You could spend a week in San Sebastián (Donostia in the local Basque language) and never bother with a "proper" restaurant meal. The region's exquisite pintxos tradition means you can snack your way through days without repeating a bar, while each venue entices you with different two- and three-bite finger foods. On that, more in the next story.
But that would be doing Donostia a disservice. In the best tradition of "amuse bouche", the snackable pintxos are merely mouth-watering preludes to the main event. Dining here lives up to the area's lofty culinary reputation, and yet ... even with the currently horrific pound-to-euro exchange rate ... prices are under London equivalents. There are a staggering nine Michelin-starred restaurants in this medium-sized town, holding the highest number of stars per square meter of any place in the world other than Kyoto.
We didn't bother with the stars. (Though an article filled with tips from Elena Arzak, chef at the eponymous three-star restaurant, directed a lot of our sightseeing and shopping.) Instead, we chose two fine-dining local favourites just below star level, and one of Arzak's favourite casual spots.
First, a few trends across all of our experiences: Culinary traditions here are protein-heavy. Unsurprisingly, fish is exceptional; you'll probably be offered off-menu options fresh from the harbour. I expected that, but I was surprised by the quality of the meat. Those green hills produce succulent beef, pork and lamb. The quality makes for a tough choice. Main plates have little garnish and few sides: it's all about the star attraction and a bit of sauce. Unless something was billed as a salad, veg was a secondary consideration. Except for boletus mushrooms, with which the locals are obsessed. Also known as ceps or porcini, we were there in season and found them everywhere. On the desert front, we encountered variations on a theme: pastry, cream and red fruit. Nothing to complain about there!
Before dinner, however, head out for a cocktail. Donostians are as obsessed by gin as they are by mushrooms ... though a local assured us that the gin passion was a recent evolution. It's certainly the first town I've ever visited where a bar makes the top 10 sights on Trip Advisor. The Gintoneria is in the trendy yet relaxed Gros district and, despite its fame, was busy but not packed. The menu offers the biggest selection of gins I've ever seen, and each one is prepared with its own customised array of accompaniments (peppercorns, flower petals, chili peppers, citrus wedges, etc.) and scented mists. Preparation in a big, stemmed bowl is a spectacle, complete with tea balls of dry ice to send smoke creeping across the bar. I suppose you need to do something special to justify the roughly €11 a drink in a town where an excellent glass of wine can be had for €2.70. We found enough value for money to head there twice, and became great fans of a Spanish gin called Port of Dragons.
And then on to dinner.
Zelai Txiki served up my favourite meal of the trip, for the lowest price. (Three courses, one shared side dish, two excellent bottles of shared wine, £66 each including service.) We discovered it thanks to our hotel's recommendation; it's nestled into the steep hillside above the Villa Soro with spectacular views, but seems completely off the tourist track. Chef Patron Juan Carlos Caro welcomed us and showed off a gorgeous sea bream landed that morning, ready for our enjoyment. Not following his recommendation was probably my biggest mistake of the trip, especially now that Mark Kurlansky's Basque History of the World has informed me that this is a local speciality. There was fresh tuna on the menu, however, and we get so few quality cuts of that fish in London I had to go for it. It was excellent, but I'll always wonder how that bream would have tasted.
First, however, we started with a different round of seafood. Octopus with beetroot for me: a bizarre sounding combination that was delicious, and big enough it should have been a main course. Raves around the table came for local oysters, barely-cooked red prawns and grilled squid. We did follow Chef Caro's recommendation for the local mushrooms: an extraordinarily rich dish in which the grilled, herbed porcini came out on a thin bed of mashed potatoes, then had an egg yolk mixed in before hitting our plates.
There's a weighty wine list here, and if you're as keen as we are then you might even be invited for a quick tour of the glass-walled wine room where they store the goods. We matched our main course tuna with a light Mallorcan red called 4 Kilos, an exemplary red wine and fish combo.
Pudding was my introduction to the Gateau Basque: pastry wrapped around a traditional cherry jam. Stunning stuff. The only thing that could have made the meal better was warm weather and sunshine: there's a wide terrace here with a great view; a lingering dinner on a summer evening here would be bliss.
Rekondo was a bit more formal and solidly on the tourist track, with a lofty reputation that suggests they're nipping at the heels of one of those coveted Michelin stars. We only got in here because our concierge snagged us a table with his local connections. A similar amount of food and wine here cost almost £20 per person more than at Zelai Txiki. I would head there again without a second thought, however, simply for the chance to have their suckling pig again. I love pork, and have had a lot of fine examples in my life, but this was the single best plate of porcine cookery I've ever tasted. The intensely-flavoured meat practically collapsed on my tongue it was so tender; the perfectly-seasoned and cooked crackling was moulded around it like a turtle's shell.
My starter of piquillo peppers stuffed with stewed oxtail was almost as extraordinary, with its powerful flavours and one of those sauces that demands extra bread so you can mop up every drop. My desert of pastry cones stuffed with cream was as beautiful as it was tasty. (Top photo)
Rekondo is as famous for its wine list as its food; it's one of those weighty encyclopaedias of world wine you could peruse for an hour. They can offer this variety because a basement below the restaurant is one big cellar, with multiple rooms crammed with the owner's prized collection. Show interest in the list and the sommelier will invite you on the end-of-service tour. We stayed Spanish and reasonably-priced, but you could drink your way around the planet here while dropping some significant cash. (I suspect the high-rolling bon vivant from Lichtenstein at the next table, who we chatted with during our wine cellar tour, was doing just that.)
Gandarias is all about the beef. This is one of the Old Town's best known pintxos bars, famous for a bite-sized morsel of rare sirloin called a solomio. It also has a sit-down restaurant through some dividing screens at the back, where it's essential to reserve a table.
We were here for a full-sized serving of that sirloin. Rare, with a caramelised bark on the outside, a sprinkle of sea salt on top and a glass of rioja on the side ... a pean to the idea that simplicity is all you need when quality and cooking combine perfectly. We went for more porcini here, grilled simply with fresh herbs and served as a side. Just to balance out the beef, we started with a platter of mixed charcuterie served with piles of fresh bread, and ended with a thin, sweet cheese tart topped with a layer of jellied, dark red fruits. It all worked well with that rioja. I think we might have had a third bottle amongst us that evening, though the bill still only came in within a pound of Zelai Txiki.
Our other two nights in Donostia we skipped the restaurants and enjoyed progressive pintxos tasting. Of that adventure, read the next story.
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