365 tuesdays

It's highly likely that there's not a single person that knows more about cider than Egoitz Zapiain. He's always ahead of the game, an avant-garde player in the realm of this traditional drink.   He approaches cider like an affectionate scientist. 

Lovers of this beverage that go to his ciderhouse won't find shouts of  ‘TXOOOOOTXXXX’ - they'll find a subtly guided tasting, going from the softer ciders to the most developed. The season's almost over, so get there ASAP. If you can't, look for Zapiain in nearly any store (check out Lot 14).  

Sagardo Zapiain
Kale Nagusia, 96. Astigarraga

Part of the 365 Cities project.

making cider : zapiain sagardotegia, astigarraga

A month or so ago, a friend and cider guru invited me and another friend  to come look around his cider house and get a behind-the-scenes glimpse of how he makes his cider, which is one of the most popular in the region.

I'd been there before, for a tasting (and as the token foreigner got to also embarrass myself on Basque television), and a couple times for the traditional Basque ciderhouse dinner. For those who aren't familiar, it's basically a huge steak, bacalao, tortilla, and a traditional dessert of nuts, cheese, and membrillo with all the cider you can drink.

This man is Egoitz Zapiain, and his family's business, Zapiain Sagardotegia, is a reference and a standard. They sell their cider everywhere, but you can also find them in the hands of the old-school Donostians. I.e., a classic. And with good reason-Egoitz takes special care with the creation of his cider AND with the people who come during txotx season, crafting an experience less for the alcohol-thirsty tourist and more for the cider aficionado.  So we bypassed the empty dining room and moved straight to the action.

Apples arrived in a big old truck. Egoitz motioned them in, and the truck tilted back, dumping tons and TONS of apples everywhere.  They are unloaded into a designated area, where concrete barriers about a foot tall keep them from rolling off into the hills of Basque Country. Then, water is pumped into this area in order to float the apples like cranberries. They waft down a little apple river to the belt that carries them up to QC, also known as Egoitz's aita (dad).

He works with his hands, overlooking Egoitz's aunt's restaurant, where that day she happened to be sitting on the porch staring right back, peeling beans. Sr. Zapiain throws the rotten apples into a bin, allowing the good ones to go on to be crushed, squeezed, and the juice to pass into separate metal barrels, depending on its qualities.

Egoitz makes an effort to begin the blending of the apples (some sweeter, some more tart) as soon as possible, rather than waiting until the final step and just mixing apple juice. This creates a more balanced cider.  We tasted everything, starting with the juice, nearly fresh-squeezed. It wasn't sweet, it was tart. The sweetest apples are the ones from right around Astigarraga, but tarter apples are required to get the desired balance.

The apple orchards of the area are notoriously neglected. Egoitz cites the orchard across from his cider house, saying that the owner comes out twice a year: once to hunt, and once to harvest the apples.  That's why, according to Egoitz, ciders made with apples only from the area are bonitas in theory but not always of high quality.

That's why, in an effort to move towards total control/self-sufficiency, Egoitz is doing some experiments with growing his own apple trees. The notepad you see above is the honor system for the local Basque farmers that come to take the refuse for animal feed and compost.

We moved on all the way to the cider from last season, the last to be made which was almost entirely bottled. It was complex, worlds away from where it had started. Cider, like txakoli, has come a long way from its humble beginnings.

apples to apples: a cider tasting

Today, a friend of mine did me the favor of taking me to a cider tasting at one of the area's best sidrerías, Sagardotegi Zapiain. It was quite a different experience than my first...instead of a late night locura, it was a civilized and structured tasting of ciders in their various stages of fermentation, led by the head of quality control, Egoitz Zapiain.

It was enlightening, to say the least. We started with a presentation on the tasting of cider. It has a lot in common with wine tastings..we even got to discussing tannins. You can tell the tannin level in cider, because it gets darker and darker yellow the more tannins it has. Cider, if you don't know, is made from apples. And one of the key elements that determines the taste of a cider is WHEN the apples were picked. An unripe, immature apple will yield a less alcoholic, more vegetal drink, while an apple allowed to ripen fully can make a cider that is reminiscent of fruit compote more than greens. Egoitz knew his stuff, managing to cram a lifetime of learning into about an hour-long presentation.

