Etxebarri

The entry-way.

Asador Etxebarri has received an incredible amount of accolade in the food community of late, inspiring rapturous prose from food writers and food professionals. It's reputation stems, at least in part, from how unusual it is: at Etxebarri, everything is grilled,using a complex and unique grill system chef Victor Arguinzoniz has engineered. With his wife, Patricia, Arguinzoniz renovated the 18th century stone cottage and turned it into the culinary powerhouse it is today.


The lovely little village of Axpe around the restaurant.

Victor is self-taught and has engineered his unique all-grilled cuisine himself, developing his own techniques and tools to create flavors found nowhere else. The charcoal used in these unique grills is entirely produced at the restaurant: a variety of woods are harvested from the area, calibrated to perfectly complement the meat or fish that's being prepared. The in-house concept extends to the food: the kitchen produces its own salami, butter, cheese, black pudding, ice creams, and smoked salmon, among other treats. Local cows are selected for their beef, and fresh seafood comes from the Basque coastline, where the kitchen has commissioned a fishing boat.


The old farmhouse that houses the restaurant.

Just getting to the restaurant is an adventure. Roughly 20 minutes outside of Bilbao, the drive winds through mountainous passes and through cobble-stoned and elderly Basque villages, finally ending at Axpe, the tiny village Etxebarri calls home. Located beneath a picturesque foothill peak, the asador sits on an attractive square. It's a good place to sit before the restaurant's official opening at 2:00.


The dining room.

It's rumored that the Michelin organization hasn't given Extabarri any recognition because of its rustic locale, but "rustic" isn't the first word that comes to mind in its attractive and contemporary dining room, which affords excellent views of the peaks above. We were promptly seated at the best table in the house, right next to the window, and quickly introduced to the Australian sous chef, Lennox. We had decided to ignore the ala-carte menu and pursue a tasting, and Lennox discussed what we loved and what we did not with us in order to tailor-make our experience. (Crabs are in and well, pretty much nothing is out. We're not exactly a tough crowd).

During our conversation, my mom commented on how much the Spanish enjoy eating baby animals, recalling the little piglets in Segovia and the head-on lambs that are served throughout Castile and Leon. Lennox shrugged. "Here in Spain, I guess they like to eat their babies." This is an element of the national psyche that has not been entirely explored.




Our first course was a few simple rounds of local salami. This was pleasantly smoky with a good, robust flavor, although not more special then other salamis I've tasted.



Smoked butter with calcified salt. This is one of Victor's signature yet incredibly simple dishes. It's nothing more then excellent house-made butter smoked and served with chewy local bread, but the combination is more then the sum of its parts. The flavor seemed almost embarrassingly simple at first pass but became sublime when it was added to bread. The smoked butter produced a smoky, rich, and fatty experience unlike anything I've had before. I believe they could make a killing by packaging this stuff in tubs. (Just an idea).



These are crabs imported from Galicia, kept alive in Hong-Kong esque tanks in the restaurants kitchen. The fire-engine red crustaceans were carefully grilled and served up in the Spanish tradition. In other words, essentially as-is. Superior seafood needs little elaboration.





These were excellent, with plenty of ultra-sweet and tender meat, full of yellow and delectable fat. I got somewhat misty eyed and effusive about my affection for crabs when describing my preferences to Lennox. Which meant I got a whole entire crab.



A seemingly simple grilled gamba, but oh my sweet Jesus. The best prawns I've ever had, these magnificent little beasts were simply perfect: when the head was cracked off the body, a sumptuous rush of juices and fat came out of the shrimp's head cavity, right into my mouth. According to one of the sous chefs, these succulent prawns are fished at deep depths off the Basque coast. They were also gravid - in other words, filled with juicy delicious eggs.



When the gambas are raised to the surface, they turn from their usual grey shade to a brilliant pink upon contact with the air. Further, their brains explode. Which is one of the reasons why, the sous chef explained, that they taste like everything good and virtuous in the universe. Indeed, Gastronomy is a curious mistress, dependent on biology and zoology and human creativity in about equal measures. I wanted to be a zoologist and study hyenas on the African Serengeti when I was small, now I write about food. How much has changed and how much has stayed the same?



