“When a classic pintxo has been around for nearly a hundred years and still flies off the bar counter, you can bet it is special,” writes author Marti Buckley of La Delicia in her cookbook The Book of Pintxos. In this superlative version from Bar La Espiga in San Sebastián, the sharp bite of the delicate onion-parsley vinaigrette balances the saltiness of the anchovies and the richness of the mayonnaise and hard-boiled eggs. The vinaigrette is versatile—it pairs beautifully with everything from white asparagus to grilled shrimp—so you might consider doubling that part of the recipe.

Buckley recommends using homemade mayonnaise and adding an optional splash of Worcestershire (a more recent touch dating back to the 1980s). As for what to drink, she suggests washing it all down with a glass of cava.

Adapted from The Book of Pintxos: Discover the Legendary Small Bites of Basque Country by Marti Buckley. Copyright © 2024. Available from Artisan.

Featured in “The Pintxo Bars I Can’t Live Without in San Sebastián” by Marti Buckley.

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Ensaladilla rusa is, after tortilla española, the most ubiquitous and popular pintxo in Spain. With its creamy mishmash of potatoes, hard-boiled egg, mayonnaise, and various canned vegetables and seafood mounded on a piece of bread, it’s a crowd-pleaser. The variations are endless: the type of mayonnaise, the cut of the vegetables, the proportions, and the inclusion of ingredients from canned peas to olives to carrots to red peppers all yield different results. This recipe approximates the ensaladilla from Bar Ezkurra, widely considered one of the best in San Sebastián. Make it as written a few times, then experiment to find your own signature mixture.

Adapted from The Book of Pintxos: Discover the Legendary Small Bites of Basque Country by Marti Buckley. Copyright © 2024. Available from Artisan.

Featured in “The Pintxo Bars I Can’t Live Without in San Sebastián” by Marti Buckley.

*If you use homemade mayo, the ensaladilla will keep for up to 2 days in the fridge, though it’s best enjoyed the same day. With store-bought mayo, it will keep for up to 3 days.

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San Sebastián may be the only city on earth whose key sights include man-made mountains of canapés, seafood skewers, and creamy croquetas—finger food as far as the eye can see. I’m talking about pintxos, the elaborate miniature dishes that have long played protagonist in this idyllic coastal city’s tourist scene.

Pintxos are a Basque tradition, and they can be as simple as a skewer of canned tuna and a pickled pepper or as involved as perfectly portioned seared foie gras served over warm apple compote. Some are dessert: It would be a travesty to leave San Sebastián without trying La Viña’s viral “burnt” cheesecake.

Pintxos represent a century of culinary evolution in this corner of the Basque Country, and in my 14 years living here and writing about food, I’ve come to think of them as a way of life. Stopping at a bar for a snack and a glass of wine is a daily ritual for locals—myself among them.

The beauty of San Sebastián’s pintxo scene is that it takes well to a greatest-hits roundup: Virtually every bar here has a signature dish locals devour before hitting up the next watering hole. To that end, what follows is an edible roadmap that will take you from the La Concha Beach promenade to the charming old town and across the river to residential Gros, where I live. Be sure to pace yourself—a bit of restraint will ensure you maximize the number of pit stops. 

Gilda at Casa Vallés

Was the gilda the first pintxo, as so many guides breezily claim? No, but it is the holy grail of the banderilla (“skewer”) genre. When pintxos were invented about 100 years ago, they were essentially snacks strung together on a toothpick. The gilda was among them, a holy trinity of manzanilla olive, meaty salt-cured anchovy, and hot pickled guindilla pepper. To try it, stop into its alleged birthplace, Casa Vallés, a frozen-in-time bar founded in 1942 in the city center. The name “gilda” comes from the Rita Hayworth character in the eponymous movie, so called because both were verde (green, which in Spanish also means salacious), picante (spicy, in the sexy sense), and salado (salty, as in funny or charming). The memorable moniker has helped keep the pintxo on everybody’s lips—and in their stomachs—all these years. 

Tortilla Española at Antonio Bar

Beloved across Spain, tortilla española may be the country’s de facto national dish, but few cities take the oozy potato omelet as seriously as San Sebastián. A good tortilla—ingredients: potato, eggs, onions, and oil—embodies the phrase “greater than the sum of its parts,” and the tiny, nondescript Antonio Bar serves what I consider to be the best in town. Antonio’s version is tall, dark, and handsome, thanks to a whopping 28 eggs, extra-caramelized onions, and perfectly confited potatoes.

