How Much Should A Pintxo Cost?

There it is. So innocent looking. Saliva inducing. Juicy lobster, resting atop cava aioli, on perfectly toasted bread. This pintxo has won the hearts of many, along with a permanent place on the menu at one of San Sebastián's bars of note, Zeruko.

And I don't know if, in good conscience, I can ever taste it again.

Last night, I engaged in a good old-fashioned pintxo hop with some friends. One of our stops was Zeruko, and a moment of 'this can't be happening' came about when they brought us the bill. This sweet, innocent piece of bread?

€7.50.  In US dollars, that is $9.75. For a piece of bread, measuring about 4.5 inches long and 2 inches wide. I know it's lobster, but come ON.

This brings about the bigger question: WHAT THE F@#$? 

No, kidding. The bigger question is: What is happening to San Sebastián? This small snippet of a night out in the old town is a hint, I beileve, of what's to come. Prices keep going up, bars cater to a world of weekending gabachos (French) and summering tourists. With every newspaper article raving about this hidden gem, every English menu, every time you're asked to pay before you finish eating, Donosti (that's San Sebastián, to locals) becomes more Disney-fied.  It's normal, inevitable, even. And it's good for the economy, one supposes.  I feel trite complaining about this, but it's how I feel and I am just thankful to have been here before the pintxos hit the fan. When Donosti was still slightly authentic.

BUT SERIOUSLY. $10 FOR A PINTXO? WHAT IS THIS, NEW YORK? I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN EVER GO BACK THERE.

(sheds a tiny tear)

Please comment below. Am I unreasonable? Equivocated? Romantic? Spoiled? Want to hear what everyone thinks about this.

Don't Miss Donosti #31

THE CAROUSEL | DONOSTI-SAN SEBASTIAN

San Sebastián's carousel (or tio vivo in Spanish, which literally translates to living uncle) is an arte nouveau beauty perched right on La Concha beach in front of the town hall.  In the park Alderdi Eder, this thing runs rain or shine. When they tore up the plaza a year or two ago, they transported the whole carousel so it could continue to be used. It's a Belle Epoque Art Nouveau beauty, and Buckley's watchful eye recently noted the addition of the bull to the lineup of moving pieces.  A concession to Spanish-ness or a mere replacement for a broken dolphin?

A Copa Con...Josu Casal

Time for the second installment of my new Tuesday series, "A Copa Con..."  As many of you know, last week was San Sebastián's biggest day of the year, el Día de San Sebastián, aka La Tamborrada. As a few of you know, I participated firsthand in this 24-hr drumfest, which kicks off the night of the 19th and lasts until midnight the next day. Non-stop drumming can be heard at any hour, throughout the entire city. It's incredible.

For this reason, and more, I wanted to have a chat with a key player in the festivities, Josu Casal. He is what they call "Barril Mayor", a co-director of a tamborrada, or group of drummers. Each tamborrada (and there are at least a hundred) has a Barril Mayor and the Tambor Mayor, the higher-up. Josu's day job has nothing on his role directing dozens of amateurs into playing beautiful music in various states of soberness in front of the most important gastronomic societies in the world, on the most important day in San Sebastián. So we sat down at the batzoki for a beer.

What's your role in San Sebastián Day?

I co-directed two tamborradas, Lurgorri and El Círculo Riojana. I got home at 7:30 am [after the first] and woke up at 1pm for the other.  I've directed since 2005, but I've been in the tamborrada since I was little.

How does one become 'barril (or tambor) mayor'?

They asked me if I wanted to. Normally, when someone leaves someone else takes their place. And when the 'tambor mayor' leaves, the 'barril mayor' takes his place. It's a chain. But when you're 'tambor mayor' and you leave, you don't ever come back. You leave for good.

Your job is direct the Tamborrada. Everyone has to behave, stay in line...you have to improvise a lot. If another tamborrada crosses your path, you have to know if they are newer or older than yours. If they're senior, you have to be silent. If they're newer, you keep playing and they stop.

What's the hardest part of directing in the Tamborrada?

That everyone behaves themselves. It's a mess. The most important is that when you go to a sociedad, you have to respect the sociedad. You go, you play, and you're well-behaved.

Did you have to practice?

No, now no. At first, yes, when I began. It's hard...people think it's easy, but it's difficult. When you mark the beat (done with a big stick or cardboard knife), you have to mark it before the people play. You always have to go a bit before the music, a tenth of a second before.

