The word pintxo is omnipresent in San Sebastian, but not all pintxos are created equal. In the Old Town, Casa Urola has become a mandatory stop for anyone making a pintxo pilgrimage, thanks to Chef Pablo Loureiro Rodil’s vision. It’s not enough for Pablo to offer classic staples frequently found in most of the bars in town. Rather, he delves deep into the concept of seasonal pintxos – one of the first chefs to try to reflect the “here and now” of his homeland in the local and familiar format of a small and casual bite.
The kitchen has been a familiar landscape for Pablo since he can remember. Bearing the surname Loreiro (“bay leaf” and also related to the Loureiro grape, typical of Galicia where his father was born) may have been the first sign of his destiny. A third-generation restaurateur (his parents met in Madrid and his mother pulled his father along to the Basque Country), he grew up in the restaurant his mother’s family ran in nearby Monte Igueldo, at the end of La Concha Bay.
Pablo has translated both the family legacy and his many years of professional experience into one of the city’s most fascinating and honest menus at Casa Urola. He started managing the restaurant – open since 1956 on Fermi Calbetón street – alongside Begoña Arenas in 2012, with the idea of sharing a personal and contemporary view on traditional cuisine.
Casa Urola has two floors: the upper level is Begoña’s territory, where she commands the front of house. Here, a menu of iconic dishes is served at a relaxed, leisurely pace, atop long tablecloths and with fine cutlery, accommodating some 30 to 40 people per service. (A special mention goes to the delicious rice with clams; wild turbot on the grill, or spider crab “Donostiarra-style.”)
On the ground floor, however, at the back of a hidden space, Pablo takes the lead, immersed in a small open kitchen with a bar facing the crowd. Down here, the mood is frenetic and adrenaline filled, and pintxos are the star of an informal yet exceptional menu enjoyed by 300 to 500 people daily, at tables, stools, or any available corner where there’s a bit of room to stand.
At the entrance, a display case tempts with cold dishes ranging from the iconic Gildas (skewered Guindilla peppers, anchovy, and olive) to classic pintxos like the huevo tumbado (boiled shrimp, hard-boiled egg and an olive); the carmelita (anchovies and shrimp), and the matrimonio de anchoas (“marriage of anchovies”), as well as simple cuts of smoked fish. As soon as you raise your head, though, a handwritten menu appears on a blackboard with the best of Loureiro’s repertoire: dishes of extreme finesse, of great technical execution, both in portions and in pintxo format – a particular culinary complexity offered at an accessible price.
Pintxos here are divided into Classic and Seasonal versions. In June, for example, the latter included: grilled Navarra asparagus with wild garlic mayonnaise; Tudela artichoke with pumpkin cream, ham salt, and almond praline; or house-marinated anchovies over celeriac cream (none of which cost more that €5.10).
“When we opened, serving complex preparations in pintxo format that changed according to seasonal availability felt like a major challenge; not in vain, most of the local restaurants bet on repeating the same repertoire. But it has been possible thanks to the good fortune of having the same kitchen for everything, where we are about eight cooks, trained and organized to integrate products and processes that meet the needs of both [kitchens,] above and below,” explains Paulo in his particular deep, husky voice. The establishment focuses on local ingredients while keeping an open mind, clarifies the chef, who does not hesitate to incorporate nuances from further afield – like sesame or nori seaweed – into his dishes, “as long as it makes sense.”
Rather than displaying endless rows of options at the bar as many local spots might, Casa Urola prepares small batches of pintxos and replenishes as the day goes along. “Here we make twenty-five carmelitas at a time, not one-hundred and fifty; we want to replenish little by little,” Paulo says, placing a pen in the small pocket on the left sleeve of his white chef’s jacket, where a small illustration peeks out: a chef’s hat alongside wine bottles, a fish, and a lobster: the iconic Casa Urola logo.
Among the flagship dishes, Paulo’s famous scallops – which he has been serving since 2015 – stand out. And although he now feels it’s a lifelong staple of Casa Urola, the dish was initially a tribute to his Galician roots, made with scallops served on a kind of ajoblanco made with almond and pistachio cream; it has a coffee vinaigrette and, on top, toasted almonds and the aforementioned nori seaweed and sesame seeds.
“I am the only Basque on the kitchen team,” says Pablo, who hopes to transmit to those who work with him “how cooking is much more than just cooking” here. “Basque cuisine is no longer made by Basques. That’s why I find it so important that those of us running these types of restaurants teach others with care and generosity how we cook things around here, and share knowledge that can’t be summed up in a recipe. It involves rituals, gestures, and even a necessary sentimentality to keep the roots,” he explains, pleased to train people from Japan, Korea, and Ecuador, among others – a common occurrence in San Sebastian, where young people come from all over the world hoping to learn the craft of cooking from the best.
Rain or shine, the 56-year-old Pablo can be found in the kitchen at Casa Urola, despite recurring hip and knee pain he now suffers from after so many years in the kitchen. And he insists on doing things his own way. “We could do many things faster or differently, but no. I like to think that Casa Urola has its own stamp, its personality,” he says.
To sample a bit of what this means, we tried something as “casual” as the anchovies offered on the present seasonal pintxo menu. “We choose them in a beautiful size,” elaborates Pablo with the excitement of a kid showing off one of their favorite toys. “We marinate them in neutral sunflower oil with salt, sugar, lime, and pepper. After an hour, we ultra-freeze them [at -28 degrees celsius] in a blast chiller for at least three days – to [make them safe to eat], but not just that – I like the texture they gain with this process. We then place them on the plate with a bit of cream made from red apple and kohlrabi, which adds acidity. A tomato vinaigrette and some dots of sauce made with black olive. On top, we put some sprouts and the fish’s own fried spine.”
Four days are necessary for such a dish, not to mention the skills to assemble it fast and furious a la minute. The diner, meanwhile, needs just seconds to open their mouth and enjoy. It’s all worth it for Pablo, who takes great joy in sharing the great tradition of pintxos through these highly elevated bites.
February 27, 2015 Yelo
Why eat kakigori in the middle of winter? At Yelo, the smash-hit shaved ice café in […] Posted in Tokyo
August 6, 2018 CB on the Road
As the car crested a craggy hill, the first rays of golden sun peaked over the horizon, […] Posted in Athens
August 27, 2020 CB on the Road
Cecina is a food for the road. In its most common form, the salted and dried meat can […] Posted in Mexico City
Sasha CorreaMagdalena Staurino
Published on September 09, 2024
Related stories
February 27, 2015
TokyoWhy eat kakigori in the middle of winter? At Yelo, the smash-hit shaved ice café in Roppongi, it’s merely because one can. During warmer months an outrageous line snakes out the somewhat hidden doorway along the outside of the restaurant, winding down a street housing an artisanal-beer darts bar and a club featuring a Beatles…
August 6, 2018
AthensAs the car crested a craggy hill, the first rays of golden sun peaked over the horizon, painting distant clouds the color of red wine. Tufts of gnarled olive trees and rows of grapes whizzed by the window as we approached the farm, outrunning the quickly approaching sun. We left Thessaloniki at 5:30 a.m. to…
August 27, 2020
Mexico CityCecina is a food for the road. In its most common form, the salted and dried meat can last for months, which explains why it was a main source of sustenance for travelers, sailors and soldiers in colonial Mexico. Nowadays, cecina is still known as a thin cut of cured meat – almost always beef…