Ensaladilla Rusa at Bar Ezkurra

Spain’s other potato-fueled obsession is ensaladilla rusa, the cool, mayo-rich potato salad locals eat for sad desk lunches, at Michelin-starred meals out on the town, and every occasion in between. For me, the best ensaladilla contains nothing more than potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, mayonnaise, and a good sprinkling of flaked canned tuna. Ezkurra agrees, and the bar’s secret is in the sauce: a light, homemade mayo recipe passed down from the current generation’s uncle Alejandro Balda. But don’t take my word for it—trust all the customers who cumulatively go through up to 175 pounds of the famed pintxo each day.

La Jardinera at Bar Txepetxa

Boquerones, or vinegar-cured white anchovies, are a pintxo fixture. Shiny and silver, with a white underflesh, they are the gateway anchovy for the anchovy-dubious—and they’re the specialty at this Parte Vieja cubbyhole. Txepetxa’s anchovies are phenomenally fresh (read: not fishy) and marinated in a top-secret potion. Every anchovy pintxo starts with two glimmering fillets on a warm toasted baguette slice, but from there it’s choose your own adventure: There are more than a dozen toppings and condiments on offer, from spider crab cream to blueberry sauce to—my favorite—crunchy pepper-and-onion jardinera. 

Croqueta de Pollo at Bar Urkabe

The important thing to know about croquetas is that there are as many recipes as there are cooks in Spain—and legally speaking, none can be better than one’s own grandmother’s. A perk of being an outsider is that I’m free to rank San Sebastián’s best breaded-and-fried béchamel bites with no fear of finger-wagging. That’s how I wound up at Bar Urkabe in Gros, the kind of locals-only spot where everybody is greeted with a smile and a wave. Here, they simmer the bechamel for their chicken-studded croquetas in the same pan they use to sear the breasts, which gives the croquetas a homey, just-like-mamá’s flavor.

La Delicia at La Espiga

I like to pintxo-hop the way Basques do: one bar, one pintxo, one glass of wine y vámonos. But “La delicia” is my exception to the rule. Is it the way the salt-cured anchovy balances the bite of finely chopped onion parsley vinaigrette? Or the impossibly creamy homemade mayonnaise enlivened by the optional (say yes!) splash of Worcestershire sauce? I don’t know, but I can never have just one delicia. You won’t find this proprietary bite anywhere but La Espiga, the city’s longest-running pintxo bar—so elbow your way to the front, and let them know what you came for.

Pimiento Relleno de Bonito at Bar Martínez

Tinned bonito del norte (albacore) is a pantry staple in the Basque Country, where it’s line-caught and canned in seaside villages. At Bar Martínez, this high-quality tuna gets flaked and folded into a thick tartar sauce, then stuffed into a sweet, roasted, ruby-red piquillo pepper. Perched on a baguette slice and drizzled generously with sharp sherry vinegar and olive oil, the pimiento relleno is a San Sebastián classic, and the poster child of the oldest family-run bar in the Parte Vieja.

La Txalupa at Bar Bergara

In the 1990s, pintxos had a heyday—Basque nueva cocina was at a creative fever pitch, international ingredients were finding their way into bar bites, and pintxos with splashy names were the law of the land. La Txalupa epitomizes the era: “Boat” in Basque, the txalupa is an oval hull of pastry topped with a duxelle of onions, oyster mushrooms, and creamy cava sauce. Bits of shrimp get folded in at the very end and cook in the residual heat, and then the whole thing is topped with grated Swiss and broiled until golden. The Txalupa is the taste of many locals’ childhoods, and you’ll only find it at this legendary bar in Gros.

Foie a La Plancha at La Cuchara de San Telmo

Scoring a perfectly seared piece of foie gras for a few bucks sounds like a fantasy in this economy, but that’s the must-order pintxo at this sardine-can old-town mainstay open since 1999. The caramelized sliver of duck liver comes with a simple swipe of nothing-added applesauce, whose tart sweetness cuts the fat. Chef Alex Montiel’s secret? A long, slow sear on the plancha (griddle). Drizzled with a Basque cider reduction at the last second, this three-ingredient pintxo is an ode to understated luxury.

Risotto de Idiazabal at Borda Berri

Risotto may be Italian in origin, but pound for pound, this bar in the old town likely sells more of it than any Milanese restaurant. To make it, Borda Berri starts with orzo (as opposed to the traditional rice), which gets toasted until nutty and cooked in wine and vegetable broth in traditional risotto style. The chalkboard menu reads “risotto de Idiazabal,” but Chef Marc Clua whisks in three types of the Basque raw sheep’s milk cheese—fresh, aged, and smoked—for a complex, layered flavor. A drizzle of parsley oil ups the Basque factor and lends a pop of color to this crowd-pleasing pintxo.

