Asador Etxebarri part two - El Sentido

I'm in the back of a cab – which I had to trek across half the city in the rain to catch - heading North by North East of Vitoria, deep into the Basque province of Durangeldea. It's miserable. It's wet. It's literally the middle of nowhere. And I'm running late. I feel like there's only so many times I can say 'tengo prisa' before the otherwise tranquil driver stops the car and threatens to make me walk.

I'm headed to the tiny hamlet of Axpe Marzana. There's not really much there... A dozen or so houses, a couple of ramshackle old barns, a charming enough little square, and today, it would seem, bucket loads of rain. But despite it's remote location, and sleepy disposition, gastro-pilgrims such as myself have been flocking to Axpe in their droves for the last few years. Why? A humble, middle aged chef, who has absolutely no formal training, a home-made grill, and some seriously high-end ingredients. I can't believe I'm going to be late for my reservation at Asador Etxebarri – the greatest grill restaurant in the entire world!

Thirteen courses, one beer, three glasses of wine and two coffees later, and I'm feeling just a little more relaxed. Almost everything I've eaten today has induced a near orgasmic state of ecstacy, with some of the purest, most unadulterated, intense flavours I've ever laid upon my taste buds. I'm in a kind of zen-like plato of fullness, where both body and mind have surpassed all foreseen expectations of stimulation. I'll let you draw your own comparisons...

But as well as coming to eat, I've also come to speak to sous chef Lennox Hastie, about his and head chef Bittor Arguinzoniz's approach to cooking at Asador Etxebarri; namely their complete and un-compromised commitment to la brasa – the grill. Never have I come across a restaurant that pays such attention not only to the ingredients they use, but the means by which they heat them.

To say the menu at Asador Etxebarri is simplistic would be an under statement of epic proportions, like saying El Bulli is a touch extravagant, or Bittor does a decent barbeque. In fact up until recently, there wasn't even a menu at all; just a list of ingredients, or 'products', as Lennox terms them. You could either have them grilled, or not have them at all. As a concept, it's paired down to it's absolute bare bones, but that doesn't mean it's in any way austere. Quite the opposite, in fact. On my menu today was jamon iberico, oysters (which I had to pass up because I'm allergic – I got cockles instead), black truffle, beluga caviar, and some of the finest beef I've ever tasted. I reckon that's about as decadent a selection as you can get.

Bittor is a native Basque countryman who grew up in this very village. An ex-electrician who turned to cooking 20 years ago because he never found his passion in the series of odd jobs he was doing before then. Lennox is an Anglo-Australian who learned his trade in the top-tier French places like Le Manoir and Le Gavrouche, before coming to Spain about four years ago in search of new inspiration. Sitting in a San Sebastian bar one quiet afternoon, he heard about “some guy out in the hills with a home made grill” and has since never looked back.

On paper, the two of them couldn't be more different. But get them together and there seems to be an almost telepathic mutual understanding between them; the kind that could only be the result of a genuine respect for one another, and having spent the last 1300 days or so alone together in a very cramped kitchen. And as well as a respect for one another, they also share a deeply-rooted respect for their ingredients. In Lennox's own words, they spend their working lives “enhancing the food by doing a little as possible”.

We discuss the food of the region and the globally acclaimed, so called new-Basque movement that has put San Sebastian so firmly on the culinary map. Un-surprisingly, both of the chefs in front of me would choose comider casera - simple, home made food prepared with love, over the experimental, avante garde, multi-sensory experiences created by some of their contemporaries. “You don't need to do anything spectacular in the cooking if your ingredients are spectacular already”, says Lennox. My meal today has proved him right.

The only flavour that was added to any of the thirteen dishes I have eaten today have come from the burning wood on top of which they were cooked. Apart from salt, the only seasoning at Asador Etxebarri is smoke.

For two decades, Bittor has been honing and refining his methodology, trying different fuels and temperatures, and has now developed the art of grilling into a science all of his own. The range - which he conceived, designed and built with his own bare hands – along with a whole set of custom-made pots and pans, allow him to both manipulate the heat and regulate the cooking of each and every ingredient.

All the wood is first heated in the stoves to temperatures well beyond 400 degrees C, before being transferred to the grill using a shovel during service. Wood from local acorn-bearing oak trees is used as the base fuel, which burns consistently at a high heat, and gives off only a subtly perfumed smoke. Orange wood from the groves up the side of the hill are used to give citrus background to fish and seafood, whilst applewood is used for dishes like the caviar, where only the lightest of smokey notes is needed. Meat is cooked using aromatic olive and grape vines, to enhance their already strong flavours.

But this isn't about changing the flavours. You're not supposed to sit at the dinner table thinking “mmm, tastes like tempranillo branches”, jokes Lennox... It's about bringing out the flavours that are already there. The two chefs exchange a few words in Spanish, before Lennox turns to me to interpret. “He says it's about the taste of the animal, the earth, the sea.” Bittor curls his bottom lip and shrugs, as if to say what else could you possibly need?

