Luis, who runs Pension Joakina at the entrance to San Sebastián’s old town, warned me: “Forget the bars at Casco Antiguo. The pintxos there are no good anymore.”
Even before the pandemic, he explains, young people stayed away because the early-evening pintxo tour no longer suited their lifestyle, while the elderly can no longer afford the increased prices. As a result, many bars fell into crisis and are now in the hands of corporations that have catering companies deliver the range that has become monotonous.
“You can only feed the tourists with that,” Luis ends his tirade. I should have listened to him, after all the 61-year-old grew up in the area, his mother founded the pension. Since then he has been intimately familiar with the developments around the Plaza de la Constitución. But the memory of blissful forays into wonderful delicacies weighed heavier.
But after just a few steps, the first shock: the yellow arches are emblazoned on the venerable market hall. Beyond that, the four by four blocks that once housed well over 200 bars are pretty much deserted. It’s just after seven, pintxo time. After all, fragments of Spanish words are blowing out of the Mendaur, so get in!
Fifteen years ago, Mendaur was one of the first bars to refine pintxo classics with avant-garde recipes. And indeed, the once revolutionary pintxos have not lost their charm, even if scallops with glazed bone marrow have long been standard everywhere in Spain. The venerable sports bar next door is also well frequented, and the Gilda tastes as sour and hot as it should be.
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Shapeless Olives
So everything is not so bad? Unfortunately it is, because the horror begins right behind it: small groups of young drunken Englishmen stagger through the streets, frightening German senior citizens and wandering French people. In most bars, the anchovy, pepperoni and olive gildas, once elegantly modeled on Rita Hayworth’s curves, are so informally stuck together that you’d rather call them Pavarotti.
In addition, even in the more than a century-old Bodega Donostiarra, staying at the bar is now forbidden, you are forced to sit at one of the tables while the waiter hands you a form on which you should tick the pintxos you want. However, they look so unappetizing in the pale light of the plastic showcases that the guest runs away in horror.
“I told you to go straight across the river to Gros!” Luis dryly comments on my excursion into the heart of darkness. In fact, across the river, the pleasantly unpicturesque neighborhood is fast becoming the center of culinary innovation. The new establishments there see themselves as a fusion of pintxo bar and restaurant, you can choose between quite elaborately composed dishes, which are portioned in such a way that you can easily eat three to four.
Inedible hipster drink Michelada
As always at the forefront of development, Andoni Luis Aduriz has dared the unthinkable and opened up the nationally proud Basque cuisine to Mexican influences. Mentoring the young Topa crew, he offers homemade corn tortillas with aguachile (Mexican for ceviche) with Basque anchovies or pork belly confit with chocolate sauce.
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His example sets a precedent, a few doors down the Gatxupa naturally has guacamole and salmorejo (tomato cream from Cordoba) ready, while at San Francisco 33 three star chefs fill the menu with Basq-Mex creations.
However, the Mexican-loving cooks could have saved themselves one thing: the hipster drink Michelada from San Luis Potosí, supposedly the new Aperol Spritz, is in fact an inedible shandy made from Corona, lime juice, Worcestershire sauce, chilli flakes and cumin crust.