Over the centuries, Basque men, sociable by nature, have searched out places where they can eat and drink and meet their friends. A number of those who have written on the subject believe that it was probably in quayside taverns that the men first gathered, and that the cider houses inland and the fishermen’s guilds, which exist in every port, grew up later. We do not know the exact origins of the first sidrerías, where cider has been made and sold since at least medieval times, but it is not hard to imagine how they were born in the inland hamlets of Guipúzcoa, where almost every caserío, or farmstead, has a cider-mill, to supply the family’s needs. When the apple harvests were plentiful and the caseríos made more than they needed, the surplus would be offered to friends and neighbours at a moderate price, or bartered in exchange for eggs or fodder. Probably one farmer, a keen cider-maker who produced a surplus every year, decided that the kupelas, or vat, should be tasted before the cider had completely finished fermenting in April. Naturally he wanted to share such an exciting moment with his neighbours who bought his cider, so he would have invited them over for the tasting. As was customary, they would have brought food: one lamb cutlets, another cheese and walnuts, a third a cazuela or casserole of cod. Thus the probateko, or tasting of the cider before it is totally fermented, was born.
From here it was a short step to the farmer’s wife’s business plans, deciding that they should sell the new cider for drinking before it was bottled. It goes almost without saying that some food would have been served at the same time. She would have prepared simple, rustic dishes using seasonal ingredients from the farm. The men from the hamlet and perhaps further afield in the valley, began to gather here to drink and eat, to talk and play cards, and so the sidrerías evolved. Needless to say, the women, as always with such activities, were excluded.
The sidrerías became an important focus for social life in the green valleys and hills of the rural areas. Simultaneously, cider-making grew in importance and it became closely regulated by the fueros, or local laws. We know, for example, that in 1556 in the city of Tolosa, instructions for cider producers were laid down by the Town Council and read out to local congregations during mass. The sale of cider was also controlled. Before the season began, the farmer-producers would congregate at the Town Hall, the vats having all been numbered, and lots would be drawn under strict supervision for the order in which the vats could be broached. During the season, the local town-crier would proclaim the broaching of each vat for sale, announcing the name of the farm and the date the cider was to go on sale.
With the improvement of the roads in the seventeenth century, cider began to be ousted by the wines of Alava and particularly Navarre and, despite protection by the fueros, to lose some of its monopoly in the countryside. By the end of the eighteenth century, the sidrerías had almost entirely moved to the coastal areas and were frequented by sailors and traders. Now cod omelettes and grilled sardines usually constituted the accompanying menu.
Nonetheless cider-drinking remained widespread throughout the Basque Country, and with nineteenth-century industrialization, the habit reached the growing and developing towns. However, the city cider houses, such as those of San Sebastián, were not set up in detached houses, but in the basements of blocks of flats, where they were reached by steep staircases. Though their location had changed, the same details persisted: the great vats, the canopied open fireplace for grilling sardines, the long trestle tables and benches. There was no electricity. All that was needed was the light of a candle or oil lamp.
But with the shift to so-called prosperity wine, then considered a more sophisticated drink, the sidrerías slowly declined until, by the 1930s, practically all of them had closed. As a result, many of the apple orchards with ancient indigenous varieties were lost and cereals were planted in their place. Today, however, when the Basques are reverting to many traditions close to their hearts, the sidrerías are becoming fashionable again and cider-tasting, probateko, which used to be enjoyed only by a select few invited by the owner, has become an entertainment open to all, even women. During the season the cider houses are bursting at the seams, but, as in the past, they remain unique to the province of Guipúzcoa. More than half are to be found in the city of San Sebastián and the rest are in small nearby towns like Hernani, Lasarte, Urnieta, Usurbil, Oyarzun, and Asteasu.
The beloved old apple trees are blooming anew as more real cider is made every year. A replanting programme is slowly beginning to meet some of the hugely increased demand for local varieties like Arrezila, Reineta, Txalaka, Bizkai-sagarra and Aldako-sagarro which make the best cider. Acidic apples result in paler, soft in the palate, almost transparent and slightly pétillant ciders, while bitter apples give a deeper colour, but not such a dry finish. Today, manufacture is highly controlled and the sidrerías engage an expert under contract to oversee every detail and to ensure quality control at every stage. The laws governing cider-making have also changed. Thin, unfermented cider is not allowed in many places but the vats may be broached for sale whenever their owners choose. In other respects, cider-making has changed little over the centuries; the same types of barrels and buildings are used. In the autumn the different varieties of apple are picked. Apparently the first apples to fall from the tree are usually worm-eaten and should be discarded since they would impart an unpleasant taste.
