The History of Basque Cuisine

This article was published at the Buenos Aires Herald:

50,000 years of culture in kitchen

Dereck Foster

The area that comprises the south-east corner of the Bay of Biscay is that which, invading a small portion of France and a larger portion of Spain, is where Basque culture and cuisine flourishes with all its traditional originality and flavour. Within the many varied regional cuisines that can be detected within Europe, that of the Basque country is an important leader. According to María José Sevilla, a food historian, who has analysed Basque culture in depth , this can be traced back at least 50,000 years and has, in its essence, undergone only cosmetic changes imposed by the advent of modern techniques and modernised ingredients.

What is the basic character of Basque cuisine? The Basque nation has always been dominated by the sea, and Basques have been notable seafarers. As a result the true flavour of Basque food leans strongly towards the sea. It is no secret that tuna and cod are important ingredients that figure in many traditional Basque recipes. Who visits a Basque restaurant does so — unless totally ignorant of the theme — expecting to discover a menu strongly imbued with fish and seafood. But we must not forget the importance that roast lamb, fungi and dried pulses also enjoy within a Basque menu.

Basques, true to their naval traditions, are great travellers, frequently emigrating — because of mostly political reasons — and setting up important colonies abroad. It is only normal that, deep in their baggage, they pack their gastronomic traditions. Argentina is no exception. We have a large and active Basque colony, larded with a great number of restaurants and food outlets with a Basque origin. As is the case with many styles of cooking, exporting to different climes is not easy. Rarely does food in different climes resemble exactly that of the original. Basque cuisine is no exception, but in spite of this we do enjoy a high level of Basque restaurants in Buenos Aires and the rest of Argentina. One of them is, without discussion, Sagardi (Humberto Primo 319, 4361-2538), nestling in the very heart of San Telmo.

50,000 years of Basques cuisine tradition, Spain has been around for 500 years tops, you do the math.

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Salmon Marmitako

This recipe its a twist to a classic Basque Country's recipe and it was published at the Juneau Empire:

Salmon Marmitako: Stew for a Spanish fisherman

Ginny Mahar

Fall comes early to these parts. I saw the first signs in mid-August while biking out the road. Movement caught my eye at the edge of the forest; a flicker of silver and green, as one falling leaf rocked its way to the ground, and then another.

Today the driveway is littered with leaf jerky, the fireweed stalks look like they've been rolled in snow and autumn is filling our noses with its damp bouquet. It's not cold yet, just barely crisp, but something in my body knows that it's time for warming food - something that will radiate heat all the way to fingers and toes.

The recipe below has been borrowed from many generations of Spanish and Basque tuna fishermen and adapted to reflect the bounty of our own waters. Originally developed in the galley of a fishing boat, marmitako uses simple ingredients that store well. Tomatoes, potatoes, onions and peppers are brought to life with a bit of sherry, a sprinkle of capers, and the magical dust known as smoked paprika. Nestle some cubed salmon into the pot, oven-crisp some olive oil toast and you've got a dinner that will make you happy the mercury's falling.

Salmon marmitako (serves 6 to 8)

The Spanish make Marmitako with tuna, but salmon makes a fabulous understudy here. Smoked paprika, which is now widely available in the spice section of most grocery stores, adds real depth and richness to the flavor of this stew. Pair this with a crisp and light-bodied white or rose wine like Sauvignon Blanc, Riesling or Pinot Gris.

2 pounds salmon fillets, skinned, boned, and cut into 1-inch cubes

2 red bell peppers

2 pounds Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced ½-inch thick

1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided

One 15-ounce can crushed tomatoes

2 tablespoons minced garlic

2 tablespoons minced shallots

½ cup dry sherry

Pinch cayenne pepper

2 teaspoons smoked paprika

2 teaspoons sea salt, divided

½ teaspoon sugar

One 14-ounce can chicken broth

2 tablespoons capers, drained

¼ cup roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley, for garnish

Best quality olive oil, for garnish

1 artisanal loaf of crusty bread

1. Sprinkle the cleaned and cubed fish with ½ teaspoon sea salt. Refrigerate until ready to use.

2. To roast the bell peppers, heat the broiler and place the peppers on a baking sheet in the upper ⅓ of oven. Watch closely and using metal tongs, rotate the peppers once they begin to blacken, until all sides are evenly charred. Remove from oven. When the peppers are cool enough to handle, remove stems, seeds, and blackened skin. Cut the roasted pepper flesh into a large dice and set aside.

3. Preheat oven to 350. In a large (5 quart) roasting pan or oven-proof casserole dish, toss potatoes and onions with 2 tablespoons olive oil and ½ teaspoon salt, and spread evenly. Place uncovered in preheated oven, 30 minutes or until potatoes are tender when pierced with a knife.

4. In a medium (1½ quart) sauce pan, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium heat. Add minced garlic and cook, stirring 1 to 2 minutes or until garlic is fragrant. Add shallot, sherry, cayenne and smoked paprika and cook 2 minutes more to allow some of the alcohol to evaporate. Add remaining ½ teaspoon salt, sugar, crushed tomatoes, diced roasted peppers and chicken broth. Stir to combine and bring to a simmer. Cook 10 minutes, uncovered.