Vieira Asada Sobre Ajoblanco at Casa Urola 

A walk through La Bretxa market’s row of fishmongers is a parade of whole fish with the shiniest scales and glistening eyes, tanks of live lobsters and shrimp, and shells large and small. My favorite dish incorporating these fresher-than-fresh shellfish comes from Casa Urola, a block from the market. I’m talking about the vieira asada (grilled scallop), which gets a kiss of flame and comes atop a cool and creamy ajoblanco, Spain’s ancient silky almond-bread soup. Local celebrity chef Pablo Loureiro dresses this modern pintxo in a simple yet revelatory coffee vinaigrette, then sprinkles on some pistachios and almonds plus a bit of nori for crunch. The result is a dish worthy of any white tablecloth.

Gazta-Tarta at La Viña

There’s little to say about Basque burnt cheesecake that hasn’t been covered in nearly half-a-million Instagram posts, so I’ll keep this brief: La Viña, where the cheesecake style was invented, remains well worth the hype. Cheesecakes resting in their burned parchment springforms deck the walls of this traditional, family-run bar that always serves the pintxo the same way: in two thin slivers per portion. No matter how many versions of the dessert you’ve tried, it’s worth ending your pintxo hop with the original, a creamy, tangy cheesecake stripped down the bare essentials. Expect neither crust nor garnish—gazta-tarta is all about the eggy custard, lightly burnished around the edges and best enjoyed with a glass of txakoli or Pedro Ximenez sherry. 

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This month, the SAVEUR Cookbook Club has been traveling the Basque country, a region in the north of Spain and south of France. More so than almost any other region in the world, Basque Country is best discovered at the table. My new cookbook, Basque Country, delves deep into culture and cuisine from this region, where product and tradition are everything. I’ve gone through the #saveurcookbookclub hashtags and Facebook and have chosen five delicious photos to share for the dispatch. There are so many great recipes being made and photos being shared, so join in on the fun on the SAVEUR Cookbook Club Facebook page and tag your pintxos, gin-tonic, and everything in between to be featured. Here are the ones I loved the most.

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A post shared by Sarah Aichele (@thesaucyrabbit) on Oct 12, 2018 at 3:50pm PDT

I had to start with Sarah’s photo. It comes from the first chapter of my cookbook, the chapter on pintxos. The small Basque bites are quite lovable, and Sarah’s picture makes me so happy because the context is spot on. She has the anchovy, pepper, and olive skewers, potato salad, and the Spanish ham, goat cheese, and sun-dried tomato pintxos presented perfectly, in abundance, ready to be grabbed—just like in San Sebastián. I also embrace her methods: “I paired the pintxos with a bottle of Rioja and sat around like bum watching a movie while I snacked and sipped…. the perfect dinner in my opinion.”

“The next dish is one of my favorite recipes in the book: Riojan potato-chorizo stew, or patatak errioxar erara. It’s easy (the hardest thing is waiting for it to simmer) and economical, as it’s not much more than potato and chorizo. It’s also a lot more than the sum of its parts. The potato breaks down and thickens into a stew that enamors anyone and everyone.

And in this case, it was made by Holli with a LOT of love: “Spain—its culture, its people, its geography and landscape, its history, and especially its cuisine, pulls at my heartstrings and has seared itself in my heart like the crosshatch on a chuletón de buey grilled over sweet, Spanish oak in an asador.”

Wendy says these croquettes were “worth the effort” and she is so right. Writing the croquette recipes in the book was quite challenge: it’s a well-known fact that everyone’s favorites are the ones their mothers made, so how does one compete? In this case, by upping the melt-in-your-mouth factor incorporating cream into the béchamel, thereby recreating the thick whole milk of the olden days. I also used the neat trick of infusing the béchamel mixture with the main ingredient, in this case, jamón ibérico. Crunchy, creamy goodness.

Gâteau Basque is the Basque dessert par excellence. Its Basque name, etxeko biskotxa, translates literally to ‘cake of the house’, and this ancient cake has lived several lives, beginning as a humble enriched bread and becoming a fine example of the French pastry tradition. Marcy Anderson Epperson made it with a cherry filling, which is quite traditional. The main recipe in the book incorporates pastry cream; however, it is worth noting there isn’t really any need to decide, as you can lace the inside of this almondy tart with both, studding the pastry cream with cherry jam.

This picture is perfection: there is nothing I like more than prolonging the pre-lunch pleasure with a vermouth on the rocks. The Vermouth from my book is so simple, yet a revelation if you’re used to dusty bottles of dry Martini. It’s everything: sweet, bitter, aromatic, and slightly challenging yet oh-so-lovable. Jeremy seems to agree:
“Things I love:

• Vermouth
• Gin
• Amari (Campari, Cynar, any really)
• This Vermouth Coctail pg 302
• Saturday nights
• Oh, and this cookbook.”

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