At Celaya’s, a typical sidrería in the locality of Astigarraga, a few kilometres from San Sebastián and very near the village of Hernani, the cider-making starts in autumn. At present half the apples they use are produced in other regions of Spain, but the ones which truly give character to Celaya’s cider are selected from the caserío of a very old friend. It is hoped that within four years the total requirement will be Basque.
When the apples Celaya has bought arrive at the cider house, he and his friends quickly sort through them, throwing out any which are damaged. First the fruit passes between two rotating drums, which crush them without damaging the pips, since this would give a bitter flavour. The apple pulp, patxa, emerges from the crusher, then goes into the tolare or press, where it macerates for about twenty-four hours. The apples are then pressed very gently some eight times, until all the juice has dripped through the fine mesh of the press. Next it is transferred to the vats, which in the case of the Celaya’s cider house, contain seven, eleven and twenty-five thousand litres. After a few hours the first tumultuous fermentation takes place spontaneously, later giving way to a second, much gentler and more gradual fermentation, with a cap of foam, the txapela, forming on the top. The fermentation and clarification processes last about three months, although the secondary fermentation remains active longer than this. Great stillness and a constant temperature of between seven and fourteen degrees are necessary if the cider is to be good. The result is a light cider of about five per cent alcohol. In January, the cider is ready for tasting although it has not yet completely finished fermenting. By May it will be ready and some 300,000 bottles will be filled. It is neither racked nor filtered and bottling is gravity-fed so that the natural sparkle is not lost. Some will go to gastronomic societies who bought a particular kupela at the beginning of the year, the remainder to faithful private customers.
During the intervening months, Celaya opens his doors to sell the new cider, just as the sidrerías did of old, and hangs a branch over the door to signify that the cider is ready for tasting. The only difference is that now it is so difficult to find a table, that you have to reserve in advance. Nevertheless, despite its new-found popularity, this remains a largely male preserve. On my first visit with two other women, a hush fell and all eyes turned towards us as we walked through the door. But it would be wrong to imagine that this is a haven where men come so that they can talk and drink as they please without their wives’ friends telling tales. Rather, you sense in the atmosphere the inherent Basque sense of male solidarity, in sharing food, wine and talk with other men friends.
The main room of the sidrería is enormous, almost barn-like, with rows of wooden trestle tables covered with red and white checked cloths. There are no chairs. Everyone stands in groups, eating and talking enthusiastically. On the tables lie forks, baskets of bread, toothpicks and salt cellars. A waiter brings new arrivals thin, clear glass-tumblers.
During the evening people move back and forth between this and another large room, a huge hall where twenty or more wooden vats or kupelas, raised above the ground on large concrete plinths, line the walls. The man in charge of the cider pronounces the word mojón, which means that he is about to remove the txiri, a small wooden stick which seals a minute hole in the vat. The tasters line up and take it in turn to intercept the flow of the thin stream of cider gushing out, holding their glasses at an angle to it so that the cider hits the glass, splashing and foaming, but without any spilling on to the floor. When the foreman decides that enough cider has been drawn from a vat he re-inserts the stick in the hole and moves on to the next one. During the three-hour session, all the vats in the cellar will be opened and tasted. Quite a small quantity is drawn off each time and one has to drink each glass almost in one gulp in the ensuing seconds, otherwise the cider loses its loveliness and attractive sparkle. When the taster goes back to his table it is with an empty glass. Then he waits a while, talks to his neighbour, eats and, when he feels like it, returns to taste the contents of another vat. It goes without saying that first attempts at taking cider from the vat without spilling it are invariably laughable, but after making three or four trips you soon become quite an expert. Anyway, the worst that can befall you is that the stream of cider will hit your hand rather than the glass, or that some will be wasted; this tends to be frowned upon by the older customers, who rarely spill a single drop.
The food at Celaya’s could not be more simple: meat, fish or cazuelas that you bring with you for grilling or reheating; cod and onion, or cod, onion and green pepper omelettes, cheese and membrillo, quince paste and walnuts, to finish. When customers arrive, Celaya takes their orders and carries away any food they have brought with them. Soon it is in the hands of the grill cook, who stands under an enormous canopy over a metal grid and hot coals. Occasionally he adds chopped garlic and a little olive oil to the mutton, lamb and chuletón, rib of beef, the sardines and, a particular favourite, grilled bream. Smoke billows out perfuming the air with a woody scent of sea and land.