5. Pour tomato mixture over potatoes. Sprinkle evenly with capers.

6. Cover and place in oven 30 minutes or until hot and bubbly. Meanwhile, tear the loaf of bread into serving-size pieces, brush lightly with extra virgin olive oil and arrange on a baking sheet.

7. Remove stew from oven, uncover and nestle the cubed fish evenly atop the stew. Cover and return to oven, along with oiled bread, for 5 to 7 minutes. Fish should be moist and barely opaque. Do not overcook.

8. Sprinkle stew with chopped parsley, drizzle with olive oil and serve hot in shallow bowls along with toasted bread.

Just to point to the obvious, once again, Basques are not Spaniards and Marmitako is a Basque recipe. The recipe may be the same in neighboring Spanish state but you can rest assured that they would never name one of their recipes in euskara, remember, they want the Basque language (and the entire cultural identity around it) to disappear.

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The Other Red Wine Cocktail

Slowly but surely a Basque concoction is becoming the favorite party drink around the world. Its name? Kalimotxo.

Here you have some info from Austin 360:

Calimochos (The other red wine cocktail)

Addie Broyles

Sangria might be the king of exported Spanish drinks, but calimochos — a drink that originated in the Basque region that combines red wine, Coke and lemon juice — are just as beloved. Calimochos are cheap, easy (no cutting up of fruits) and contain ingredients you can get a convenience store.

The combination of red wine and cola sounds disgusting, I know, but in the five years since I lived in Alicante, Spain, I've introduced hundreds of people to this drink and few have turned me down for seconds.

There are endless regional variations throughout Europe of drinks involving wine and other beverages (pink wine and lemonade, white wine and Sprite, etc.), but this is the only one I continue to drink.

The recipe is simple: Half cola, half red wine, with a squeeze of lemon and plenty of ice. Cheap wine works best, as does a bottle of wine that's been open for a few days. As with all drink recipes, tweak the proportions to your taste.

Funny thing, Alicante is not in the Basque Country.

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Extreme Basqueness

This article and recipes come to you courtesy of Canton Rep:

Extreme surroundings yield extreme cuisine

Jim Hillibish

Imagine living in rugged mountain territory isolated from the 21st Century. Your land spreads over two vastly different nations.

As with many things Basque, cooking reflects their culture. These are tough sheepherders and fishermen along the Pyrenees separating France and Spain. Their isolation has allowed their culture to grow. They are accustomed to doing things their own way and protect this freedom from the outside.

The result is a cuisine drawing from the countries it touches. Then the Basque Way is applied — supercharging with strong ingredients, getting the absolute most flavor out of everything. This is not subtle stuff. Your own most flavorful American recipe would be considered way bland here.

They use strong olive oil in almost everything, and garlic to the point of tears.

Stews and soups simmer for hours. A Basque cook shakes the pan violently where we would stir. He (men often do the cooking) produces dishes ahead, knowing that flavors increase with advance preparation.

Spanish tapas, the appetizers so popular in bars worldwide, started with the Basques. Now we know why they are flavor-packed. Chorizo is another Basque contribution, a dried or semi-cured sausage of potent power from heavy and heady use of pepper and hot paprika.

Basques have endured a number of scatterings as their people seek better lives in new countries. A million of them live in Chile. There are major concentrations in Mexico. The few who have made it to the United States seek territory similar to their home country, many in Idaho. Boise has a sizable Basque population, and the restaurants to prove it.

Chorizo in wine is simple but hearty enough to be consumed only with homemade bread. Basque pot roast features the flavors of bacon, pork and garlic all melded together in a powerful mix. This is classic Basque technique.

CHORIZO IN WINE

1 pound chorizo, the softer semi-cured instead of the dried hard-cured
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cup dry white wine
1 baby leaf
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

Slice the chorizo into inch-long rounds. Brown in oil and drain off the fat. Add wine and boil. Add bay leaf and pepper flakes, reduce to low, cover and simmer 45 minutes.

Serves four with a loaf of homemade bread and butter.

BASQUE PORK ROAST

4 slices bacon, thick cut and peppered, diced
3 pounds boneless pork roast, fat included
3 cloves garlic, sliced
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt
Pepper
1 large red onion, sliced
1 large green pepper, seeded and sliced
1 small jar pimento
1/4 cup white wine

Wash and dry roast. Pierce meat with a knife in several places and insert slices of garlic. Rub with salt and pepper.

Place bacon in a heavy pot and fry until crisp. Remove bacon and add roast. Brown on all sides. Add onion, green pepper and pimento. Add wine and cover, baking slowly at 325 degrees for three hours. Drippings may be converted to gravy by heating and whisking in a tablespoon of cornstarch.

Serves 6 to 8.

Note: Lamb or venison may be substituted for pork.

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Mycologist's Paradise

This article was published at EiTB:

Mushrooms and Truffles

Igor Lansorena

Basque cuisine offers a great variety of recipes using mushrooms, making them a much-valued ingredient.

The Basque Country is a country of dedicated mycologists, or mushroom experts, as well as mushroom eaters, even though until several decades ago only very few species were eaten, out of the countless possibilities that can be found in woody and moist surroundings such as ours.

