Many cuisines are easily characterized by outsiders due to signature flavor profiles, ingredients, or scents. Japanese food is memorably umami, Thai food is tropical, and Persian food is famous for saffron and sumac. It’s difficult, when you’re eating pintxos or raciones, to point out what that cohesive factor is for Basque cuisine. Is it bread? Vinegar? Anchovies? Wine? Maybe even…salt?

The Basque cuisine, which is so rich in diversity, cannot be distilled into a spice bottle. For Basque cuisine, what distinguishes it from any other cuisine I have tried is its subtlety and mildness.

Earlier this week, I told our stylish and savvy tour-guide Olga how I noticed the simplicity of Basque gastronomy; how it felt like every dish I consumed was made of less than 6 ingredients. She nodded her head to this, proudly explaining that Basque people might think “What are you hiding?” If they were presented a dish that was processed to the point that its constituent ingredients were no longer identifiable by taste or appearance.

Olga’s quote has stayed in my mind for days now. The idea of hiding versus showcasing produce or meat is a cultural attitude that I find endlessly fascinating. Gipuzkoa is fortunate to have it all: beautiful, walkable cities blended seamlessly with the mountains and the ocean, and plenty high-quality local crops, livestock, and seafood catches to play with in the kitchen. It is clear now, that the unifying feature in every bite of Basque food I have tried so far is the chef’s palpable pride for their homeland’s terrain. The taste, assembly, and presentation of the food is not exceedingly complex, and that’s the point.

This means that consuming a single pintxo here is an easy way to get a glimpse into local agricultural traditions that span centuries of history. However, there is a catch! A pintxo (not to be confused with tapas, which are larger) is at maximum five bites of food. It is possible, especially if you’re a tall, jet-legged, hangry young woman, that you might inhale a pintxo before you even properly lay eyes on it. (Totally not speaking about myself here…)

Inhaling food is a mistake I’ve made many times while dining with friends at home. I don’t know how many times I went to a hip, hot ethnic spot in town, purposefully intending to have a life-changing experience, but wolfed down each dish before its original appearance had registered in my brain. After the ordeal, I might remember that my meal was spicy…sweet…or worse: just “good.”

This leads to another point: eating at a pintxo bar is typically a social, laidback experience, and they are not usually ate in a rush. You can grab a couple of bites at one pintxo bar with friends and family, and let the conversation you started at the first pintxo bar float you over to the next. Gros is a neighborhood in San Sebastián known for being a great destination for this exact activity, with a list of Michelin recommended spots to try.

Gwen, Candice, Cam, Stacey, Krissy, our professor Julian, and I started our pintxos tasting tour with Zabaleta and ended it by having gelato at the famous Papperino. In between, we visited Bar Bergara (Michelin recommended!), Bar Ricardo, & Eguzki Bistro & Bar.

My favorites were the Gilda from Zabaleta, the Squid Ink Pintxo I tried at Eguzki, and the grande cup of Lotus & Apple Crumble gelato I had from Papperino. I think it’s funny that my favorites were emblematic of the past and the present; the Gilda – a skewer of pickeled peppers, olives, and anchovies – is a classic pintxo, while my black squid pintxo at Eguzki was reminiscent of the Squid in Its Own Ink Basque claassic, but featured some Japanese influence, too.

This is a good point to mention that the food scene is San Sebastián is home to not just Basque or Spanish cooking, but a plethora of excellent chefs also practicing French, Japanese and Latin American cuisines, too. A new Ghanaian restaurant just opened in Gros, too! Perhaps we’ll stop there next week…

It’s hard to imagine returning to Boston especially when I consider how different the work-day and the food culture is. I look forward to bringing back a slow pace of eating and exploring, as well as making an effort to eat fewer meals alone. The Basques live so long, and I have no doubt that grazing all day with great companions is a factor of that equation.

With that, I’ll say Agur (which means goodbye in Basque)!