Category: Arzak

Bringing Catalan Cuisine to Houston: A Promising Start

Tuna, with green onions.

Tuna, with green onions.

The time I spent in the Arzak kitchen was brief but rewarding, and several dining tours of Spain – including days and nights in Barcelona, Girona, and Donostia –  instilled in me a passion for Basque and Catalan cuisine. So I was excited when I heard that a chef from Catalonia was going to be in charge of a new kitchen in Houston, BCN Taste & Tradition.

Angela and I were invited to a preview dinner at BCN last night, and it was a great beginning: excellent beef tartare, ahi tuna, a rib eye with foie gras, and, of course, jamón Ibérico. BCN opens to the public on Saturday, September 20, and I will definitely schedule a return visit(s). Service was outstanding, the dining room and bar area are understated and unique for Houston (one can easily imagine being in an elegant, comfortable European restaurant when dining at BCN), and the menu is a showcase of Spanish deliciousness.

Lobster, deconstructed.

Lobster, deconstructed.

That jamón that we love so much.

That jamón that we love so much.

Rib eye, with foie that could have used a bit more sear.

Rib eye, with foie that could have used a bit more sear.

 

 

Huntsville, Alabama, Boasts the Nation’s Best Tex-Mex (or Cali-Mex) Joint

 

The best plate – and chile relleno – I have ever had in a Tex-Mex joint.

The best plate – and chile relleno – I have ever had in a Tex-Mex joint, anywhere. Look at those beans.

Meet Oscar Gutierrez, whose team has been making the best Tex-Mex in American for ...

Meet Oscar Gutierrez, whose team has been making the best Tex-Mex in America for years and years. And Oscar is one of the finest men you’ll encounter this side of Heaven or Hell.

There is a small restaurant in Huntsville, Alabama, whose kitchen is the source of some of the best Tex-Mex food in America. To my palate, it is better than anything Tex-Mex I have tasted in The Lone Star State thus far.

The original Bandito Burrito opened in 1990, and it is owned and operated by Mr. Oscar Gutierrez. Along with Asador Extebarri and Restaurante Arzak (and seven other excellent kitchens), Bandito Burrito is on the Brockhaus List of the 10 Best Restaurants in the World. Mr. Gutierrez has been at his craft for many years, and those countless hours of experience shine through in his food, which people clamor for daily. When I lived in Huntsville it was not uncommon for me to eat at the Bandito four times a week. Sometimes five.

Refried beans. Those two words speak of paradise, and if you like this staple of Tex-Mex, you will, after trying the beans at Bandito Burrito, never be happy with any other examples. Creamy, rich, soft, these beans made in Alabama are supreme.

Chile rellenos (my favorite anywhere, never greasy, always light, and perfectly cooked), enchiladas, tamales, and burritos are also, of course, on the menu here. And as with the refried beans, Oscar’s tomato salsa is some of the best I have tasted. Ample cilantro, the right amount of heat, and a few secret touches combine for bowls of salsa that call for mail-order. (And I would add to my shipment my favorite Bandito plate, the Juan Beeg Dinner, which includes an enchilada, a tamale, that perfect chile relleno, and rice and beans. All for $9.99.)

I miss the food at Bandito Burrito; indeed, it is one of the few restaurants in the world whose tastes I love to summon to my mind on a regular basis. And that gives me a grand idea: I am going to have  Oscar visit me in Houston … and I’ll arrange for him to teach some people here how to cook some kick-ass refried beans and chile rellenos.

Percebes, and We Were Late for Lunch at Asador Etxebarri

Inside this building an inspired master presides over a fine kitchen.

Inside this building an inspired master presides over a fine kitchen.

Food and cooking (and culinary subjects in general) constitute a large part of my reading diet. Magazines, food sections, web sites, books … all are fair game. In a recent issue of The New York Times I came across this piece, about something that was part of a meal that holds a place among my all-time favorite meals: percebes. 

Asador Etxebarri was the place, and we were on our way to San Sebastián, having left Barcelona that morning. Colby and Kim were in one car, and Angela and I in another. We were equipped with a GPS unit, so were not worried about making it to our lunch on time. That turned out to be misplaced confidence, because the name of the village in which Asador Etxebarri is similar to another village in the region, and the latter is the one our BMW’s GPS unit selected. We should have insisted on a Mercedes. (Editor’s note: A reliable source insisted that I include the following statement: “And I should have just paid attention to my driving and followed Kim, who was piloting the car ahead. In addition, I should have not argued with Angela when she expressed little faith in my sense of direction.”)

We arrived at the village early and waited on Colby and Kim – our favorite traveling companions – who were on their way to the “right” village. We ordered some wine and sat in the sun in an old square, watching schoolchildren play and dogs chase one another. Colby and Kim never arrived. We called them. They were at the restaurant. We were not. And we were going to be late.