By keeping to the knowledge about the most valued mushrooms in Basque cuisine through the variety of recipes that our chefs offer, one can thus avoid long hikes in search of mushrooms as well as the risk of not distinguishing between edible and poisonous species.

Today our recipe books include varieties that until very recently were disdained, and this allows one to sample fresh mushrooms all year round.

Mushrooms are usually preferred grilled, baked, or scrambled with eggs, these methods being the best in order to appreciate the delicate flavors and textures of the different varieties. Perhaps the most exquisite is the "perretxiku" (lyophylum georgii), so fragile that it will not cope with sauces and is usually eaten scrambled with eggs. Lightly fried and then carefully blended with eggs, "ontto beltzak" (boletus edulis) are highly regarded.

The grill and the oven offer the perfect preparation for other widespread species such as "gibelurdinak", mottled or silvery (clitocybe nebularis and geotropa). Whether grilled, served with eggs, as a stuffing or a garnish, in shish-kebabs with meat, as a base for sauces, or even raw, the most commonly used mushrooms in Basque cuisine often include "senderuelas" (marasmus oreades), "barbuda" (corprinus comatus), "champiñon" (psalliota campestris), "pie azul" (rhodopasillus nudus/saevus), "niscalo" (lactarius deliciosus), and a long list of miscellaneous possibilities that can only depend on locations, time of harvest, and on the imagination of the gatherer.

It is also necessary to mention truffles, which are found in Araba, specifically in the area of Campezo, which, though not always considered by traditional cuisine, have incorporated themselves vigorously into modern cooking. In addition to scrambled egg, truffles have become one of the most luxurious additions to sauces, creams, etc. in Basque cuisine.

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Cod "Pil-Pil"

This recipe comes to you courtesy of EiTB:

Cod "pil-pil"

Igor Lansorena

Cod is cooked in many different ways but there is one more remarkable than the others, "pil-pil".

Cod “pil-pil" is without doubt the most popular way to cook Cod. There are several traditional fiestas where people cook cod “pil-pil” in crowded contests.

To cook cod this way for four, you need four pieces of cod, four cloves of garlic, virgin olive oil and four dried chili peppers.

Leave the cod to soak the previous day changing the water three times. Cook the cod in a saucepan with plenty of water until it starts boiling.

Remove the saucepan from the stove and remove the cod from the saucepan with care, drain it and place on a towel.

In an earthenware pot, fry the chopped garlic and half the chili cut in small slices in plenty of oil.

When the garlic is brown, remove and put the slices of cod in the pot, separated and with the skin side facing up.

Shake the pot constantly in circular movements over a medium heat adding a bit of the water used to cook the cod.

As the pot is shaken, the sauce will thicken to a jelly-like texture. At this point the dish is ready to serve.

Decorate the cod with the browned garlic and the unused chili.

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The Rise of Txakoli

We present you a fragment of an article called "Basque-ing in Wine" published at the Sonoma Valley Sun:

I generally stick with less potent starters. In an effort to broaden my stubbornly limited horizons, W.S. introduced me to Txakolina, a lower-alcohol, perfect hot-weather aperitif wine with unique characteristics, as well as a fascinating back-story.

Txakolina, pronounced CHAW-koh-LEE-nah, hails from the Basque country, an autonomous region of northern Spain. Txakolina wines include red, white and rose, although the white is by far the most abundant.

Txakolina has proud origins, and a history so obscure that there’s not much easily accessible information. W.S. suggested I contact Andre Tamers, owner of De Maison Selections, the largest U.S. importer of Txakolina. In fact, Andre and his wife Cindy Cuomo are writing a book on the subject, due for release later this year.

First I enquire about the name, variously referred to as Txakoli or Txakolina. “Well, that’s a mystery,” Andre says. “One theory is that Txakoli was the house where the wine was made, and Txakolina was the wine.” What is definite, according to Andre, is that Txakolina “has always been a part of the Basque people.” The word itself is in Euskara, an ancient language. About one million people speak Euskara. The language can differ in villages as little as 10 miles apart – the result of interaction with other languages, although Euskara predates modern dialects. In fact, Euskara is the only language that survived the Roman conquest of Hispania in 218 BC. Although attempts have been made to link it to many different languages, Euskara’s origins still remain unclear.

Over the centuries, Spanish supplanted Euskara. The Spanish dictator Franco, ruler from 1939 to 1975, outlawed Euskara, provoking Basque nationalism. Spain revoked this law at the end of the 20th century, and today, a standardized form called Euskara batua (unified Euskara) is taught in schools. Spaniards say “Chacoli,” but you will rarely see that inscribed on any Basque bottle.

Like Euskara, Basque wines nearly disappeared. Vineyards once covered more than 2500 acres. The 19th century European Phylloxera epidemic wiped out Basque vineyards, too. According to Tamers, sheer isolation helped pockets survive. With the advent of new nationalism, the wine industry revived as the Basque government subsidized winemaking. This attracted new people and technology. Wine expert Jancis Robinson writes that since the 1990s Txakolina has improved “noticeably.” For the first-time, Txakolina, once a little wine made in homes, exploded internationally. Basque country is only about the size of Rhode Island. A little more than 400 acres produce wine. That’s expected to expand exponentially. “They don’t have enough for demand,” says Andre. “This year they’re totally sold out.”