I devoured the whole gamba. All that was left when I was through was a tiny and pathetic little spindle of a leg. The chef's wife was serving us, and she smiled at me with evident pride as she took away the plate. Adios, little gamba, you have made my life happier.



This, dear readers, is a sea cucumber. When Lennox mentioned sea cucumber to us, we were suspicious. "Don't bring the sea cucumber," my mom said. "They taste horrible."

"One squirted me in the eye," I offered.

Lennox scoffed. "These are different sea cucumbers. You've had the preserved ones at Korean restaurants, right? These are much better."

Still deeply suspicious, we agreed to give them a try. It was the right choice.



Fresh sea cucumber tastes like a marvelous combination of lobster, squid, and oyster. The flavor is most similar to a really good, firm bit of lobster, but the texture is what sets it apart . Sea cuke is squidgy and slightly stringy in the mouth, while remaining appealingly juicy, a truly worthy denizen of the ocean. The sea cucumber had a nice charred flavor on top of its natural sweetness, and was served with an almost ethereal preparation of cooked and delightfully chewy seaweed. Marvelous.





These are the ugliest things I have ever eaten. The little horrors are percebes or goose barnacles, one of Spain's more esoteric treats. Commonly harvested off wave-battered rocks in Galicia, these dinosaur-foot esque beasts develop a marvelous flavor by virtue of their dogged attachment to ocean rocks: their battle to stay attached despite the onslaught of the waves makes their foot muscles way more succulent. It almost makes you feel sorry for them.


Here's a closeup of the little alien beast.


Note the vibrant orange juice.

Beware: eating a barnacle requires some finesse. They must be twisted apart in a specific fashion for the little orange meaty bit to be accessible for eating. The flavor? Like the best mussel you've ever had, tender, juicy, and (as with all things at Etxebarri) ever so slightly smoky.





This is a simple grilled oyster, served with a tiny bit of kelp (?) and a bit of subtle, oceanic "sea foam." We Northern Californian natives are accustomed to grilled oysters in the shell, but these slimy little delights took the concept much further. I doubt very much that they are cooked in the shell at Etxebarri like they are at home. I suspect the delicate little bodies are instead applied directly to the flame, in one of the chef's various grilling contraptions, grates, and boxes. The unusual technique produces an all-around smoked and charred flavor, which, when combined with the always sexy and musky flavor of oyster was a real success.




These are chipirones, tiny and delicate little baby squid. The chipirones tasted as if they had ever so delicately been exposed to the flame, leaving their firm yet tender little tentacles and heads lusciously oily. These were served with one of Etxebarri's few sauces: just a whisper of garlic and a tiny bit of spinach.



Pulpo, Spain's mainstay of tiny baby octopi, were grilled and served with a delicately grilled shallot confit, alongside a flavorful yet light reduction of a sauce. Octopi have a slightly more delicate consistency then squid and a richer, more exuberant flavor. Like many Spanish specialities, they were both delicious and incredibly cute. Sentiment should be checked at the door and forgotten when one is embarking on a Spanish dining adventure.

The stacking-up of the squid and octopus courses proved to be the only misstep of the meal: they were two very similar dishes, with very similar flavors. As both were excellent, it was a pretty minor complaint (they could have served us a live and aggressive octopus, they could have told us we had to kill the squid ourselves, things could definitely have escalated).


As we were working our way up to the steak course, a nibble of grilled tuna was an entirely natural progression. These fine slabs of tuna were seared just a little bit, then seasoned with some excellent and high quality salt. This was a nice course but did not possess the star-quality of the rest of the meal. Admittedly, I'm pretty jaded by seared tuna by now (considering it is now required to be on the menu everywhere on the planet. You can now purchase raw tuna at the Milan Central Train Station, for god's sake).


Closeup.

