A Copa Con...Tasia Malakasis

This week's installment of A Copa Con.. is one near and dear to my heart. When I was back home in Alabama, I sat down with Tasia Malakasis, chief cheese at Belle Chevre, one of the country's premiere goat cheese creameries. She's also a published cookbook author, and her book Tasia's Table is a combination of her Greek and Southern roots, as well as her experience as cheesemaker. She's also my extremely fun, sweet, young-looking boss. Read on as she answers a couple questions about life, fridge contents and everything in between.

Why cheese?
Because it tastes so good and is so much fun to experiment with - both in the kitchen and in making "new" cheeses

What's something nobody knows about you?
I'm an introvert.

What are five things you always have in the fridge?
Eggs, scallions and some kind of salami or cured meat, wine, sriracha.

What is the hardest thing about running a business?
Communicating my passion to employees. I feel so strongly about it and get so excited our products that I think everyone else must automatically feel the same.

You're an author and somewhat famous for your dinner parties (go you!). But what's the most embarrassing in-kitchen failure that you have ever had?
I tend to be impatient and with desserts you just can't be. I had gotten quite famous for my Creme brûlée with a number of friends who always asked me to prepare it when they were over. They thought mine was just as good as any they had had anywhere in the world - which made my head swell considerably. But one time to show off for a first-time dinner guest I made Creme brûlée and it had not for some reason set. So all I had to serve was a watery dessert. I served it.

Rumor has it you may be vacationing in Basque Country this summer. What one thing are you most looking forward to?
Why, the food, of course!  And the grand personality of one 5-year-old girl to show me around.

What is one thing you would change about where you are from, Alabama?
Hunger. I would eradicate hunger.

If you want to know more about Tasia or Belle Chevre, click on the links. The best cheese around, seriously.

How Much Should A Pintxo Cost?

There it is. So innocent looking. Saliva inducing. Juicy lobster, resting atop cava aioli, on perfectly toasted bread. This pintxo has won the hearts of many, along with a permanent place on the menu at one of San Sebastián's bars of note, Zeruko.

And I don't know if, in good conscience, I can ever taste it again.

Last night, I engaged in a good old-fashioned pintxo hop with some friends. One of our stops was Zeruko, and a moment of 'this can't be happening' came about when they brought us the bill. This sweet, innocent piece of bread?

€7.50.  In US dollars, that is $9.75. For a piece of bread, measuring about 4.5 inches long and 2 inches wide. I know it's lobster, but come ON.

This brings about the bigger question: WHAT THE F@#$? 

No, kidding. The bigger question is: What is happening to San Sebastián? This small snippet of a night out in the old town is a hint, I beileve, of what's to come. Prices keep going up, bars cater to a world of weekending gabachos (French) and summering tourists. With every newspaper article raving about this hidden gem, every English menu, every time you're asked to pay before you finish eating, Donosti (that's San Sebastián, to locals) becomes more Disney-fied.  It's normal, inevitable, even. And it's good for the economy, one supposes.  I feel trite complaining about this, but it's how I feel and I am just thankful to have been here before the pintxos hit the fan. When Donosti was still slightly authentic.

BUT SERIOUSLY. $10 FOR A PINTXO? WHAT IS THIS, NEW YORK? I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN EVER GO BACK THERE.

(sheds a tiny tear)

Please comment below. Am I unreasonable? Equivocated? Romantic? Spoiled? Want to hear what everyone thinks about this.

Lunch In France

The other day I find myself over a late lunch in Bayonne, France.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I never cease to be amazed by the huge difference a border can make on cuisine.  The French and Spanish(Basque) cuisines share many things, but even just at a sheer surface level glance, they are so different.  And nowhere is this better expressed than at a simple, everyday lunch.   In Spain (Basque Country) you might expect something stewed, some delicious grilled meat, an iceberg/onion salad dressed with apple cider vinegar and olive oil.

Not en France. Baked cheese en croute; jambon de Bayonne; goat cheese tartines, crispy and charred; croque monsieur, covered in broiled bechamel; and a sensational and sumptuous quiche, the French's answer to tortilla. Our lunch was adorned with beautifully dressed salads, studded by lardons and perfectly seasoned.

It's really just too typical.  The French lunch is a beautiful, sexy woman, subtle and detailed.  The Basque lunch is simple, filling and humble.  Viva stereotypes, as long as they are as delicious as these!

A Copa Con...Bob Worboys

Today's installment in the "A Copa Con..." series is an Englishman made good in the French side of Basque Country. Well, if not made good, at least MAKING good (great) beer.  Bob Worboys is the founder, head brewer, driver, office manager, and any other titles you care to invent at his business Etxeko Bob's. It's truly one of the only artisan microbreweries in the area, and it's growing slowly but surely in the small French village of Hasparren.

What do you do?

I make beer. I founded Etxeko Bob's about seven years ago.

How did you end up brewing, when your career had you in the marketing/TV industry in England?

I got very drunk one night, and I woke up and I was here. No, just kidding. I fell in love with the Pays Basque. I wanted to actually do something where you're working with high-quality raw products, to add value.

Can you compare beer making to, say, winemaking?

If you look through the chain, it's more, especially in terms of raw materials, than grapes. It's a continuous activity. We're producing all year. Right now we're trying to build up stock for the summer.

Is there a secret to brewing beer?

You're only working with four things: malts, water, hops and yeast.

At the end of the day, I hate to say it, but it's true: beer is 90% water. When I first opened I didn't talk about 'the water comes from the mountain' because I didn't think it was important. Because you can modify water. Before, long ago, it wasn't safe to drink.

What's it like, being a producer in the Basque Country?

There is a huge sense of pride in things that come from this area. If you're producing a locally made product, you'll have, to a certain extent, a market.

So has it been smooth sailing since you began seven years ago?

No. Because all beers here are so homogenous, you would just order a beer. People would say to me, 'the problem with your beer is it's got too much taste'.

Would you change anything about your journey?

The reason I came here is because I like the Basque Country. Five years was when I really felt I turned the corner. It's complicated at the moment, with the economy.

What's exciting right now for Etxeko Bob's?

At Mugaritz I worked with them on a menu. I began to think: how can we find alliances? How can we find things that go with this beer? We got right back to the basics. Rather than trying to match a beer with a dish, let's look at developing dishes with ingredients you use to make beer.  You're building awareness, and everybody wins.

Thanks to Bob for the wonderful visit and interview. Leave us a comment on the above topics, and if you're in the area, you've got to try his beer!

Don't Miss Donosti #31

THE CAROUSEL | DONOSTI-SAN SEBASTIAN

San Sebastián's carousel (or tio vivo in Spanish, which literally translates to living uncle) is an arte nouveau beauty perched right on La Concha beach in front of the town hall.  In the park Alderdi Eder, this thing runs rain or shine. When they tore up the plaza a year or two ago, they transported the whole carousel so it could continue to be used. It's a Belle Epoque Art Nouveau beauty, and Buckley's watchful eye recently noted the addition of the bull to the lineup of moving pieces.  A concession to Spanish-ness or a mere replacement for a broken dolphin?