Pintxo

“How does this work,” I ask the woman behind the bar at my first stand up restaurant in San Sebastian, Spain?

“I give you a plate. You take what you want and I charge you at the end.” She slides a clean white plate off one of the many stacks behind her and in a sweeping gesture extends it toward me and asks, “Yes?”

“Si, si,” I reply in perfect Spanish.

Spread before me on the long bar are the various selections of pintxo San Sebastian is well known for. Freshly cut vegetables, cured meats and pickled fish well spiced and paired with small crusts of bread, smothered in olive oil and gleaming under the soft light from above. Most of these bite sized meals are stuck with long toothpicks. The selection reminds me of an antipasto plate the size of a full room.

I make my choices and show the plate to the bartender. Using her finger to count she adds up what she sees and makes a note on a piece of paper. I motion to pay, but she says, “No, no. Enjoy first. Pay later.” She knows after one plate I will want another.

The food is so sweet and salty and fresh that for the next three days I stop at a different place every day for lunch, an early dinner and a late dinner. I make it my responsibility to try a little bit of everything in case someone asks how it was.