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To prepare Besugo a la brasa, sea bream cooked on embers, the fish must be cleaned well and the scales removed. Then it is sprinkled with a little salt. It can either be grilled whole or split open so that it cooks more quickly. If it is cooked whole, once it is ready, it is split open, the backbone is removed and a little olive oil in which some garlic slices have been fried is drizzled over it. Some cooks like to add a little chilli to the warm oil, others sprinkle the fish with a few drops of cider-vinegar before serving. |
In the kitchen proper, two expert cooks cope with the endless demand for omelettes. Earthenware casseroles stand warming to the side of the fierce heat from the coal-fuelled range. Large wicker baskets hold mounds of green peppers, onion and fresh farmhouse bread. The cooks work fast and furiously, dividing their attention between the fire, the chopping board and the eggs themselves, which are first beaten, then poured into heavy frying pans made of cast iron. I have never eaten such good omelettes as those found in and around San Sebastián.
Although there is little choice in the dishes prepared at the sidrería you will not leave without having sampled half a dozen dishes on top of your own. On my visit to Celaya’s, when we were sharing our table with four students, I found myself trying first our neighbours’ spring lamb; a delicious dish of dried peppers with garlic and olive oil and several cazuelas de pescado, fish stews. Those and many other dishes that you can see on every table have been cooked beforehand and brought in to be heated up. One dish that I tasted in this way, a Bacalao a la vizcaina, was a truly memorable experience.
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To prepare Salt-cod with vizcaina sauce you need 1 kg (2 lbs) of dried cod, cut into large squares and desalinated, 100 ml (3½ fl oz) of olive oil, 2 large onions, chopped, a little lard, 100 g (3½ oz) of cured ham, parsley, 5 dried choricero peppers, 2 boiled egg yolks dissolved in a little water. Place the fish in a large saucepan with plenty of cold water and heat very slowly for about forty-five to sixty minutes at a very low temperature, otherwise the quality will deteriorate rapidly. To prepare the Vizcaina sauce, place the olive oil, a little ham and pork belly, together with the onion and parsley in a dish and cook very slowly for about two hours to avoid the onion caramelizing. Add a little water and cook for a further hour. Set aside and sieve the sauce, adding the dried peppers, which have been soaking for a few hours in cold water. Then add the egg yolks. Place the pieces of fish in a large earthenware dish, making certain that the skins are on top. Pour over the sauce, and heat very slowly for a few minutes more. |
Nueva cocina vasca, or the new style of cooking, also incorporates cider in various dishes, among them monkfish cooked with the white parts of chard and cider.
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To prepare Rape con sidra y vainas you need 1 monkfish weighing about 750 g (1½ lbs), 2 finely chopped shallots, 100 ml (3½ fl oz) of cider, 1 tablespoon of hollandaise sauce, 100 g (3½ oz) of chard stalks, chopped, and 100 ml (3½ fl oz) of fresh cream. In a saucepan boil some salted water and cook the chard until tender. Clean the fish well and remove the backbone. Put 750 ml (1¼ pints) of water, the cider and the fishbones into a saucepan and cook for about ten minutes. Strain the stock into a large pan and then put the filleted monkfish into it and poach for several minutes. Transfer the fish to hot plates for serving. To make the sauce, sauté the shallots or baby onions in a little butter, add ½ a glass of the fish stock and the cream. Reduce until the sauce thickens a little then remove from the heat and add the holandaise sauce. Arrange the chard on top of the fish fillets and pour over the sauce. The dish should be served immediately. |
Today the cider houses are here to stay. Every day they are more popular with young people who may not be prepared to cook as many extra dishes as other customers, but who enjoy the easy ambience of these places in winter, and the prices, which as long as you are prepared to go easy on the food, are still affordable. Many of the different groups meet in the same place every week throughout the season until May, when the cider-maker takes the branch down from the doorway to signify that he has done his work and that the sidrería will be closed until the following January.
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Guetaria is a small fishing town in Gúipuzcoa province. Early in the morning on clear days, a great sea mist forms and settles over the hill-tops only a few kilometres inland, but on the slopes close to the sea, tall vines look to the sun to gild their leaves; for while the town makes its living from the sea its pleasure is derived from wine. This is where txakolí is made. A cheerful, slightly acidic wine, txakolí may be red or white, though providing that they have been well made, the best are the youthful and pétillant whites.