What makes this wine exciting is the fresh acidity, minerality and vibrant fruit, the result of Basque’s cooler climate, sandy soils with clay subsoils, and proximity to the Atlantic. It’s best within the first year of its release because the youthful characteristics diminish over time.

In the last decades, winemakers from the Getaria appellation also added a slight effervescence, and a Txakolina ritual evolved based on Spanish cider-drinking customs. Inserting a pourer called “escanciador” the bottle is held high over a pint glass and poured two to three fingers deep. Drinkers take “shots” of Txakolina. Like most Basques, I’ll take mine in a wine glass, thank you very much.

So, whenever you have a chance, enjoy a refreshing glass of txakoli.

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Simply Delicious

The article you're about to read was published at amNewYork:

The delicious simplicity of Basque food

By Ya-Roo Yang
Special to amNewYork

While Basque cuisine is technically a Spanish regional cuisine, dismissing it as simply Spanish would be unfair.

The three provinces that form the Basque country have their own distinct language, government and culinary style, which Alex Reij, chef at Chelsea’s Txikito (pronounced “chee-kee-toe”) describes as “more connected to France than Spain.”

Food is such an important part of the Basque community that men, who normally wouldn’t be caught dead cooking at home, form secret gastronomic societies where they socialize by cooking together.

Unconvinced? Just look at the Michelin Guide and find the greatest concentration of stars in San Sebastian, Spain - the Mecca of foodies and gastronomes.

The quality of Basque cuisine lies in the ingredients derived from three distinct micro-climates. Rain provides for the fertile soil that yields beans, leeks, tomatoes, peppers, garlic and onions. Close to the coastlines, seafaring Basque fishermen catch cod, hake, octopus, spider crabs and sea urchins. Inland, in the foothills of the Pyrenees, Basque Shepherds raise beef and lamb.

“They have such incredible products: great produce, seafood, cheese, lamb and beef that really resonate with people that are into cuisine and care about food,” says Seamus Mullen, executive chef at Boqueria.

Many ingredients used in Basque cooking are locally grown others can be ordered online or purchased from Despana in SoHo. Like most ingredient-driven food traditions, Basque cooking techniques are very simple and the dishes can be replicated by any home cook with basic kitchen skills and the proper ingredients. In his cookbook Pintxos (Ten Speed Press, 2009), San Francisco chef Gerald Hirigoyen writes about how easily he cooked for a party of unexpected friends with things found in his pantry.

There is also the convivial spirit of eating. The Basque tradition of catching up with friends at a bar, before lunch or supper, for a glass Txakoli, a light effervescent local wine, and a few pintxos (pronounced pinchos), bite-sized snacks, is perhaps the most beloved part of this cuisine. Natalie Sanz, owner of Las Ramblas in the West Village, speaks fondly of the tapas bars in San Sebastian: “The bars are crowded with patrons seeking the house specialty. Go alone and you will feel like you are close friends with everybody within arm's reach.”

While New York does not have a pintxo culture, some of this is rubbing off at Basque eateries like Txikito, where diners from different parties often talk and share food with each other.

Five Cool Facts about Basque cuisine

1) The Basque were into offal before it became fashionable to be into offal: The Basque diet includes a steady staple of innards with delicacies like sweetbreads, kidney, liver and tripe.

2)Using canned and preserved food is sometimes okay: While most Basque dishes are created with the freshest ingredients, many Basque dishes actually taste better made with canned goods. This is especially true for white asparagus, piquillo peppers, Vantresca tuna and anchovies. Of course, a Basque pantry is never complete without salted cod.

3)Pintxos are great alternatives to canapés at parties: These bite-sized snacks are often bits of sausages and cheese or shrimps skewered together with toothpicks or open faced sandwiches with eggs and anchovies that make them great finger food for parties.

4)It’s the perfect food for the culinary commitment-phobe: The pintxo culture makes trying lots of different food very easy; and one can wander from bar to bar without committing to any one place.

5)Basque cuisine is also pretty good for weight conscious: The largest Basque meal is lunch, which is served around 2 pm. Supper or dinner is usually something small like a few pintxos or some yogurt.

Q and A with Alex Reij

As one of the chefs and owners of Txikito, a Basque restaurant in NYC, Alex Reij is known for her authentic yet modern interpretation of Basque food.

Q: With the sophistication of New Yorkers’ palates, why do you think there are not more Basque restaurants?

AR: I think up until recently New York wasn’t ready to sustain them. New Yorkers who have traveled know that Basque food is synonymous with quality. But Spanish regional cooking hasn’t resonated with New Yorkers. Outside of the Basque country, the food and the community were not clearly distinguished from the rest of Spain.

Q: Being that Txikito is one of two Basque restaurants in New York; do you have problems explaining the cuisine to New Yorkers?

AR: Not at all. What’s beautiful about Basque cuisine is it values a bean as much as it values a crab so I found that is a way to really engage the American diner. We don’t want to tell people how to eat. The menu is composed of ingredients that people know. If you like the ingredient, you’ll like the dish because in Basque cooking everything taste like what it is and there are no hidden flavors.

