The Guggenheim and last day in Lekeitio

We did do one or two things beside consume twelve courses of grilled goodness, you know. Despite what this blog may indicate, I have other interests beyond just consuming incredibly delicious foodstuffs and writing about them. There are occasions when even I feel within me the urge to take in some culture that does not involve grass-fed beef, water scallops, and rucola, times when I too feel the need to gaze at Great Works of Art and feel myself, mysteriously, internally elevated, or at least a bit smarter. If not smarter, more able to look like an intellectual jerk-off in bars. You can't set your sighs too high.

So we went to the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao.

Do I have to tell you the story of the Guggenheim? Doesn't everyone know this by now? So in the mid-90's the Guggenheim foundation wanted to build a new museum to house their giant collection of weird modern art. Being a little low on funds, they wanted a locale that would be willing to shell out for the new museum themselves. Enter Bilbao. Bilbao and the Basque people suffered big-time under Franco's incredibly evil military regime, forcing Basque culture underground and bringing Basque industry to a relative standstill. Franco passed and Spain began to ease uncertainly into the modern age, with the Basque people leading the way. The old shipdock and iron production centers in Bilbao were renovated, new industries opened up in the city, and Bilbainos became determined to transfer their fading industrial city into a people-and-business friendly powerhouse. To everyone's surprise, they did it. When the Guggenheim came a'knocking, the city's leaders decided that a super-prestigious museum of its nature would be the perfect accent to the renovated banks of the Nervión river. The expensive prestige project was approved, and Frank Gehry - the best known Canadian architect (like I know any others) - was called in to design it.


The Guggenheim.

As Bilbao wanted not just a museum but a monument, Gehry conceived the structure as a modern art statue in and of itself, taking cues from the nearby river and other aquatic themes in its glimmering and silvery construction. Sheets of super thin titanium were used to produce the simultaneously undulating and sharp look of the museum's facade, and reflecting pools and outdoor art were added to complete the visually arresting affect. Completed in 1997, the building was hailed immediately by love-besotted art critics as the most impressive building of its time - and to Bilbao's delight, provided the artsy kick in the ass the city's tourism industry needed. Twelve years later, it's still one of the Basque country's must-sees.


The giant spider outside the museum. Often shrouded in fog due to fog-machines. Named after the artist's mother.


Another view.

Despite the Guggenheim's jaw-dropping exterior appearance, it actually is not a gigantic facility, containing a fairly limited number of exhibits. Derided as a mere warehouse for the Guggenheim's extras in past years, it's come into its own as a powerful exhibition center for modern art. At least that's what the modern art critics I skimmed for this blog post said, anyway. Don't quote me.


Bridge outside the Guggenheim.


The Sinophile in me was ever so happy to see that Cai Guo-Qiang was headlining the summer's exhibitions. Guo-Qiang specializes in working with fire and explosives in a long, proud, and sulphureous Chinese tradition. On display were a dizzying array of his weird-ass fire paintings, produced by detonating explosives to produce both abstract images and startlingly deft drawings of specific subject matter. Guo-Qiang is a performance artist: he helped master-mind the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony (the steps made of fireworks were his idea) and has produced videos of his explosions-as-happenings all over the world. His powers extend far beyond his bizarre "gunpowder drawings": Guo-Qiang also produces huge and disturbing works of modern sculpture, many of which were in display in all their unavoidable bigness at the Guggenheim. Claiming to be influenced by ancient Chinese culture, Maoist revolutionary tactics, and the inherent bizarreness of modern 21st century life, I suspect Guo-Qiang is the closest thing to an artist-laureate that China has. He's unmissable.

Some highlights:

- Guo-Qiang engineered a work in Hiroshima where he detonated black fireworks on the anniversary of the Hiroshima bombings. I was glued to the video and could not get away: it was eerie and horrifying, some sort of vision from an alternative and sick universe, a warning that we should never go there again. Black fireworks are dreamlike because we have never seen them before and did not conceive that they could exist, a dark counterpoint to July 4th shindigs and Chinese New Year, apparent and mildly disgusting.

- "Reflection: A Gift From Iwaki," which is tremendous Japanese ship filled to the brim (and spilling over) with crushed Japanese porcelain plates and statues of the Buddha. As I have never sat through a modern-art appreciation class (possibly due to a life-long fear of people with oblong haircuts and Ideas About Bauhaus), I could not begin to interpret this for you. I also forgot what the display card said. But it is an image that will stay with me.