We know little about the history of wine on the Cantabrian slopes. It was the Romans who promoted viticulture to the area and later, in medieval times, the Pilgrim Route to Santiago which gave rise to the planting of vines. In the sixteenth century the excellence of the wines was recognized and those from Guetaria, in particular, were renowned for the high quality. The grape variety was, and still is, Hondarribi Zuri, or white, which occupies more than eighty per cent of the vineyard and the black, or Beltza, continues to be used to soften the rather acid wine produced from the former. In his book The Wines of Spain, Jan Read states that the Zuri is similar to the Courbu of the Jurancon area of France. Other writers maintain that the Belza belongs to the Bordeaux Cabernet Franc family.
Until the eighteenth century, txakolí was protected from nearby competition by the local fueros or privileges, but when they were abolished by the General Juntas of Guipúzcoa in 1830, decline set in. The market became dominated by wines from other areas, mainly the Rioja and Navarre, where the climate was less capricious and thus the crop practically guaranteed. The crisis was precipitated by several other factors too. Industrialization led to preoccupation with financial viability and the poor, romantic Cantabrian vineyards knew nothing of such things. Moreover, the great vine plagues, oidium, mildew and above all, phylloxera, which were to eradicate the wine-map of almost all of Europe, would prove a devastating blow. Of the 2,500 acres of the Basque Country planted with vines in 1800 fewer than eight hundred remained by the end of the nineteenth century. At present txakolí vineyards are limited to only 120 acres along the coast, in Guetaria and Zarauz, both in the province of Guipúzcoa, and Baquio and Balmaseda, in Vizcaya. At least these vines have survived and can look optimistically to the future. Recently, a new denomination of origin, Txakolí de Guetaria, was created and dedicated men have given their lives and money to the hard task of making unprecedented wines of high standards
Pedro Chueca, who lives in a beautiful old house next to the village church, is one of the men to whom Guetaria owes this new denomination. A small thin man with a gentle face and generous spirit, his love for his vineyard and devotion to wine-making, make themselves felt instantly. His grandfather Silvestre was the first in the family to plant vines on a high hillside which falls precipitously to the sea. His work involved an intense struggle against nature, so wild and luxuriant there. In fact the site was only one of the problems: this is an area whose rainfall is one of the highest in Europe. However, the microclimate of the vinegrowing slopes of Guetaria favoured Silvestre. It never froze, the average temperature was relatively high and the slopes faced south-east, thus achieving the best possible exposure to the sea-breezes which dry off the leaves and grapes. In spite of all the great problems, the vines produced bunches of grapes which yielded a golden juice.
Pedro inherited the vineyards from his mother, Silvestre’s daughter. His uncle Fernando, a family benefactor, sent him to the French School at San Sebastián where he learned French before Castilian. Later, he was to spend four months in the Champagne region, in the home of Raymond a wine-maker, where he learned the basics of viticulture and vinification. Since then much has changed. When Pedro started, the small wooden wine barrels would arrive by ox-cart and one never knew whether they would arrive at all, or what state they might be in. Now bottles bearing the name Txomin Echániz, the brand under which the Chueca family’s wine is marketed, are distributed by great lorries which leave the new winery every day for all parts of Spain.
Although Pedro is now retired, he spends every day in the vineyard. ‘My two boys’ hands are not enough by themselves’, he explains. In winter, when the vinestock rests and has no sap in its veins, pruning is one of the most time-consuming tasks. As the cold season progresses they spread a little fertilizer on the land so that when the time comes, they will give better results. In spring life returns and the sap rises once more. This is Pedro’s favourite season: the first buds appear, followed by the first leaves, and little by little the canopy of foliage thickens. Blossoming occurs in May and, after self-fertilization, the tiny fruits which will hang below the foliage appear under the daily scrutiny of the Chuecas. Summer progresses. This is when the vineyard needs sun and Pedro examines the sea and sky, reading into the clouds and winds to interpret what good or ill each portends. If the vines receive all the sun they need, they will produce a sufficient sugar level in the grapes so that the wine will not seem too acidic, or the alcohol content too low. In October extra hands are taken on for the grape harvest, the year’s most important task. These will be the longest most worrying days of all, but also the happiest. At the end of each day’s work the air is full of the scent of wine and of grilled fresh fish.
