The Adventurous Fork by Gabriella Ranelli

The first words I learned in Spanish were how to order a potato omelet and a beer. They served me in good stead. Most of life in San Sebastian revolves around food. The Spanish, in general, arrange their days according to the peculiarities of their eating schedule but in the Basque Country on the Northern Coast the rituals surrounding eating border on obsession. I have been chastised (gently of course) by dear friends for tasting a piece of grilled ox (resembling brontosaurus more than any common bovine) with the same fork that had been used for my squid and duly educated on which pintxo (the bite sized snacks which are known as tapas outside of the fiercely independent Basque Country) is the specialty in each bar.

There are two accepted periods for eating pintxos , one is the aperitivo from 11 to 2 and the other is the txikiteo which is the early evening walk-about-town with obligatory stops at a series of instinctively determined bars to have a tiny glass of wine or beer(txikito) and a pintxo. Each group of friends has its own pintxo route often revolving around the main plaza of the town and usually maintaining a strict order, thus at any given hour on any given day you will be able to locate your friends along said route. The bartenders will soon grow to associate you with a specific group called your cuadrilla and will aid you in your search by saying how long before yours had left that particular spot and if there is to be a variation (perhaps you are very late and they've gone on to dinner) he may also have a message from your friends. There are unwritten rules which are usually assimilated rather than explained (e.g. only one pintxo is to be consumed in each bar no matter how tempting the selection. It is also practically unheard of to order a mixed drink at anytime before dinner or, more properly put , before dinner is finished. Gin and Tonics are relegated to the slot occupied by cognacs and the like.

Both social and business relations revolve around food and drink and many aspects of both are conducted in bars. Spain is a bar culture. Bars in Spain are not, however, the dark sordid watering holes that the word seems to conjure up in English: probably the most frequently imbibed beverage is coffee. Working in Madrid I learned that business relationships were begun, maintained and even finished over drinks. Madrid is rapidly adapting the Euro-schedule but life in the provinces still respects the siesta. To an American it can be maddening --in the beginning. Gradually adapting, I found that there were not hours in the day to mesh work and food schedules and time was never wasted.

Mornings started with a stroll across the open air farmers market to the Gorriti ,sacred breakfast spot, frequented by butchers and farm ladies with gloved hands clutching coffee glasses in the early morning cold. Most bars, as distinguished from pubs, have neither tables nor stools so generally turnover is quick. The bars serve a very functional purpose and a person alone is likely to spend less than 3 minutes there having just popped in to quench thirst, eat an anchovy or check to see if a friend is about. From the prized corner spot I skim the paper and sip cafe con leche while surveying the offerings on the bar: tiny rolls filled with ham, grilled eggplant, red peppers, various omelets, fish, sausage, fresh anchovies, as well as croquettes and towering creations of potato salad, egg, mayonnaise and shrimp supported by a toothpick and topped by an olive. This is breakfast.

Paper finished, I backtrack to the market to gossip with the vegetable ladies while debating white peaches and nectarines. Then to the chicken man who is also my landlord. But often the purchase of food in the market seems futile because of the improbability that we will actually be at home to eat it. In the old section of town from noon to two running into a friend is unavoidable and since it is time for the aperitivo we usually head for the Plaza de la Constitution for a musto (grape juice) or a little beer (about the size of a thimble) and some smoked salmon on toast and then across town for a cold roast pepper stuffed with tuna.

There are two ways to eat lunch in Spain, one is the traditional three course meal seated in a restaurant the other is the Bocadillo : a massive sandwich, essentially the same meal set into half a loaf of bread. A few bars serve small lunch dishes like lentils or chicken stew at the bar. When I first moved to San Sebastian I was adopted by the family that owned the bar beneath my house where pigeons had to be frequently shooed out the open door. Years later, I still pop my head into the kitchen for a consultation on choice of entree and in addition to the recommendation of stuffed penkas (a chard relative) receive unsolicited motherly advice regarding my lunch companion.
Siesta in the provinces is from one to five so, lunch finished, there are several hours which are best spent resting since nothing is open and no one is in the streets. At five people begin to appear freshly scrubbed and extraordinarily well ironed. This is the hour of the paseo, families and couples parade the walkways above the beach and around the mountain before trickling into the old part for the evening round of pintxos. At 10 o'clock the streets are again empty except in summer when most tourists and many locals make pintxos into their evening meal. During the week people eat a light dinner at home. The weekends however are devoted to food.