Q: With all the exotic ingredients Basque food demands, do you have problems sourcing your ingredients?

AR: Sometimes the stuff is outside of our price range. Other items, like the spider crab, aren’t available here. You could import many things but the prices are so prohibitive that it makes more sense to use local ingredients and cook it in the Basque spirit.

Q: Most of the dishes on your menu are very traditional. Are you inspired by the modern Basque cooking?

AR: I am really inspired by contemporary cooking – by Basque as well as other innovative chefs in Spain. But I am more interested in how they maintain the Basque identity - the things that are thoroughly Basque and thoroughly original. I like the continuity between the gastronomic legacy that it comes from and the food.

Five NYC Places to Enjoy Basque Food

Txikito
One of the two Basque restaurants in New York City
240 Ninth Ave. NYC
(212) 242-4730

Euskadi
The other Basque place, on the East side of Manhattan
108 East 4th Street, NYC
(212) 982-9788

Boqueria
Try the kokotxas.
53 West 19th Street, NYC
(212) 255-4160

Las Ramblas
Basque dishes include: piquillo con morcilla, bocadillo crujientes, pintxos de setas rebozadas among others.
170 West 4th Street, NYC
(646) 415-7924

Pamplona
Try the poached eggs with white asparagus or the braised short ribs.
37 East 28th Street, NYC
(212) 213-2328


Recipe: Garbanzos de Vigilia: Lenten Chickpea stew with Salt Cod and Spinach

1 pound dried chickpeas
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoon olive oil
1 carrot peeled
1 Spanish onion split in half
1 unpeeled head of garlic plus 3 cloves garlic peeled and sliced thin
Salt to taste
6 cups fresh spinach leaves
2 pounds rehydrated good quality salt cod, (torn in small pieces), or substitute 2 pounds fresh cod well-salted for 10 minutes and rinsed.

In a large pot cover the dried chickpeas with 8 cups water and bring to a boil. Remove from heat and let stand ½ an hour to rehydrate.

Drain the rehydrated chickpeas and restore them to the same pot with the onion, head of garlic and carrot. Add 3 teaspoon of salt, and cover with fresh water by about 4 inches.

Add 2 tablespoon olive oil and bring to a boil for five minutes. Turn the heat down and simmer until tender checking frequently after the first hour and adjusting seasoning if necessary. Approximately 2 hours. Remove the garlic and discard.

In a small pan heat the remaining olive oil, toss in the garlic until just golden, pour into a blender. Add ½ a cup of chickpeas from the pot, a cup of cooking liquid and the carrot and onion to the blender and carefully blend to a smooth puree.

Add the chickpea puree back to the chickpeas to thicken the stew.

Stir in the cod and spinach until cooked. Top with a thread of good olive oil.

Seems like the author of the article forgot that part of Euskal Herria is currently (and illegally) occupied by France, so "technically", Basque cuisine could be considered as French cuisine according to her. This is why people need to understand that Basques are not Spaniards nor French, it is actually quite simple, they are Basques.

Also, Iruñea (known as Pamplona) is located in Euskal Herria, so technically, the one with the name Pamplona is a Basque restaurant too.

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The Cider House Rules

No, this has nothing to do with the one movie with the terrible actor. This is about one of the Basque Country's must cherished traditions and it comes to us via EiTB:

Cider and its rituals

Nora García

Cider is the most popular drink in Gipuzkoa. January marks the inauguration of the cider season with the opening of the cider houses.

Cider is the most popular drink in Gipuzkoa. This apple beverage may look innocent enough but its alcohol content has been known to sneak up you. It is preferably consumed within a year from its production.

The Tolosa region and particularly the town of Astigarraga and vicinity (near Donostia-San Sebastian) are a bastion of the longstanding Gipuzkoan tradition of cider making.

The process begins with a discriminating selection of apples, which are then put into a tolare (cider press). After they are crushed and pressed, the juice is poured into kupelas (wooden barrels). The juice is then fermented for about three months, when it is ready for drinking.

To enjoy cider at its best, it should be served between 13 and 15ºC. It is bottled in dark green bottles to keep the light from getting through and spoiling the fragile liquid. To serve, it is poured into a glass from a distance of 30 o 40 centimeters so that bubbles are formed as it splashes against the side of the glass, bringing out its full flavor. It is said that cider should be drunk quickly, and never left to sit in the glass too long.

The rituals of cider

January marks the inauguration of the cider season. The cider houses open their doors, beginning with the ritual probaketa, or taste test to see whether the cider is ready. A small stick called a txiri is used to poke a tiny hole in the barrel, and out comes the first trickle of cider.

Cider is typically accompanied by a traditional meal comprising a cod omelet, a thick charcoal broiled T-bone steak or some sort of fish prepared in sauce. Cheese and walnuts are the perfect way to finish off an evening at the cider house.

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Visiting Errioxa

This article published at The Times contains a pearl of historic truth, Errioxa (known as Rioja) is actually a Basque province, here you have it:

On the trail of a fine rioja by way of the annual wine battle

David Sharrock

Spain’s most famous wine-producing region actually extends across its eponymous province into the Basque Country and Navarra, although at its centre is the historic city of Logroño, an important halt on the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail.

