave., New York, NY

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.

La cuchara de san telmo facade

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.

La cuchara de san telmo foie con jalea de manzana

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.

La cuchara de san telmo vieira toro envuelta en tocineta de bellota

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.

La cuchara de san telmo oreja de cerdo caramelizada

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?

La cuchara de san telmo pulpo salteado con hojas de berza asada

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.

La cuchara de san telmo canelón casero de carnes de cocidos

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


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.)

Munto interior

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.

Munto jamon, sun-dried tomato, brie & shrimp salad pintxos

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.

Munto jamon, egg, pimiento pintxo

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 facade

Munto * Calle de Fermin Calbeton, 17, San Sebastián, Spain

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.

La cepa facade

People just smoke in the doorway, anyway.

La cepa bar

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

La cepa jamón de jabugo

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.

La cepa ensalada mixta

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.

La cepa callos

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.

La cepa magras

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. 

La cepa dining room

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

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.)

Casa senra bar

Casa senra anchoa pintxo

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.

Casa senra menu

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.

Casa senra txampi con foie y suave ailioli

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.

Casa senra montadito de txipiron pelayo y bakalao

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 facade

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

 

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.

Bergara lightbox photo

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.

Bergara facade

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

Bergara txalupa & croquetas

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