How did we do?

It was the first year...there were a lot of new people. Many of you had never been in the Tamborrada, but really good, it was really good. Better than what I thought. The first practice I came and said "Me cago en..."

Not that I wanted it or missed it, but I expected a lot more drunkenness.

We didn't drink much. Maybe it's because of the recession [laughs]. Normally the sociedades give out a lot of champagne, but this year everyone was complaining, "We're not drinking." But you have to know the trick-carrying a flask, of whiskey or something.

What did you eat on San Sebastián day?

On the eve, I ate dinner in Restaurante Aratz. Lobster, cígalas (european crayfish), turbot, but...baby eels no. A little plate is 90 euros. They're too expensive for what they are. Plus, they're filling. And the day of, patatas a la riojana, and not much more. I was hungover.

The state of Basque cuisine?

Traditional Basque cuisine is degenerating a bit.  We need to defend it, because we are losing it.

What would you never have change about Basque culture/life?

The tamborrada.  It's sacred. I always take my vacation time around the tamborrada, both before and after. Because it's a mess...the week before, when practice ends, you have a beer, and sometimes you end up getting home at 4am. You have to prepare your liver...

What would you change about Basque people or culture if you could?

Nothing. Now that we've "finished" with the terrorism, I think we're good. Maybe...the image that Spanish people have of Basques.

Have any questions for Josu or me? Leave them in the comments section.

The Tamborrada

January 20. The favorite day of nearly every resident of San Sebastián.  A day that nearly always portends cold, rain and discomfort. It's the Day of San Sebastián.

Imagine an entire town turning up at the main square at midnight. The mayor sits above them all, flags are flying, bright spotlights are shining, and a group of middle-aged men are playing the drums.  Then imagine that for the next twenty-four hours, the sound of drumming fills the streets of the entire city.  Sleeping is done at random times throughout the day...but not during normal sleeping hours. It's the party no one wants to miss.

This year I had the pleasure of joining Lurgorri, a tamborrada that was founded in 1995, with 140 participants. This year marked a return to the scene for the group, and we did so in uniforms designed by a former mayor of San Sebastián, Ramón Labayen, styled after the Tercio de Gipuzkoa of 1703, with braids from the Casa Real del Reyno de Navarra.  We paraded through the streets of the old part, which 22 other tamborradas also do throughout the day of the 20th.  We were a fairly new tamborrada, which means we had to cede way to Donosti's most established tamborradas, like the Union Artesana (1870), Donosti Zarra (1896), and Euskal Billera (1906).

My friends and I played the part of aguadoras, or water girls. Our instruments were barriles, or barrels, along with the cooks of the group. Others played tambores, which are bigger drums. Gathering for a dinner before midnight is traditional, so we dined on foie, anchovies, ham, crusty bread, tuna salad, and wine.  Then in a mad rush, five layers on: thermal, sweater, nike pullover, poncho and the traditional dress.

We reported to the batzoki a bit before midnight, when an interesting meteorological event happened. A cyclogenisis. Think hurricane, more or less. Wind, rain coming from all directions, total madness. So we played the first hour and were totally soaked, with only mini bottles of the Basque herbal liquor, patxaran to keep us warm.

We would stop at each dining society, or sociedad, and play whichever songs they requested. Often, the directors of that sociedad's tamborrada would come out and take the baton and direct us themselves. There's no feeling like standing outside of Gaztelubide, with the church of Santa María shining to the side, and playing the March of San Sebastián. No feeling.

Josu, our director or 'barril mayor' (see next week's 'A Copa Con...), filled me in a bit on the history of San Sebastián Day, which began in 1597. The Tamborrada as we know it began in 1836, when, purportedly the first groups went out dressed as chinamen, in a pre-Carnaval celebration. The dress of soldiers was not taken up until 1881. Since that date, though, the tradition has gone on strong, and it doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon.

*note, in this post most photos are not my own. that's what happens when a bizarre weather events meets a bizarre patxaran-filled tradition.

365 Tuesdays

The beginning of winter is marked by the arrival of chestnuts to the Plaza de Gipuzkoa. They're sold from a tiny hut in each corner of the square.  What better garnish to a wintry, cold and cloudy afternoon than charred chestnuts  in a newspaper cone? Taste of the season.

Part of 365cities project.

PS, this is the last 365 entry! Stay tuned for my next weekly series. #mystery