Lennox and I lean at the bar, looking out onto the restaurant. “Bittor has grown up with this”, he says. “It's nothing new to him, just an evolution of the cooking he has known since he was a kid”. For twenty years, whilst the big names in the region have spent their culinary careers making dishes ever more complex, Bittor has been quietly experimenting with simplicity.

“This place isn't about nouvelle creations... It's about refinement of everything that's always been great about Basque cooking.” Pulling a clenched fist towards his chest, he breaks into Spanish: “La comida y el sentido!” The food and the feeling... At Asador Etxebarri, they have found the best of both.

[This is the second part of a previously published post about Asador Etxebarri – sorry for the delay]

Asador Etxebarri part one - La Comida

By day four of my trip I had already eaten one of the all time greatest meals of my entire life. The place was Asador Etxebarri, which simply means 'new house restaurant', and the food almost universally comes a la brasa, from the grill.

This was no chance visit, however. The virtues of Asador Etxebarri have been extolled by everyone from global taste makers, such as Time Magazine and OFM, to the lowliest of amateur food bloggers - not least me! In fact, I had heard and read so many incredible things about this restaurant, that it alone played a big part in me choosing the Basque Country as the starting point for my travels.

Having arranged to discuss the principles and approach of Asador Etxebarri with sous chef Lennox Hastie (head Chef Bittor Arguinzoniz doesn't like interviews, and doesn't speak English anyway), after I'd eaten, I was lucky enough to be given an insightful and in depth tour of the place, including the wood store, filtration tanks, where live fish are kept, the prep kitchen, and of course, la brasa.

The full feature will follow in part two of this post, but for now, it's time for the food. I had intended to be brief in my descriptions, but it appears that gastro-hyperbole has since got the better of me. It's obviously my sub-conscious forcing me to relive this meal in full. And what a meal it was...

An amuse bouche of supa de calabraza, or pumpkin soup. Smooth, light, and gentle. A little knock at the door of the taste buds, just make sure they're home and ready to receive visitors.

A second appetiser of jamon iberico. The sliver of toast underneath the jamon crisp from the grill and just warm enough to release the sweet, nutty flavours of the fat. This dish thankfully keeps my tally of jamon per day at 100%.

Bonbón de mantequilla casera. Smoked handmade butter, truffle shavings, and little bread crumb 'snow flakes'. The butter itself is unsalted, although the dish is seasoned with crushed sea salt and, believe it or not, ash. The butter has a deeply smoky flavour which seems to intensify as it moves from the front to the back of your mouth. It's rich, indulgent, and utterly divine. So good, in fact, I ordered seconds. 

Gambas de Palamós a la brasa. A single prawn, perfectly grilled. A pinch of salt. And that's it. These prawns actually come form a little fishing village on the East coast of Spain, where they're fished from a shelf so deep, that when the pots are brought up, the change in pressure causes the prawn's brains and wot-not (I'm not being very technical, here, I realise) to instantly implode. For the prawn, it's a tough way to go, but the result for the lucky diner, is much more pleasurable. When you pull it's head off, you are met by splurge of sea green prawn juice that taste so good you just have to slurp it all up. I found myself sucking on it's legs, tail, antenna and eye balls just to make sure I didn't miss a single drop. The plump, firm meat beneath the shell is also just about as good as you're going to get.

Berberechos a la brasa. Just the subtlest of smoky notes in the cockles themselves, with a kind of vinaigrette made from it's own juices and the tiniest amount of grapefruit. Shellfish cooking at it's most simplistic best.

Iranian Beluga caviar, again, a la brasa. Now, apparently, it's a heaneous crime against gastronomy to even think about warming caviar, let alone putting it on top of a grill. In actual fact, Bittor and Lennox experimented with this dish for months before finding a suitable method of cooking... A mesh-based pan is lined with seaweed, then laid over smouldering nuggets of applewood, and covered. The caviar steams and smokes for just long enough to get it up to blood temperature. The feeling of tiny warm fish eggs popping in your mouth really is something special.

Pulpolitos a la brasa. Tiny, perfectly tender baby octopus, no bigger than a thumb nail. Squid ink reduction. A sweet / sour, almost Chinese-style sliver of baby onion. A sticky, tangy onion marmalade to balance the salty flavour. Seaweed. Despite there being absolutely nothing on the plate that shouldn't absolutely be there, this is was one of the more complex dishes.

Yema de huevo a la brasa con trufa negra. Slices of black Perigord truffle, which had an almost overwhelming 'woodland' flavour, until you mixed them with the grilled egg which lay underneath. To complete this earthy dish, at the base there was a spoonful of potato puree, sitting in it's own stock. As the yolk ran down into the juices, everything suddenly came together. Never has potato water tasted so good.