At Zapiaian, Egoitz himself is often the txotxero, opening the barrels with particular attention to order of drinking. He says it is imperative that you start the night with a lighter cider, which is what we also started our tasting with. The first cider was soft, without a clear smell, and almost as drinkable as water. He emphasized the delicacy of cider tasting, noting how the differences in light, temperature and even ambience can affect the perception of a cider. Egoitz led us through several more barrels, and the change from the first to the fifth to the final ciders (which would be ready for bottling in a week) was appreciable. 

Zapiain is very focused on the export of their cider, and Egoitz in particular is insistent that every bottle be of the same quality and recognizable as a Zapiain cider. This is more difficult than it sounds, because every night that a barrel is opened for a txotx, the integrity of the cider is compromised by the oxygen allowed in the barrels. This has to be one of the reasons Egoitz maintains such a hands-on role, trying to dispense the different ciders equally each night to preserve them. Savvy and committed to making a quality product. Almost as refreshing as the cider itself.

txotx! kicking off cider season

TXOTXXXXXXX!

Pronounced choch, and more importantly, pronounced as loud and as forcefully as possible, this is the cry heard around País Vasco at this time of year. And it's always followed by an arching stream of fresh cider. Last week marked the kickoff of sagardoa season (sidra in Spanish, cider in English), and a group of us hit the road to Astigarraga, which lies about fifteen minutes outside of San Sebastián.

Starting in mid-January, cider houses (sidrerías) across the countryside open their doors for people to come try the year's new vintage. It's all-you-care-to-drink, and without fail accompanied by a traditional menu.  First comes the "tortilla" de bacalao, which is much more of an omelette than a typical Spanish tortilla.

You sit at long wooden tables, ideally with a dozen of your best friends. Movement is constant...food coming and going, people heading towards the cider barrels to get refills.  The tap is opened, cider arches through the air and lands in simple glasses, always in small amounts to minimize oxidation time.

After the tortilla comes the second course, which at Sidrería Astarbe consists of bacalao (salt cod), green peppers, and fried onions. It is simple, perfect, and delicious. The family that owns Astarbe has been making cider since 1563 (!).

Then the grill gets fired up, meat temperature orders are taken. The next course is a HUGE T-bone steak, or chuletón.

After several makeshift interviews and a long debate, I came to the conclusion that your choices in Spain are: poco hecho-very rare, a punto-mid rare, or muy hecho-well done.  If you want something in between, be prepared to describe in detail as you ingratiate yourself to your waiter.

The cider itself is still, not sparkling, and easy to drink, with about a 5% alcohol level.  According to the Diario Vasco, this year's vintage is a particularly beautiful yellow with green undertones.  To give you a picture of the importance of the tradition here in Basque country, there was an unveiling mid-January with chef Karlos Arguiñano (who Arzak has called "the most important cook in the world") at the Museum of Cider/Sagardoetxea in Astigarraga, sidra's epicenter.

And the final course is always membrillo (typically translated as quince paste, although the membrillo in the cider house was of apple), walnuts, and Idiazabal cheese. 

 

It's an incredible tradition and experience. The season lasts through April, and while there are cider houses open the whole year, you wouldn't catch someone from here dead in a cider house out of season. A colleague of mine was lamenting the already too-commercialized nature of the current sidrerías, saying that before it was an event for a weeknight, just to try the season's new cider. You would go with a couple friends, take your own food, sing a few songs (this, apparently, being an essential part of the process) and be home in bed by ten.

So the good old days are no more, but this is still an essential to-do for any daytripper to País Vasco.

sidrería astarbe:::Txoritokieta Bidea, 13 ::: 943551527

sidrería petrotegi:::Petrotegi Bidea ::: 943457188 (also recommended)