Basque

This impressive-looking Basque cheesecake, which is baked high and fast and gets a caramelized, nearly burnt top, can be made in a hurry.

The first time I had gâteau basque, I was living in the southwest of France and trying, in my little spare time, to sample as many of the local treats as possible. Gâteau basque, a very moist, buttery cake with a certain je ne sais quoi, was by far my favorite. Despite its name, it’s not really a gâteau, or cake, but rather two layers of buttery, crumbly crust filled with pastry cream. As it bakes, the crust and filling meld into one delicious whole. This rural dessert has many interpretations, with fillings that vary from almonds to raisins to fruit jams. For this version our first pastry chef, Sara Lauren, came up with a pastry cream spiked with an unusual combination of Armagnac, rum, orange-flower water, and almond extract. The cake doesn’t taste like any one of those flavorings, but together they somehow evoke that unforgettable flavor of the Basque country.

During my cooking stage at Pain, Adour et Fantaisie, a two-star restaurant in southwestern France, days off were few and far between for the commis (French for grunt line cooks). Whenever I got the chance, though, I’d round up my fellow workers for a road trip to the Basque country. We always knew when we crossed the border into Spain, because everything looked different—the Spanish hillsides were rugged and less pristine than the green countryside of southwestern France. We were cooks, so food was the first thing on our agenda. After plates of jamón and several bottles of red wine, we headed to the bakeries, where I was charmed by the simple, heartfelt sweets of the Basque bakers. A few years back, I was reminded of those quick forays into Spain by an excellent cook named Brian Edwards. His training in Spain had left him with fond memories he was eager to share. When he described his favorite Basque dessert, pastel vasco, I knew it was my kind of sweet. A simple pound cake made with rum and layered with fruit compote sounded like the perfect addition to our dessert list. My pastry chef at the time, Kimberly Sklar, did some research and perfected her own version of this rustic Spanish sweet. We put it on the menu, but for some reason it didn’t sell. One morning, I toasted a slice of leftover cake in a buttered cast-iron pan and ate it with warm berry compote. Unable to fathom how such deliciousness could be ignored, I put it back on the menu, embellishing the description just a little: “Pastel Vasco, toasted in the wood-burning oven with blackberries and poured cream.” The power of words is amazing. We sold out night after night.

Like so many other cultures that have traditionally relied on salt cod, that of the Basque region of Spain and France still cherishes the flavor. This stew is one of the region’s best-known dishes, and it’s a good one. Like most stews, it’s terrific when made a day ahead of time and reheated. Serve with rice or crusty bread or boiled potato.

这个简单的起动器是整个世界t least wherever chiles are grown—but I first had it in Basque country. Here they’re fried, but you can grill fresh chiles as well; in either case they taste fresh, smoky, salty, and spicy all at the same time. The chiles you use can be mild or hot. If you use mild long chiles, like Anaheim, most people will be happy.

In pais Vasco—Basque country—many tapas are substantial and filling. This meets that requirement, but it is also quick and simple. I once had it made with chanterelles, which of course produced a sublime version. If you can get them, or other wild mushrooms, the dish will be really special, but it’s quite wonderful with shiitakes. As for an omelet, you can put most anything you want in here; especially good is about a cup of chopped shrimp added just before the eggs. You can serve this on toast or bread, as is often done in tapas bars, or just by itself. It also makes a fine main course for two.

Spanish Basque immigrants first arrived in the United States in the mid-1800s. This recipe contains typical ingredients found in a Basque lamb stew, which is often served at traditional family-style restaurants in the Basque communities that can still be found throughout the Pacific Northwest and West. I suggest you cook it until the meat is just about to fall off the bone.

The Basque region is an area that spans the border between Spain and France, where a strong sense of nationalism has fueled a desire for independence among some of the Basque people. (I recommend not bringing up the topic if you go for a visit.) But one thing that all sides can agree on is that gâteau Basque is one of the region’s tastiest achievements and a great source of pride. I’m an impartial observer, but I am partial to this dessert, which is a cross between a cake and big cookie. But being Basque, it’s naturally subject to controversy: some versions have pastry cream sandwiched between the layers and others are filled with cherry jam. While happily tasting my way through various examples in the region, I’ve enjoyed versions of both, which is a pretty good way to keep the peace. Don’t be too concerned if the dough falls apart as you roll it; it can be pinched together and will still bake up perfectly.

This classic Basque recipe was passed down from owner Mario Leon's grandmother to his mother. Leon took it from there. Sentimentality aside, the dish earns its permanent spot on the menu with big flavor and lamb so tender it falls apart at the touch of a fork.

It's Basque chefs like Juan Mari Arzak and Martin Berasategui who grab the headlines for their culinary pyrotechnics (think of their food as the culinary equivalent of the Gehry-designed Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao). But what you may not realize is that the Basque country is also a hotbed of grilling—done by and large with a simplicity that stands in striking contrast to the foams, jellies, and deconstructions of Spain's culinary avant-garde. A sprinkle of sea salt, a splash of vinegar or olive oil—these are the seasonings favored by the majority of Basque grill masters. Consider this simple grilled cod topped with olive oil and fried garlic—inspired by Beti-Jai ("always a holiday"), a popular restaurant tucked away in the warren of narrow streets in the old quarter of Donostia-San Sebastián.

我的父亲和母亲都是好厨师,和机器人h of them had definite opinions about how things should be done in the kitchen. But this dish was my father's—his alone—so my mother never said a word about it. I like to call it the "tripe of my father,"aitabeing the Basque word for "father." It is a rustic family-style dish that satisfies the appetite and nourishes the soul. As you cook honeycomb tripe, it will throw off a lot of liquid, which eliminates the need for stock and flavors the sauce. Like most braises, this tastes even better the next day.

When I was asked to be the guest chef for a meal honoring Sr. Alvarez del Manzano, the mayor of Madrid, at the Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles, the menu included this classic Spanish tart. It is so rich and moist, it needs no more garnish than a littlenatillas[crèeme anglais] and a dusting of powdered sugar.

At the restaurant Marichu, we offer this sweet, liquid custard as a dessert in itself, served in small custard cups. Butnatillasis also used in countless Basque recipes as a sauce. Although we in the Basque Country claim this sauce as our own, the French make a similar sauce and call itcrème anglaise— thereby crediting the English as its inventors. [This is an ingredient in the recipe forAlmond Tart.]

This Basque specialty consists of scrambled eggs garnished with tomatoes, peppers, onions, and a slice of ham. The sameBasquaisegarnish may be prepared in advance and used for chicken and fish. Chez Gladines serves itspipéradewithpatates sautées— potatoes pan-fried in duck fat and seasoned with garlic and parsley.