It’s a Wednesday afternoon and early, yet already the streets of San Sebastián are teaming with hungry bar-hoppers, avid pintxo-poppers looking to wash down two-bite snacks with a beer or frosty cool caña of clara. Locals and tourists and local tourists alike frequent the “pintxerias” that line the streets of Parte Vieja. At first glance these spots all look kind of similar. But they’re not. Hams…
The first time I had rossejat was at the restaurant of the El Far hotel, high atop a cliff in Llafranc, Girona on the Costa Brava of Catalunya. The hotel is so named for the Sant Sebastian lighthouse nearby which rises bright and high into the night sky, towering over the jet black sea that…
As I start this article I’m on a RENFE train, Basque Country bound. My expectations are high. Pretty much every chef I’ve ever met has either wanted to go to San Sebastian or waxed poetic about the city, having visited often for inspiration. I know already that there are more Michelin stars per square foot…
It was raining in Vienna when my plane took off. The sun was ablaze where I landed; in Spain. On my way to my temporary home in the mountains of the Priorat, I made a stop in Benidorm, Alicante to celebrate my mother’s 50th birthday with her et familia at my aunt’s vacation home. The dates just kind of worked out…
I don’t like traveling alone. I like being on planes alone, trains alone, sure; it’s when I digest what I’ve just experienced or prepare for what awaits me. But I’ve gotten lazy with planning my own route and paranoid of falling into the tourist traps that I know I’ll regret later on. Plus, drinking a beer alone sucks. Bourdain…
My trip to Hungary this summer was different from those before. It was my first visit in 3 years, my first time back after the death of my maternal grandparents with whom I stayed every summer since we moved from Budapest in ’99. It was my first time going back as a world traveler, a food obsesionada,…
In the village of Horány on the southern tip of Szentendre Island, which floats in the Danube between the Danube Bend and Budapest, there is an older lady referred to by most as “the néni.” The néni runs a cafe at the bottom of a path leading up to a riverbank that is used as a beach in the summertime. The cafe is…
If someone had told me this time last month that the best rabbit I will have ever eaten would be served to me at a restaurant in Balaton, I would’ve laughed a hearty laugh indeed. And if the person followed up with a whisper, “And it will be locally sourced,” I would’ve furrowed my brow angrily…
The word menza means “cafeteria” in Hungarian and is often associated with institutional eateries of Hungary’s Socialist Era. During this time food options were limited to simple and substantial dishes such as vegetable főzelék served with fried meat, always preceded by some sort of watery soup. Flavors weren’t particularly interesting but they were ones that a hardworking comrade could easily learn to love when they signified sustenance…
“No, you need to reserve before.” My heart sank. “You need to call ahead to book the tours. We work all day.” I had dragged my family up a mountain range on a winding path amidst a series of summer showers that practically blinded my sister-in-law as she drove. Two years ago in Hong Kong I…
That Best Bite 