Thousands of years ago La Rioja region was an inner sea of the Iberian Peninsula and its geography gives its wineries a distinct advantage, sheltered from the more extreme climates of its regional neighbours by mountain ranges to the north and south. The region is slowly but surely developing a wine trail, the jewel in its crown being the Marqués de Riscal Hotel, in Elciego, designed by Frank Gehry, whose rippling roof of titanium leaves reflects the colours of the landscape during the grape harvest.

While the hotel is visually stunning, the winery designed by Santiago Calatrava for the makers of Ysios rioja is perhaps a happier match with the stunning landscape.

The winery or bodega is located close to Laguardia, a fortress-like town which well reflects its name: it was originally known as Laguardia de Navarra – the Guard of Navarre.

Cars are not allowed through its medieval gates for a very good reason: beneath the narrow streets lies a honeycomb of catacombs, the original bodegas where wine was made and stored. Most lie empty, but El Fabulista is one exception where guided tours and tastings are given inside a beautiful underground vault.

Primicia is another town worthy of visit, where recent restoration work has opened up what is thought to be its oldest building, a tithe house established by the Catholic Church.

If you are very lucky you may also visit Primicia’s bodega garden, set among some of its vines with views of the mountains. I enjoyed a memorable autumnal lunch there, feasting on barbequed baby lamb chops.

Laguardia makes an ideal base for exploring the immediate area. For those of us with pockets too shallow to stay in the Marqués de Riscal – where Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have rested their Hollywood heads – I recommend the Posada Mayor de Migueloa, a characterful 17th-century house in the heart of Laguardia.

For a busier nightlife head for Logroño and some of the best food in northern Spain.

The city highlight is Calle Laurel, where some 50 bars create what is known locally as the Elephant Trail.

It derives its nickname from the Spanish phrase Ir trompa – to stagger drunkenly along. Trompa is Spanish for an elephant’s trunk. On a Friday evening it makes perfect sense: you can just imagine the herd in full cry.

Don’t worry, it is all very good natured, washed down with small but frequent glasses of good rioja and accompanied by a type of tapas called pinchos, with each bar offering its own speciality.

My favourite bar is the Soriano – fantastic mushrooms. And if you think that wine tourism is simply refined sniffing and slurping then try being in Haro for its annual wine battle, held each year on June 29.

Its origins are based on a local territorial dispute but that is beside the point: thousands of litres of red wine are sprayed, poured and thrown. Be sure you are not wearing anything you value too highly.

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Inky Gourmet Treat

This delicious recipe comes to us courtesy of EiTB:

Baby squids in Getaria

Nora García

Getaria is the most characteristic fishing port in Gipuzkoa. Its narrow streets hold all the charm visitors are after, and its port is a kaleidoscope of images, lights, colours and smells.

The fishing fleet processed, although a large part of the labor of the "arrantzales" (fishermen) ends up on the grills and in the kitchens of some of the top restaurants in the Basque Country.

Grill houses line the streets but, in fact, the local speciality is the mouth-watering combination of freshly caught chipirones (baby squids) and onions, a dish known as "chipirones pelayo". The recipe has spread throughout the Basque Country, and is considered one of the true masterpieces of our cuisine. Needless to say, it should be accompanied by a glass of "Txakoli" wine, also from the town of Getaria.

Stuffed baby squids in ink sauce

Ingredients (3 servings):

24 small baby squid (best caught on a hook), 3 large onions, 2 small tomatoes, 1 green pepper, 4 cloves garlic, 2 sprigs parsley, oil and salt.

For the filling:

squid fins and arms, 1 onion, 1 clove of garlic, a bit of chopped parsley, oil and salt.

Separate the head and the arms from the body. Remove the pen and the outer and inner membrane. Wash thoroughly. Cut the fins off and chop them up. The innards will come out when removing the head and arms. Very carefully remove the ink sac before discarding the innards. Dissolve the ink sac in a glass of water. Remove and discard the mouth and eyes and wash the squid again. Chop up the arms and add them to the diced fins.

Follow the same procedure for each squid. Dice the onion, garlic and parsley. Add them to the chopped up squid fins and arms and sauté the mixture in a bit of oil. Let cool. Use this mixture to fill the baby squid bodies, being careful not to stuff them too full as they will shrink while cooking. Fasten the end of each squid with a toothpick to keep the filling from falling out.

Put an earthenware casserole and with the burner on low slowly sauté the garlic, tomatoes, green pepper and parsley in the oil. After a while turn up the heat and add the baby squid. Let them cook for a few minutes until they brown a little. Add the dissolved ink, season and lower the heat to a simmer.

When the squid are tender (but not overly soft), remove them from the vegetable mixture. Press the mixture through a food mill. This dish can be accompanied by white rice or croutons.

