How to go on a pintxo bar crawl in San Sebastián
The Spanish resort town may be the home to several Michelin-starred restaurants, but eating these bite-sized Basque snacks at some of the oldest bars is a unique social ritual
It seems deceptively simple: a single salt-cured anchovy, a pickled olive, and a bright green chili, all threaded onto a toothpick. But this tiny, briny powerhouse is the perfect opening act to the San Sebastián experience. It’s a rush of salt, acid and spice. As I take a bite, I realise the rules of eating in this Spanish coastal town are different. The only way to truly experience it is to dive into the frantic, elbow-to-elbow chaos of the pintxo crawl (locally called txikiteo).
Pintxos (pronounced peen-chose) are small bites, usually served on a piece of bread and secured with a toothpick. So, is it similar to a tapa? Not really. While a tapa is often a complimentary side dish meant to stretch your drinking time, the pintxo is a sophisticated, paid-for finger food. The word itself comes from the Spanish verb pinchar, meaning ‘to pierce’. “Pintxos were invented in San Sebastián and now it’s our way of life. We have the sea and the mountains and are blessed with the best ingredients. Somebody had the genius of putting them on a piece of bread and securing them with a tooth prick. These days there are modern versions of the pintxo, but traditionally it was food items pinched together with a toothpick and eaten in one or two bites," explains Eskerne Falcón, a San Sebastián local and gastronomy tour guide. The bite-sized nugget can range from simple tuna on bread and pickled pepper to perfectly seared foie gras on apple compote. Each one demands the same careful technique as a fine dining dish, but is served in just two to three bites.
I get my first taste at Ganbara, a buzzing local favourite nestled in the historic Parte Vieja (Old Town). The noise is deafening—a chaotic mix of Spanish chatter, clinking glasses and the rhythmic thump of the coffee machine—and a floor littered with crumpled paper napkins, a proud signature of an authentic pintxo hotspot. The true spectacle is the bar counter with a display of smoked salmon, tiny mounds of spider crab encased in golden tartlets and towers of skewered peppers. The monkfish and prawn brochette are worth the hype and so are the meaty wild mushrooms with egg yolk. While there’s a full dining room tucked away in the back, the real experience happens here, elbow-to-elbow at the bar. “The tourists tend to form a queue outside a pintxo bar. Locals don’t like that. Even when the bars are packed we try to get in and make eye contact with the bartender. That’s the whole point of a pintxo crawl," says Falcón.
A five minute walk takes me to my next stop — the tiny, nondescript Antonio Bar, famed for its tortilla Española (potato omelette). The wedge arrives warm, with a liquid centre that oozes caramelised onions and peppers. To accompany the feast, I stick to tradition and order a glass of txakoli (chacolí), a sparkling white wine that is poured from a height to aerate it.
Another great spot is Casa Vallés, a bar founded in 1942. The must-try pintxo here is the iconic Gilda, a skewer of anchovy, olive and pickled green chili. Interestingly it’s called so after Rita Hayworth’s character from the 1946 film by the same name. The salt-cured anchovies laid out on a plate was my cue to order for some.
The range of pintxos from bar to bar is staggering. At Bar Martínez, I taste red chilli stuffed with tuna and tartar sauce drizzled with vinaigrette, while at Bar Sports, a traditional cod pil-pil (a silky emulsion of olive oil and fish gelatin) is packed with umami. By the time I reach El Tamboril, I had aced the system: plunging past the crowd, claiming my counter space, and quickly placing the order. “The trick is to not stay in the same bar for too long. Get a drink and a pintxo or two and then quickly hop on to another. You will never see a local with a plate full of pintxos. That’s what tourists do," says Falcón.
In any other city, you’d sit down for a meal this good. But in San Sebastián, the feast is fast and fleeting. I left the Old Town exhausted, smelling of olive oil and grilled seafood, but completely exhilarated. It was, without a doubt, the most delicious form of chaos I’ve ever experienced.
Nivedita Jayaram Pawar is a Mumbai-based food and travel writer.
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