- Head On, wherein a huge and slavering pack of timber wolves ascend into the air, dance merrily along like hideous reindeer, then smack snout-on into a clear-plastic sheet, skittering away. Guo-Qiang says it represents the inherent and deadly perils of soaring ambition, others may find it cruelly comedic, everyone finds it unforgettable.

- The Rent Collector's Courtyard has an interesting story behind it. Seemingly appearing to be a creepy collection of crumbling clay sculptures of downtrodden, wailing Chinese peasants, it too contains an element of performance art. Bilbao's Rent Collector's Courtyard is one of many replicas Guo-Qiang has orchestrated of an original piece from the always-overwrought Cultural Revolution, where it was produced to show the savagery and evil of the capitalist system (in Communist eyes, anyhow).

The sculptures, wherever they are replicated, are intended to crumble to dust, leaving behind stark wire frames and little wooden hands and feet and black-button eyeballs. When you walk into the room all the statues are in different stages of decay, some missing limbs, some missing heads, all of them crumbling to dust, making the marble floor crunch-crunch a little under your feet.


Some gentleman out on the beach.

After Etxebarri, which of course you can read about here, we drove back to Bilbao in a state of torpid and animal fullness, we wanted nothing more then to nap and not go anywhere. I felt personally like a boa constrictor that had just ingested an errant toddler - bursting and extremely self satisfied. Possessing no steaming tropical swamps to wallow in, I decided to go for a walk in town to settle things a little bit, and watch the happy hordes of mulleted Basques begin their evening pinxtos and booze crawl.

As I ambled along the sea wall (having adjusted my rate of speed to that of the Spanish, who do not go anywhere in a hurry even in this modern era,) I realized the lighting was ridiculously beautiful, little tendrils of yellow sun busting out of dark evening clouds, tide coming, all right with the universe. So I took some photos.


The town of Lekeitio.


The island outside town.


The island from the seawall.


Cars by the harbor.


Crashing waves outside the fisherman's club.


Fishing boats in the harbor.


More of the harbor.


My dad and I, true brave souls, decided we would go and have a bit of dinner after all. I make no apologies for my metabolism: I turned 21 a week ago and am skinny and nervous, always tapping my leg on things, I am unable to go for more then four consecutive hours without eating someone or I turn into a blonde and nervous imitation of foul Caligula, you get the picture. We picked out one of the little seafood restaurants on the sea-wall and ate. It was 10:00, about in the middle of Basque Country's very relaxed dinner hours.



My dad had a simple dish of scrambled eggs with a bit of salt cod, a nice and comforting combination, the kind of thing a little Basque grandmother (with a mullet) might serve you in bed if you had contracted a sniffle.



Prawns. Yes, for God's sake, I ate more prawns, I might consider eating all the Spanish prawns in the universe if you let me, enginer the wholesale destruction of an entire species, for as said earlier they taste of all that is good and honest in the universe, little fatty heads and tails and bodies. This was a fine salad with artichoke hearts and grilled prawns and some balsamic vinegar, the sort of simple fare I desire most of the time (when I am not dining on barnacles and smoked butter in certain other Basque locales). I ate all the shrimp, but for the first time in a very long while, I could not finish the salad. But it hit the spot.

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.

Nothing Whatsoever in Lekeitio

We essentially did nothing today, which was exactly the reason we were in Lekeitio in the first place. Tourism, as I'm sure you're aware, is often a tiring pain in the ass. You slog through forums and cathedrals and cemeteries and asture monasteries, take photos, listen to interpretive audio programs, and pretty soon you are convinced you will kill a man if you're forced to take in any more culture. You want to experience a wonderful day where there is no culture in your lives at all. This is why God invented the beach, where you can sit outside on a balcony with a glass of wine and some snack food and do nothing whatsoever, and best of all, you won't feel guilty. We in fact picked Lekeitio expressly because of its lack of monuments. We are clever people.


Our hotel and roughly a million small children. More on that soon.

My parents spent a healthy majority of the day sitting on the balcony and doing nothing whatsoever, but I succumbed to my wandering urge and decided to go walk around. It's a charming Basque town, and it feels totally, completely distinct from Castile and Leon, not Spanish or French but something different entirely.



I found a little trail behind an apartment building on the hill and followed it, finding myself on a winding path between locals personal vegetable gardens. It was beautiful, lonely, and slightly creepy, as I kept on anticipating some old gentleman with a beret and a musket to barrel out of the bushes and shout at me. This did not happen.

I came out onto the road again and walked by the ocean, pausing occasionally to look down at the ocean and scare myself with the thought of just how much it would hurt if I toppled over the edge. There are hordes of seagulls nesting here in summer, and they scream and mew like children, a constant back-beat to the sound of the waves. I kept on squinting my eyes and hoping to see a whale, or at least a manta-ray, but no such luck. The ever-skillful Basque fisherman took care of the whales long ago.