What to do? Well, what we did was walk at a brisk pace to the car while Colby asked if it was possible for our lunch to be delayed, to allow us time to arrive. The manager assented. Kindly. I then attempted to program the village’s name into the GPS system, but it was not cooperating. We called Colby, told him of our dilemma, and he was informed that a young American was staging in Extebarri’s kitchen. The young cook came to the phone and gave directions to Angela, who then relayed them to me.

Traffic was heavy, lots of trucks – we were driving through a semi-industrial area. Hungry, expectant, we drove for about 40 minutes, ending up in a small and beautiful village. The village we thought we were in hours ago. We parked, walked a short distance to the restaurant, and, it turned out, nirvana.

Colby Walton, who was very happy to see us.

Colby Walton, who was very happy to see us.

Colby and Kim were happy to see us, Colby nursing a … was it a Campari? The dining room, upstairs, was sunny, spare, welcoming. The staff welcomed us, laughing a little.

We joined the punctual ones at our table and I was given the wine list; the waiter was aware of our mishap and intuited that I would want wine. A Txakoli is what I ordered. A bottle, which the four of us drank while we looked at the menu.

A menu for the ages.

A menu for the ages.

For those who know nothing of Asador Etxebarri, I have two words for you: Wood and Smoke. Victor Arguinzoniz is the man behind that pairing, and he uses them both to create  beauty. Take a look at the menu shown above and you will see that he grills everything, a method of cooking that imparts flavors of the different varieties of wood his staff collects from the area, including oak and vine cuttings. (He even created a special “cooker” in which he smokes caviar.)

Victor Arguinzoniz and I tour his kitchen.

Victor Arguinzoniz was a gracious host, and I loved his kitchen. (The pulleys behind us are part of his grilling regimen.)

Our meal began, and it was a highlight of our eating tour that trip, which included El Celler de Can Roca, Mugaritz, Akelare, and Arzak, among others. The percebes followed a smoked goat butter, a smoky and creamy opening course that I can taste even today, a few years later. Grilled peas, anchovies, egg followed. And one of the best pieces of beef that man ever cooked. (I asked for the bone, and we took it to the apartment we were renting in San Sebastián; I later trimmed it of all remaining meat and fat and used it in a ragù.) (The photos that follow take you on a brief tour of our tasting menu. Enjoy.)

Colby, Kim, Angela and I spent three or four hours in Asador Etxebarri, and could have spent far more. After our lunch we took a short walk around the restaurant’s environs, admiring the green landscape, the quiet, and gained some insight about how geography and surroundings affect the way one cooks. But we had an appointment in San Sebastián, so once again hit the road and headed to the coast. Much awaited us.

A restaurant with a view.

A restaurant with a view.

Percebes, before the tasting.

Percebes, before the tasting.

The meat. The wonder.

The meat. The wonder.

A chef smiles.

A chef smiles.

Cheese flan

Cheese flan

Palomos prawns

Palomos prawns

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Grilled peas

Grilled peas

The place in which it happens.

The place in which it happens.

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Egg and mushroom

Egg and mushroom

Baby octopus

Baby octopus

If you like beef, this it is.

If you like beef, this it is.

An environment in which to create beauty on the plate.

An environment in which to create beauty on the plate.

Smoked goat butter

Smoked goat butter

Sea cucumber

Sea cucumber

Here's the wood that produces the smoke.

Here’s the wood that produces the smoke.

So Long, Can Fabes

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A new year brings with it an ending, or even endings. We look forward to the days and nights that stretch before us, but we also, if we are so predisposed, think about what we are leaving behind, be they people, places or things.

During this first week of 2014 I am doing my fair share of wondering about what lies ahead, making plans, writing down goals and intentions.

And I’m thinking of people and places that are no more, especially these three: Marcella Hazan, Charlie Trotter, and El Racó de Can Fabes. Each made an impression on my life, and made me a better cook.

I never met Ms. Hazan, but she did comment on several Facebook posts of mine, asking questions and giving her opinions in a straightforward and probing manner. I did meet Trotter, when he cooked at a dinner in Abu Dhabi that I attended. Two monumental individuals, Hazan and Trotter. They influenced more people than they would ever know, and made my life richer. Our world is poorer without them.

El Racó de Can Fabes, a fabled restaurant, closed its doors forever in 2013. One day in September 2012 I was in a rental car, having left Barcelona headed to France. It was nearing lunchtime and I spotted a road sign indicating an exit for Sant Celoni. Sant Celoni … The name meant something to me, but I could not place it. I slowed the car, my brain all the while attempting to make the connection. It did about two minutes later: Sant Celoni is the village that is home (was home) to Can Fabes. I exited the highway, then pulled over and keyed the words into my GPS. About 15 minutes later I was parked near the restaurant; it was around 12:30, and I walked to the entrance, hoping that they would seat me without a reservation. They did, and that afternoon has been with me constantly since. (See photo slideshow above.)