The Friday siesta is all but obligatory and at 9 o'clock the old part is packed with groups of friends some of which have been meeting in the same bar for fifty years. Friday night is for dinner with friends and the cuadrilla system is so ingrained that couples are often divided. If they have children, one parent stays with the kids after the paseo while the other goes out with the cuadrilla. Even if there are no children both halves often go off with their separate cuadrillas. After meeting the group at around nine the next hour or so is devoted to deciding on the restaurant while ambling from bar to bar along the route.

The Basques have always been well known for their cuisine and more so in recent years with the rise to international fame of many of their young chefs. Traditional Basque cooking uses few spices employing instead ultra fresh ingredients, a bit of garlic, olive oil and salt. Parsley is considered to be strong. There are no condiments on the table and a request for pepper, while always obliged, is accompanied by a disapproving glance. The secret of Basque cuisine lies in cooking everything exactly to "its point". They are masters at it. Dinner begins, if the group is large, with several appetizers for everyone to share. There are traditional favorites: thinly sliced serrano ham, roasted red peppers, seta mushrooms with scrambled eggs, and foie. At smaller dinners people will order individual appetizers: fish soup or salads. Traditional entrees in the north are simply grilled fish or beef . Lamb is also served but best eaten in Aranda de Duero outside of Madrid, and Basque food purists emphatic about eating each food at it's most perfect, usually prefer to wait until they are there. Growing seasons are strictly observed.

Meat is is best sampled during the cider season from January 20th to the beginning of April when the weekend schedule is completely disrupted and all discussion of restaurants is shelved because the choice is clear. Reservations at ciderhouses are only taken until 8:30. While the burst of popularity in the last few years has given rise to more luxurious ciderhouses which are similar to restaurants most remain cold and slightly damp places in the basements of cidermills with long tables where a bench is decried as a sign of impending gentrification. The menu is always the same: cod omelet followed by enormous ox chops (which you may supply and most likely will grill over an open fire, yourself) with quince jelly, walnuts and cheese for dessert. All is eaten standing and from a common platter. Each person is issued a glass and a fork. Each table receives one knife and a designated cutter quickly emerges.

The main reason for choosing a ciderhouse as opposed to a more comfortable dining option is the cider which surrounds you encased in 10 foot high oak barrels. Periodically the cidermaker armed with a long metal skewer will open a barrel, poking the skewer through the animal grease which seals the tiny wooden hole stemming the flow of the cider. When a barrel is opened those who wish line up to catch the stream of cider as it spouts from the barrel, the second in line angling his glass behind the person in front of him so as not to let a drop hit the ground when the other pulls away. Four feet is a respectable distance to stand from the barrel, assuring that the cider is properly aerated as it hits the inner edge of your glass. Spanish cider, I should mention, is alcoholic: less so than whiskey but more so than wine.

There is a lot of singing. The Spanish love to sing and in large groups the men usually take turns soloing. Ciderhouses are in secluded rural areas and do not serve coffee so after dinner the group piles into several cars (going to dinner with twenty people is not uncommon). The songs ranging from ditties learned in the military service to folk songs and epic boleros continue to the previously agreed upon coffee bar. After coffee the group is again transferred to another spot for after dinner drinks. The ideal drink after such a meal is the local anise flavored beverage called patxaran distilled from sloe berries and drunk without ice from a brandy snifter. A Cuban cigar gestures above the glass and the story telling begins.

Many people work on Saturdays. Sundays are reserved for the long midday meal with the family seated at the table from two to five through several courses, dessert, coffee and liquors. All of the phases of each meal are separate. It is as unthinkable to serve the salad with the entree as it is to have the coffee with the dessert. If you do not have a familial obligation you will most likely drive with friends to a tiny village in the mountains or even several hours to the Rioja wine region to eat at a restaurant which has been recommended to you and where you will eat a meal similar in size to the one being served at home. After this lunch/dinner you are best advised to take a long walk through the picturesque village and if you are lucky it will be the first day of the bull fighting season and you can go to the corrida before heading home.

A final and indispensable custom bears mentioning: La Espuela. Literally translated it means "the spur" but really it is "the last one". The last one of anything really but especially the last drink. It is the end to every evening. As soon as you suggest that you will be going home la espuela is insisted upon and it is beyond rude to refuse. Intended to give fresh life to the night it can indeed be only one drink after which your departure will be gracefully accepted or if the spur gives the proper kick you may be out until morning.