Bacalao a la brasa. In my limited experience, I have so far been distinctly underwhelmed by salt cod. This dish, however, certainly raised the bar. Despite having been grilled, the fish was moist and juicy, and the flesh was somehow still translucent. On it's own, it was easily the best salt cod I've ever tasted (I don't claim to have tasted much), but when eaten with the butter sauce, and a slice of the smoked pimiento pepper, it made for a faultlessly balanced combination.

Chistorra a la brasa. This time of year is chorizo-making time, and the beginnings of the batch, where the smallest part of the lower intestine is used as the casing is, in these parts, known as the chistorra. Often, chorizo is made using a mix of offcuts and fat from any old porker that's to hand, before being seasoned with paprika. There's nothing wrong with this, although at Asador Etxebarri, where they make their own chorizo, they do things slightly differently. Instead of using lean meat and adding fat, they choose cuts which are fatty already. The cut in question is the cachucha - or the head - from none other than the famed Iberian black pig. Now that's my kind of chorizo... Instead of using paprika powder, they also dry their own pimiento peppers when they have an abundance in summer, before re-soaking them in winter and using the flesh to give a far more subtle pepper flavour. It's served somewhere between raw and very, very rare, with a couple of tiny bread sticks, and guess what? It tasted completely amazing.

Chuleta de vaca a la brasa. The finest Galician Blonde beef steak, hung for at least four weeks, trimmed of most of the fat, grilled until charred on the outside, yet rare-as-you-like deep, dark red on the inside, served on the bone, with nothing more than a bit of rock salt as a garnish. The thing that sets the Galician Blonde meat apart from a lot of the meat we're used to is it's age. The cattle are bred for working the fields, and that's exactly what they do for at least the first eight years of their lives. After that, they go into retirement, and spend the next six years or more living the easy life, getting fattened up ready for their eventual fate on the dinner table. In the UK, cows for eating are sent to slaughter at around three years, if they're lucky. In North America, they're a lot younger. The Galician way means the cow gets a good life, the farmer gets his field ploughed, and we get a steak that's got the perfect combination of strong flavours from the work out, and marbling from the leisure time. In researching my visit to Asador Etxebarri, I read an awful lot about this steak, and expected very big things. I can honestly say it was without doubt, by far and away, no word of a lie, the most incredible piece of meat I've ever sunk my jaws into. Out of this world.

Infusión de fruitos silvestres con helado de queso. The sweetness of the wild fruits, less a puree, and more a syrup, just on the softer side of tart. Creamy, almost sour cheese ice cream, gradually fusing with the wild fruit flavours as it melted. Clean and lip-smackingly fresh. There could not be a better dish to follow that steak... I'm running out of superlatives here, but with this, I think they found perfection.

Torrija con helado de leche reducida. If the meal hasn't done so already, this dish confirms Bittor's status as a genius. The torrija is a Basque speciality – a kind of warm custard cake – brilliantly executed, but in my book it could only play a supporting role to it's accompaniment on the plate - a singular quinnell of smoked milk ice cream. The deep, rich, intensely smoky flavour literally blew my taste buds. “Unreal” I muttered to myself as I came to, having been in a daze since the first mouthful.

Café y madelines. Despite having eaten a thirteen course menu degustacion, plus an extra portion of smoked butter, and two very large pieces of bread, there was nothing stopping me here. Soft, moist, buttery and delicious. I forgot to ask how you cook a madelin on the grill, however. Which must mean that I have an excuse to go back.

Menu del dia

I'm currently in Vitoria, el capital del Pais Vasco, home of el Gobierno Vasco, and the centre of the Euskadi political movement. Whilst the new town feels like a dated relic of the post-Franco years, the Casco Medieval, or historic old town, hums with the kind of energy that only the fuzz bass of blaring nationalist rock, bar-fulls of body-pierced, dreadlocked youth, and extremely liberal use of spray cans can bring. It's the political workhorse to Bilbao's cultural peacock.

Although the energy at the moment, I have to say, is somewhat lacking. It's nearly five pm, and the city is still shut down for it's extended lunch break. I'm not surprised when they feed you like this, however. For lunch I had a tapa of crab with aliolli, a first course of brocoli con refrito jamon y pasas (steamed broccoli with finely sliced fried ham and raisins, dressed in a kind of thin salsa verde - definitely one for the scrap book), then carilleras de ternera rellenas de foie (slow-cooked neck of beef, 'stuffed' with chicken liver pate, and served with an amazing red wine gravy - if you were served it on Sunday with roast beef and Yorkshires it would probably make you weep). Finally, queso y membrillo and a slice of pastel frio (Spanish Viennetta, basically). That lot, for eleven and a half euros, and you get wine too... I was expecting a glass full, they gave una bottella! No wonder the city needs three hours to recover from it's collective food coma!

So I might as well sit it out until Vitoria gets going again. Besides, tomorrow I'm going to interview the chefs at famed Basque gastro-pilgrimage point, Asador Etxebarri, and I have research to do. Not to mention a third of a bottle of vino to polish off.