Welcome Back, Boletus

Mushrooms are a recurring theme in my life.

And Basque cuisine, in its commitment to seasonality, features them big time around this time of year. About this time last year, I was freaking out about their availability, their quality, and their bargain-basement prices in the market of San Sebastián's Parte Vieja.  Then, throughout the winter, I enjoyed with relative frequency this pintxo.

This year, a week ago, I found myself in a restaurant in the small village of Olaberria, presented with a plate of huge, roasted, tender melting chunks of porcini. Some as big as a newborn's fist. This had to be one of the best things I've eaten this year.

Here's to fall, to mushrooms, and to this place and all its marvels.

Alameda: Hondarribia, Basque Country

This is a live version, taken by me, of the picture that first had me intrigued by Alameda. It's the aperitif, and posted on Twitter a few weeks ago by a certain bon vivant  it had my vegetable loving tastebuds salivating. The colors, the promise of sweet summery tomato goodness....it stuck in my mind. So last week, I booked a table for myself and a few friends in the Hondarribia restaurant. 

We arrived early, to set the scene with a drive through the fisherman's barrio, which was FULL of people for the town's fiestas, and then with a walk through the old town. A softly lit plaza and a Basque folk band made for another ridiculously beautiful moment. Not to mention it was one of the most mild nights we've had all summer, a touch of the day's heat still in the air.

This is one of three tasting menus at Alameda, the one that our entire table chose. This one is based in the product, another in "tradition" and another in "innovation".  The aperitif shown above is a chilled tomato soup with fresh cheese and basil, and it was followed by creamy rice with Begi Handi squid, below.

I can't believe the meal we had there was only 35 euros. Has to be one of the best value meals around. The chefs in charge are young, but they do NOT come across as such. They don't seem to be caught in the mindless keeping up with the Etxeberris aspect of nouveau Basque gastronomy. Take this simple but not quite as simple as it looks cod brandade with fresh white beans, vegetables and parsley foam.

...and the sous-vide beef with potato puree and microgreen salad.....

Want to understand? Go to the restaurants website: "It's not possible to advance without a part of our past. Alameda wants to present you a series of dishes, that above all should be a passionate homage to our grandparents. To that healthful traditional cuisine, which is the root of our most recent recipes."

From the brownie with cheese ice cream and sour orange to the platter of golosinas, which included a financier, chocolate mousse with coffee foam, and chocolate covered almonds, it was a perfectly executed meal.

It reminds me of a certain much-hyped restaurant in San Sebastian, with another young chef, that has a similar product-based sensibility. Alameda, however, has an execution and a complexity that I haven't seen yet in Narru. Hence the Michelin-star, I suppose. 

Thirty-five euros, people. Get there.

No Steak Trees, But....

It's good to get back to nature. Walking along a one-lane cobblestone street tucked alongside a mountain. A small port town where people have lived for hundreds of years. Walk out your front door, and in three steps, your daily commute (by boat). Continue along the curve of the mountain until you are on a dirt path.

The smell of wild mint hits you with every gust of wind. Pick, thinking of ice cream and cool drinks. Pareta belarrak, you are told. Herbs that grow on the wall. The old man out for his stroll tells you they're good for infusions, and that there's another useful for cleaning out your digestive system. Seven days fasting, drinking that herb steeped in water.

Then dandelions along the path, their bitter greens waving in the wind. Pick, thinking of pasta or a gratin.

Wild berries, some tart, some sweet, drying but with a more concentrated flavor.

Food comes from nature. We're so unlucky to think that's worth photographing, that's worth exalting. I envy those who consider it normal and everyday. But perhaps we're the ones in the right, celebrating something worth celebrating, something that others take for granted.

another #mystery spot

My previous post on the mysterious restaurant whose name I'm forbidden to share got me thinking about the other places I frequent but have been hestitant to talk about in public.  San Sebastián is a touristy place in the summer, I'm finding. And although, fortunately, there's plenty to go around and the city has avoided losing its character up to now, you still find yourself saving a little bit of the best for the locals.

But there's no harm in some photo love, right? Here's another favorite.

Roast suckling pig. Cold crisp simple salad.

Melty jamón ibérico de bellota.

¡Cígala!

Seared oyster mushrooms with a shrimp vinaigrette.

Morcilla and tender green peppers.

Sorry. Sworn to secrecy.

it's the little #mysterys

 People from here are proud of their food. They're proud of the raw product, they're proud of the folks that cook it, and they're proud of their restaurants. They like to share, but often it comes with one condition: "Don't tell anyone." Or maybe that's just something they tell me since I am, as I often forget, a guiri. And a journalist. And a blogger.

Thank goodness I have friends that don't hold that against me. And even, I suspect, sort of like it when I guiri-bash. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had plate, after plate, after plate of fresh seafood at a quiet bar-restaurant outside of the city this week for lunch. A bottle of cold, salty txakoli was brought the table and the meal begin. We started with the tomato salad, above, dressed with vinegar, loads of olive oil, tuna, anchovies and guindilla peppers.

Next the anchovies (see top of post), fresh, mouthwatering, and topped with fried garlic. A plate of fried anchovies, then, battered in tiny, uniform breadcrumb. Really, just incredible. Fried fish, equally perfect. There we were, a Basque, an American, a guy from Cataluña and one from Cadiz, and we were all nodding and smiling in sheer pleasure.

The paramount of the meal were the calamari, which as our Andalucian commented, tasted like perfectly grilled calamari, but were battered and fried. These are the calamari you only dream about. If you dream about cephalopods.

I've struck the name of the restaurant my friends carried me to this week out of my mind, just so I can honestly tell people I can't remember what it's called. I took a picture of the sign, but I'm not looking at it until the day comes when the ganas to return become unbearable. Which probably isn't very far off, since I haven't stopped thinking about the calamari and the fresh seafood tasting of the air coming through the restaurant's front door.