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Picon Punch

This article was published at the Wall Street Journal:

The Basques' Beverage

Eric Felten

ELKO, Nev. -- A few friends of mine have driven through this town, a way station on the lonely highway between Reno and Salt Lake City. Each made the mistake of stopping to eat at one of the grim, dim casinos on the main drag (one of which, the Commercial Casino, features the stuffed carcass of a giant polar bear, a towering old fellow who looks positively perplexed -- and slightly embarrassed -- at having ended up in a dusty glass case in Nevada). Settling for casino grub is a profound mistake, because just a couple of blocks over is a string of venerable Basque restaurant/bars where the hungry traveler would be fêted with heaping plates of steak piled with sautéed garlic, and where a desert-crossing thirst is satisfied with the traditional "basco" drink, Picon Punch.

One of those welcoming spots is called The Star, where I found myself surrounded by cheerful men speaking Basque -- a language unto itself, and decidedly unlike either Spanish or French. When my Picon Punch arrived, Andy Lejardi and Anastasio Arriaga switched to English to ask what I thought of the favorite drink of Basque-Americans -- and to offer a warning that the Picon Punch can sneak up on you.

Mr. Lejardi left the Spanish Basque country in 1969 after an obligatory stint in Francisco Franco's army. Like young Basque men for a century before him, he came to Nevada to herd sheep. Now retired, he lives across the border in Idaho, one of some 50,000 Old World Basques and their descendants who, according to William Douglass, author of "Amerikanuak: Basques in the New World," live in the Western states. Mr. Lejardi noted that the Picon Punch isn't much known in the Old World Basque country, where the most distinctive local drinks are a sloe-berry liqueur called patxaran and the sweet herbal izarra.

Mr. Arriaga pointed out a couple of small wiry men at the end of the bar. "They're from California. Very tough," he said with admiration. "Woodchoppers." Toughness is a singular Basque quality and is reflected in their sports -- feats of strength and sheer exertion. Chopping wood is a staple with Basques, but the signature basco sport is the hefting and schlepping of crushingly heavy weights. The woodchoppers were in town to compete at the National Basque Festival, much of which took place in Elko's streets and parks last weekend. But before the tough guys got to take their whacks, there was dancing.

Taking to the street were boys dressed in white shirts and pants with red sashes around their waists and jingling bells strapped to their shins; the girls were in green skirts, red aprons and white blouses and scarves, their legs cross-gartered. They danced with garlanded hoops to the skirring of an electrified accordion; the steps looked like a distant cousin of the Highland Fling. From the sidelines, mothers of the dancers tossed back their heads and let loose a ululating yell that got its start as a Basque war cry: "Ley-ley-ley-ley-ley-ley-ley-ley-ley-ley-ha-ha-ha-ha-hooooooooooo!"

There were more berets being worn than on New York's 52nd Street during the height of bebop.

The next day I went back to The Star to see how its Picon Punch is made.

The drink takes its name from the brand of the central ingredient, Amer Picon. "Amer" is the French word for "bitter." Gaston Picon concocted his own aperitif of bitter orange peel, herbs and alcohol as a tonic, and started bottling it commercially in 1830. But Amer Picon hadn't been doing boffo business in the States of late, and the brand abandoned the New World. Fortunately, there is a worthy substitute, Torani Amer, now the staple for Picon Punches.

The Star's bartender, Miguel Leonis, puts a stemmed goblet on the bar and fills it with ice. After putting in a healthy dash of grenadine, he fills the glass with Torani Amer, leaving just enough room on top for a float of brandy. He takes a twist of lemon and rubs it around the rim of the glass before tossing it in. "Some people add club soda to water it down a little," says Mr. Leonis. "But we don't. This is the real deal." The result is a delicious cocktail with a subtle orange flavor that isn't so much bittersweet as perfectly balanced between bitter and sweet.

The real deal is still possible because, shortly after Prohibition, R. Torre & Co., a California firm making flavored syrups and liqueurs, came up with its own version of Amer Picon to sell to the many Basque restaurants in San Francisco. Torani Amer is now the only liquor marketed by the company, which focuses instead on its Torani syrups for baking and flavoring coffees. Amer isn't a big business line, but it is a steady one -- especially since Amer Picon took a powder. Ask for Amer Picon at your local liquor store, and you're almost sure to come up emptyhanded -- unless you're lucky enough to find a dusty old bottle languishing on a back shelf. Unfortunately, ask for Torani Amer and you will likely be just as frustrated.

Some California liquor stores, such as BevMo and Wally's, regularly stock the liqueur, and shops in northern Nevada have naturally heard of the stuff. But otherwise your chances of finding a store that sells Torani Amer are slim. That doesn't necessarily mean it can't be acquired. Anybody can push a bottle of Grey Goose or Smirnoff across the counter at you, but the store worth giving your everyday business to is the one that will make every effort to acquire rarities when you need them.

Better yet, if you ever find yourself between Salt Lake City and Reno, stop in at The Star or the nearby Biltoki Restaurant and enjoy a Picon Punch in its natural habitat -- a treat as rare as the Basque language you will hear spoken all around you. Should you want to join in the conversation, raise your glass and say, "To your health": Zure Osagarriari.

Picon Punch

2½ oz Torani Amer (or Amer Picon)
½ oz grenadine
¾ oz brandy

Pour grenadine and Amer over ice in a stemmed goblet and stir. Top with a float of brandy. Rub a twist of lemon around the rim of the glass, and then toss it in.