Prior to the construction of a new winery, right in the vineyard, the production took place in the cellar of the house, near the port. Today txakolí production is much easier. This is because Pedro achieved his dream, a new winery, thanks to the efforts of his sons. On the first floor live the younger Chuecas, the family of one of Pedro’s sons. On the ground floor there is a production plant and a cellar where the vats, which until recently were the only vessels used for fermentation and storage, share their place with the new technology which has considerably improved the quality of this delicate wine.
It is only a matter of minutes from the moment when the grape is picked to its arrival, via tractor and trailer, at the winery. There the fruit is tipped into a chute hidden at the entrance to the building. Without being crushed the grapes are fed into a horizontal press and, in order to achieve a high quality result, the must is drawn off into large temperature-controlled stainless steel tanks. A small quantity is still fermented in wooden barrels, just as it has been since time immemorial. Normally the wine is neither filtered nor racked, but kept on the lees, the idea being to retain the natural carbon-dioxide content which helps preserve it and gives it life. Although one of the great problems faced by txakolí has always been the low alcohol content – generally barely the ten per cent traditionally attained by naturally effervescent wines – the addition of sugar to the must is forbidden by Spanish law but here the Chuecas are lucky. The wines made in the Guetaria area have always exceeded ten and a half per cent, rising even to eleven per cent in some years.
Txakolí is bottled in April, when the secondary malolactic fermentation is almost complete. However, before this happens the contents of each kupelak, vat, will be tasted, not only by its owners but also by their direct customers: the chefs and the various gastronomic societies who travel around the bodegas, vineyards, and farms to buy the year’s best wine.
The tasting room is spacious and adorned by antique wooden chests, metal artefacts and several pictures, among them one large composition, presented to Pedro by an artist-friend which depicts the txakolí landscape. In the upper part of the painting a luxuriant climbing vine grows on a trellis so thick that the light cannot penetrate its foliage. The leaves are unnaturally dark, of olive and brown shade, the bunches of grapes are all golden yellow, almost glaring. Below the vine and trellis there is the surface of a sea in which two fish swim, one an intense red, the other, blue. Sea and woodland, foam and bubbles, apparently float together down a river.
Here, in the tasting room, the men who have come to buy will congregate. In contrast to the cider house, the buying of txakolí and the probateko is still the exclusive domain of the male. At the Chuecas’s vineyard the introduction of new technology and quality standardization mean that the probateko has lost much of its meaning, but it remains in the bodegas of other, more traditional winemakers where little has changed over the years.
In the old days Pedro used to invite his friends to eat after the tasting. He still has vivid memories of the endless nights spent sitting along wooden benches on either side of the old oak table, enjoying the dishes prepared in the kitchen above by his wife, often using their own wine in the dish as she would for dorada a la marinera, gilthead seaman’s style. This fish is rather insipid and this recipe suits it very well.
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To prepare the Dorada a la marinera you need a fish weighing 1 kg (2 lbs), very fresh with its scales removed and thoroughly cleaned, 1 chopped onion, 1 clove of garlic, 2 large tomatoes, a little sweet paprika, parsley, a tablespoon of flour, pepper, a glass of txakolí and a pinch of salt. Place the gilthead in a pan of cold water and poach until cooked. Drain it well and transfer to a serving dish. Put a little olive oil into an earthenware casserole and in it fry the onion, garlic, tomato, parsley and the paprika. When it is almost half cooked, add the wine and reduce by half. Stir in the flour which has been mixed with a little of the liquid from poaching the fish and cook on a moderate heat for twenty minutes. Strain and pour the sauce over the fish on a serving dish. |
Pedro’s favourite dishes are always the simplest ones. If he is at home one of the things he likes best is a good plate of potatoes cooked with wine, which his wife often prepares. Although this recipe usually calls for some sort of pork sausage which Pedro describes as calceta, a thick woollen stocking, Milagro’s version could not be simpler and more tasty.
Pedro’s wife also makes an excellent dish of bass with txakolí and potatoes, which is her son Inaki’s favourite.