One of Etxebarri's strengths is it's perfect hand with salt. Not too much and not too little is aplied, providing a little savory crunch. The combination of meaty tuna, sweet grilled tomato, and crisp bits of salt was a good one.



And now onward to the steak course, which Etxebarri is justly very proud of indeed. The signature steak is an extremely large slab of cow, a substantial serving that fills the diner with a tiny bit of trepidation when it appears at the table. After all: you have already conquered a number of courses, and then you realize you will now be expected to do justice to a steak. And not just any steak, but a veritable princess among steaks, an aristocrat of cooked muscle of cow: all ruby-red and luscious in the interior, charred with an artist's hand on the outside. You have to tuck in or you will indisputably be committing a spiritual crime. So I did.


The, well, money-shot.

This was the best steak I'd ever had. Simply char-grilled to perfection, the smoky and perfectly salty crust gave way to a rich, super-rare, and decadently beef fat infused interior. Served with a simple salad with vinegar and fine olive oil, it was an incredible treat. The beef comes from local cattle and is aged for the restaurant: the result is about the epitome of what a good steak is. Eat your heart out, Ruth Chris.




A luscious slice of meat.


Our savories were finally spent, and now it was time for dessert. In true Etxebarri style, the grill played an integral role in the sweet courses as well. This was a truly unique smoked ice cream, prepared by carefully smoking local milk and hand churning it in house. The perfectly smooth vanilla ice cream had a bizarre and excellent flavor, totally unexpected when it hit my palate and therefore extremely appealing.



This is a flan, again prepared with the smoked milk. This was magnificent, with a slightly cheesy, smoky flavor, almost like a combination between a classic Spanish flan and a beautiful cheesecake. I find the texture of flan rather unpleasant, and this dessert bridged the gap, with a texture more akin to a cream then a firm flan. I am not very fond of super-sweet desserts and found the addition of smoky flavor - usually associated with meat - to be truly interesting in a dessert context, but this was a definite exception to my rule. The pink liquid around the edge tasted of acidic citrus, which was a nice counterpoint to the sweet and smoky flavor of the flan.



With the bill came these tiny little muffins - a nice caramelized tasting exterior and a sweet interior. These were the only thing we consumed, insofar as I am aware, that was NOT grilled, unless they've managed to grill muffins TOO in which case I just don't know anymore.

We were finished, after three straight hours of eating some of the best food of our lives. Despite the quantity of the meal, we didn't feel over-full. The food was clean and utterly simple, and didn't leave us with the queasy feeling a butter-rich French or American meal can. One of the best aspects of Etxebarri is its friendliness.






The individual bars of the grate come out for easy cleaning.

After the meal, we asked to go see the kitchen, and they kindly assented. One of the young sous chefs was still there (it was getting on after 5:00,) and he answered our questions and showed us the grilling equipment, the seafood tanks, and the stacks of wood that are used to produce the charcoal.




The wood-pile. Different kinds of wood are used for different foods - grape vine is considered excellent for red meat and steak.

The profusion of racks, grates, and equipment Victor Arguinzoniz has created or sourced allows him to grill just about anything, including caviar and angulas, Basque country's beloved and exceedingly expensive baby river eels. Delicate sea-creatures, dairy products, and hearty meats are all subjected to the grilling treatment, and the magic of Etxebarri is that it all works so astonishingly well.

Unlike other restaurants of its caliber, the service style and the general ambiance at Etxebarri was very laid back and friendly. Families with small and well behaved kids were eating around us - one child had brought along a few naked Barbie dolls. Our server, who I believe was the chef's wife, was also very sweet. She was even kind enough to demonstrate proper barnacle consumption procedures to us when we were butchering the little beasties.

Indeed, Etxebarri entirely lived up to its formidable reputation. The combination of innovative grilling techniques, magnificent ingredients, and a truly pleasant dining room produced probably the best meal of my (admittedly short) life. I'm certain I'll be looking back on this meal and my time in Euskadi for a long time.