.... ... .

Simple

This article was published at Financial Times:

On the trail of Basque delights

Kieran Cooke

It’s a busy night at the Café de Bilbao. The city is celebrating the end of the working week and, at 8pm, people are crowding round the marble-topped bar.

“The Basque language is very simple,” says my friend Txanton through the hubbub. “You just need to think in a different way.”

When someone says something is simple it’s a sign – as sure as thunder follows lightning – that life is about to become complicated.

An elderly gent is reaching for the pintxos – a mouth-watering selection of savouries that adorn the top of the bar. In the act of grabbing a skewer full of octopus and peppers, he inadvertently thrusts an elbow into my back. This causes me to lurch sideways, launching a domino-like movement among the gathered drinkers. Each Bilbaino tilts a little further. A man dressed in a large black beret sitting on a bar stool at the far end of the counter catches the full force of the wave and crashes to the floor.

A plateful of prawn and aubergine goes flying. A bottle of Txakoli – the slightly fizzy white wine of the Basque region – cartwheels through the air. All eyes turn to me. Suddenly, I think of George Campbell.

Campbell, who died last year, aged 92, was a remarkable Scottish linguist who spoke and wrote fluently in more than 40 languages and had a working knowledge of at least 20 others. (Once, in a cinema watching a western featuring a battle with the Sioux, he shouted out: “They’re talking the wrong damn language.”)

However, Campbell, whose linguistic skills have been noted in the Guinness Book of World Records, was forced to admit that Basque was one of the few languages that defeated him. I’m proud to be in concert with Campbell. All I can muster in Basque are irrelevant phrases from the guidebook. “Ni John naiz” (my name is John) and “Eskerrik asko” (thank you very much). Neither is much good in the present circumstances.

Txanton shouts apologies. Coats are brushed down, berets adjusted, shoulders shrugged. Normal service is quickly resumed.

“We Basques have more – how you say – phlegm than the rest of the Spanish,” says Txanton. “We are not so exciting, we are quieter.”

To escape the noise we go to the Boulevard round the corner, one of Bilbao’s oldest cafés, full of gleaming brass and art nouveau. Remarkably, the Boulevard is also full of the other drinkers from the Café de Bilbao, going about their pre-dinner perambulations around the city’s favoured watering holes.

We do not stay long. Txanton ushers me on to a tram. We pass the Guggenheim, rain splattering off its giant shimmering titanium shell, sculptured shapes showing through its skin. We are off to Donastia – the Basque name for San Sebastian – for dinner. In Basque country, as in the rest of Spain, the evening meal is a late affair.

The bus takes an hour. The perfect, enclosed bay in San Sebastian is buffeted by a hail storm. People struggle along the esplanade, bending into the wind. By 10.30pm, dripping wet, we are sitting in a small restaurant in the parte vieja, or old quarter, of the city.

“San Sebastian boasts the most Michelin stars per square kilometre in the whole of Spain,” says the guide book. The Basques – a bit of a mystery when it comes to their origins and cultural roots – have, it seems, built a civilisation on good food and wine.

The maitre d’, a man whose corpulent frame and rosy face are testimony to the heartiness of the local cuisine, addresses me in old-fashioned, elegant French. San Sebastian is only a few miles from the French border: serious gastronomes think nothing of popping over to Basque country to indulge themselves.

My meal is chosen for me. First, says Txanton, I must have some anchovies to brighten up the pallet, followed by txipirones en su tinta (squid cooked in its own ink). Waitresses dressed in black with starched white pinafores rush about.

Txanton’s friend, Eguskina, attempts to lead me through the dark corridors of Basque history. There is talk of Visigoths, Moors and Carlists. “We are the real aboriginal people of Europe,” she says. “No one knows where Euskara, our language, comes from. It is a bastard, like no other.”

A smattering of squid ink decorates my shirt. We move on to the bacalao. It’s after midnight when we leave and it’s snowing. Eguskina laughs, saying her name, translated, means “sunshine”.

San Sebastian fills the mind – and stomach. Next morning we stand in the rain at the city’s small port and toss down delectable grilled sardines, followed by a bracing walk round the high headland that dominates one side of the bay.

There is a British cemetery: Colonel Tupper ended his days in the mid 19th century fighting in Basque country. Not a bad place to finish up: it was in those times that San Sebastian became fashionable among Europe’s aristocracy. Lords and ladies and the odd king and queen would come to take the waters and potter along the promenade, doffing hats and bowing. It’s that sort of place.

Eguskina takes me off to the San Temo museum to view what she describes as a naughty painting. Antonia Ortiz Ecague was an Argentinian artist who lived in Europe in the early 20th century. A canvas dominating one wall at San Temo, once a Dominican monastery, features a supine nude woman, looking over her shoulder with a cheeky look on her face. There are vivid colours and flowers but, to one side, there’s also a dark, priestly figure – the face of the painter himself, staring at the woman.

“It is very like the earth,” says Eguskina. “Very lovely, very complex.”

“Just like the Basques,” I say.

“No,” she says. “We are simple people.”

I hold my breath. Somehow, I know life is about to become rather complicated.

.... ... .