You might be aware that the building that housed Can Fabes belonged to the Santamaria family for more than 200 years. You might also know that it had operated as a restaurant for 32 years and earned its first Michelin star  in 1988, seven years after Santi Santimaria opened it as a casual bistro. It was awarded a third Michelin star in 1994. Then, as it sometimes will, life dealt a cruel hand. Santimaria died of a heart attack while at his restaurant in Singapore; he was 53.

Regina Santimaria, his daughter, took over, and made a valiant effort to keep Can Fabes open. Losing a man as original and vibrant as Santimaria, however, is, in my opinion, a fatal blow. The restaurant lost one of its Michelin stars, the global economy fell apart, and things were grim in Sant Celoni.

Today I leafed through an online catalogue for an auction of Can Fabe possessions that took place in December 2013. It included plates and glasses and cutlery and pots and pans. But what one could not bid on, the item that created the magic that was Can Fabes, was Santi Santimaria’s soul, and it was nowhere in that catalogue. It was, however, in the meal I had in Sant Celoni that day, and it will be in me forever.

The perfect way to arrive in New Orleans

I  drove up from lower Florida yesterday – that state is too long – headed to New Orleans, where I am spending two days on my way to Houston, so I asked my friend John T. Edge where he would eat now if he could have three meals in the Crescent City. Pêche, one of his picks, was my destination last night, so I made sure I drove rapidly enough to make it in time for dinner. It’s on Magazine Street, and as I approached the building I spied a parking spot directly in front of the restaurant’s main entrance. I took it, got out of the car, and marveled at my luck. As I shook off the road two young guys who were smoking on the sidewalk asked me if I was “from around here”. I told them no, that I had just arrived from Florida … they were bartenders, in town for Tales of the Cocktail, a five-day convention/festival. So, not only do I find a parking spot right outside the restaurant, but I arrive in New Orleans on the opening day of an event dedicated to mixology … That is the perfect way to arrive.

I took a seat at the raw bar and scanned the the crowd; the place was packed, loud, the the diners ran the gamut from old to young, hipster to grandparents. John’s recommendation, as I knew it would be, was sublime. I started with a small bowl of smoked tuna dip, which contained a hint of heat – perhaps jalapeño – and was a creamy delight on the Saltines that accompanied it.

The oysters looked good as they were shucked in front of me, so I chose six: Blue Points from Connecticut, Louisiana Area 3, and St. James (Virginia.) Cold, crisp, revivifying. Eating them drove the long drive right out of me.

Blue Points, Louisiana Area 3, a St. James (Virginia)

Blue Points (Connecticut), Louisiana Area 3, and St. James (Virginia)

Next came raw tuna with fennel, tomato water and corn (and a little basil thrown in). Again, amazing, fresh flavors. Tuna was a bit warm for my taste, but that was probably because I took my time with the dip and oysters before I proceeded to that plate.

Tuna, fennel, tomato water and corn

Tuna, fennel, tomato water and corn

I then took a pause and perused the menu, considering the Louisiana Shrimp Roll before deciding on the Grouper Collars. I am very fond of Hake Cheeks, which I ate often in San Sebastián, so I thought I would give the grouper a try. It was a good choice. Served with tomato and cucumber and parsley, fried to the perfect level of crispiness, full of tender, rich meat.

Grouper collars, pepper jelly, and cucumbers

Grouper collars, pepper jelly, and cucumbers

Bartenders surrounded me, I was finishing a glass of Albariño, and New Orleans was just outside. It was a perfect evening. Donald Link, Stephen Stryjewski, and Ryan Prewitt have a new winner on their hands.

The next course: An update

Dessert course: A waiter prepares 'Hidromiel y Fractal Fluido' at Arzak.

Last week I told you I was going to spend at least three months in Europe this summer doing stages at two restaurants. I named Restaurant Amador in Mannheim, Germany, as my first stop, but at the time was unable to officially name the second one. I wrote that it was in San Sebastián, a wonderful city in the north of Spain that is producing some of the finest food to be had anywhere.

I can now let you know the name of my second stop, and I am excited, and thrilled, and just a little bit in awe, because the two chefs at Arzak, Juan Mari Arzak and his daughter Elena, are, to put it simply, geniuses.

Juan Mari Arzak, one of the fathers of New Basque Cuisine, is also one of the most influential and respected chefs in the world, and began cooking at Arzak, where his mother still worked, in 1966. Since then, culinary history has been unfolding there on a nightly basis. Elena Arzak joined the staff at Arzak after attending school in Switzerland and working at, among other restaurants, elBulli and Restaurant Pierre Gagnaire. The pair’s passion for learning, and teaching, has inspired many, and their respect for food and the land from which it comes is immense.

I am a lucky man.

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