The delightfully weathered Gothic cathedral next to our hotel. Kids like to play soccer against the walls here.

One observation about the Basque: they love mullets. Men, women, and children all sport carefully coiffed mullets, with no apparent embarrassment or remorse. Basque experts: is this some sort of traditional haircut, a tradition whose origin is lost in the sands of deep time, a hairstyle cultivated among the primordial pine-woods of pre-Roman Euskadi? Or do they all really have a thing for Joe Dirt?


The island in the bay.

Second: I have never seen more children in my life then in Lekeitio. I suspect the Basque tactic for gaining notoriety and independence may actually be outbreeding the rest of Spain. Every couple had a stroller with a baby in it, hordes of sandy kids roamed the streets and hunted for crabs, teenagers carried around surf boards and drank beer, and everyone seemed exceedingly, well, fecund. Lekeitio certainly seems like a magnificent, near-ideal place to be a kid. You've got the shore, fishing, boats to play around in, giant extended families to buy you ice cream, lenient liquor laws - it's hard to imagine anything nicer when you're underage and frustrated about it.

Lekeitio is not a restaurant mecca, and I only spotted a few actual restaurants during my wanderings around town that day. Most Basques subsist on pinxtos, the bar snacks that have been elevated to impressive gastronomic heights in this part of the world. Unlike tapas, pinxtos are set out on the bar as a sort of casual buffet for drinkers, and almost always are served on top of a piece of bread. Pinxtos apparantly are haute gastronomic delights in places like San Sebastian and Bilbao, but Lekeitio's pinxtos were definitely working class: fried egg, mayonnaise, sausage, and ham seemed to feature in almost all of them. Needless to say they taste very good. Since these snacks are free in unlimited quantity with the purchase of a drink, it seems many Basques take the economical route for their evening meal. So for lunch, we ate at a very underwhelming restaurant by the water.


We wanted paella, but they sold the very last dish of paella they had to a small child (who did devour it all,) so we had to choose other things off the set menu. I went for the peppers stuffed with cod and was not happy to find it came in cream sauce, which is just Not my Deal. It did taste exactly like pimento cheese (attention Southerners). I switched with my dad and just wolfed down some roast chicken.

For dinner, we decided to head back to the hotel restaurant, which had pleased us the night before.



We started with the lobster salad, which was very attractive and nicely composed. One thing I like about Spain is how dishes are often prepared with a lot of care to appearance and composition, even in restaurants that are off the beaten track a bit. The flavor was also spot-on here: tender lobster, fish roe, and a Crab Louie-like mayonnaise sauce dressing. There is not enough lobster in my life.



My dad had a rustic lentil soup. Lentil soups seem to be ubiquitous across cultures, and this was a good, meaty example of the genre. It's the perfect dish for a cold, cold night. As it was raining that evening and the temperature was rather chilly, it was apropo.



I had monkfish with crab, which was excellent - pan sauteed with some butter and herbs. I have gained true respect for the monkfish during my time in Spain. The monkfish is the most hideously ugly fish in the world, the kind of beast you would expect to lurk in the shallows and lop off the legs of innocent women in bikinis, the kind of hideous monster you would expect to emerge from primordial slime when the moon is high. Despite its appearance, it tastes delicious if properly prepared, with a unique texture and a delicate flavor - indeed, it's often called the "poor man's lobster". I also enjoyed the crab claws that came with it. The kitchen cracked them ahead of time. You would not believe how many times I have ordered a dish like this with uncracked crab claws, forcing me to engage in disgusting behaviors to get at the delicious meat because I sure as hell am not wasting it. Have a heart, chefs. Crack the damn crab legs.



My dad had a mixed seafood grill, which was about the same as the pan-sauteed seafood we'd had the night before, if in variety. Tasty and simple, if not particularly flashy. That's what you get for ordering set menus! (But they are a killer deal).



My mom ordered prawns a la plancha, a classic Spanish preparation. Reminiscent of China's beloved salt and pepper shrimps, the little beasties are grilled and salted, leaving the shells cracker-crisp and delicious and the insides sweet like butter. Basque prawns are the best I have ever had. I ended up eating all of her left over heads and tails. I don't care if I am disgusting. I have no shame, I have no remorse, when it comes to suckin' on shrimp heads. I am not repentent.

We headed to bed. The next day we would head to Asador Etxebarri, the food highlight of our trip.