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To prepare Lubina con patatas al txakolí for six people you need a fish of about 2 kg (4 lbs) weight, ½ kg (1 lb) of potatoes cut into thin rounds, 2 glasses of txacoli and some slices of lemon to insert into small incisions which are made in the fish. Place the potatoes in an oven dish and pour over a few drops of olive oil. Then put the bass on top and place the dish in a moderate oven 200°C (400°F, Gas mark 6). After fifteen minutes take it out and baste with the juices before putting it back for another fifteen minutes – the moment when the wine should be added. It will need another ten to fifteen minutes to be ready and slightly underdone. |
Although txakolí has always been drunk in a more private way, in the province of Vizcaya the wine is associated with the caserío-txakolí, which fulfil the same role as Guipúzcoa’s cider houses. However, in contrast to the cider house the caserío-txakolí has gradually lost its importance and may well soon disappear. Not so long ago, when they flourished, there were txakolí-roads through Vizcaya. A branch of bay-tree fixed to various trees along the road indicated the route to take. If its leaves were fresh something delicious was waiting at the journey’s end; if, on the other hand, they were withered, it was probably wiser to come back the following year.
It was in these caseríos-txakolí, where it was difficult to obtain fresh fish, that cooking with bacalao really flourished. Every day hundreds of dishes of bacalao al pil-pil, a la vizcaina or simply with green peppers and potatoes or onions would be made. Another fine recipe, bacalao Club-Ranero, created by the French chef Caverivière as a farewell gesture to the Club in Vizcaya where he had worked, also became part of the repertoire of great Basque cod specialities found in places where txakolí is served.
The dish that follows is simply a version of bacalao al pil-pil, that is to say, salt-cod cooked with olive oil and garlic, to which is added a sautéed mixture of onion, tomatoes, green peppers and dried red peppers, together with the thickened sauce, an emulsion of oil and garlic, in which the slices of cod were first cooked.
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For the Sautéed mixture for this bacalao you need ½ kg (1 lb) of fresh tomatoes, peeled and chopped, ½ kg (1 lb) of onions, also peeled and chopped, 2 green peppers, deseeded and diced, 2 large chopped cloves of garlic, the flesh of 4 dried red peppers, soaked in advance for three to four hours, a little fresh parsley and some olive oil. Pour the oil into an earthenware casserole and sautée the onion until it softens a little, then add the tomato, garlic and green pepper. Cook gently, taking care that the pieces do not disintegrate. Then add the soaked dried pepper and a little chopped parsley. Transfer the fried mixture to another casserole and place the slices of cod on top of it, leaving the oil and garlic behind. This is when the emulsion sauce is made by beating the oil and garlic quite hard by moving the frying-pan until a perfect emulsion is achieved, thus changing the colour of the sauce. It should be almost white and the oil completely absorbed. Then add this sauce to the fish casserole, cook a little more and it is ready. |
Today with the caseríos-txakolí disappearing, the restaurants and asadores or grill houses, found around Guetaria are taking their place as somewhere to relax, eat and drink well in the countryside. Families often travel here, particularly in summer, to sample the local txakolí and fish. Sometimes, when they have family visitors, the Chuecas too, go down to one of the asadores. As many as ten, twelve or more of them, including the grandchildren, sit down to eat under one of the canopies erected outside the establishment.
Most of the asadores in Guetaria are to be found in the harbour area. The grill proper, an iron construction on four legs which usually has wheels, is placed near the main entrance to the bar or restaurant to which it belongs and consists of a large metal grid resting on a sort of cart about a metre and a half long, which contains burning coals. The grid is usually divided into two sections which are used for cooking meat and fish. Below it the charcoal burns fiercely, turning almost white-hot. Above the grid is an iron hood which funnels off most of the smoke, allowing just a whiff to escape and reach the diners’ nostrils. Larger fish such as bream and turbot are grilled using fish-shaped wire cages into which they are clamped, making it easy to turn them over without breaking. Anchovy, sardines and tunny fillets are barbecued on the grill itself. For more serious occasions, the Chuecas visit one of the three or four local restaurants. Certainly all their best business agreements are made at tables in such places. Here a dish called Txangurro al horno reigns supreme, having become another of the most representative dishes of this cuisine.
In the Basque Country, some people call spider crab, txangurro, others use the word to describe the common crab or buey, but in either case for this it is stuffed and baked.
Gone are the days when buying or selling the wine in Pedro’s old cellar was sealed on a firm handshake. Nevertheless, it is still here that he spends his happiest moments, with his old seafaring friends, discussing politics, money or perhaps his continual disagreement with the incumbency of the church next door. Everything else he leaves in his sons’ hands. They may be in Madrid today, in Bilbao tomorrow. Pedro himself cares little about the size of profit. He says that he will die happy simply in the knowledge that the word txakolí will not disappear from the dictionary for a while.