Akelarre

Section 1·The Third Name

How many cities of 180,000 people can claim a concentration of Michelin-starred restaurants like this? San Sebastián, a port city in Spain's Basque Country, has long been the answer to that question. From the pintxo bars packed into the narrow lanes of the old town to the three-star restaurants scattered across the city's outskirts, food here is the destination itself.

San Sebastián has three three-star restaurants: Martin Berasategui, Arzak, and Akelarre. In terms of global standing, Akelarre is unquestionably the third name on that list. Its highest placement on the World's 50 Best Restaurants was 63rd, in 2010. By September 2023, when I visited, the restaurant had long since dropped off the main list entirely. Even so, there were reasons to come here. The view, and Pedro Subijana.

Section 2·Subijana's Fifty Years

Born in San Sebastián in 1948, Subijana became head chef at Akelarre in 1975 and has spent fifty years at this single address. Together with Juan Mari Arzak, he spent two weeks in Paul Bocuse's kitchen in Lyon, and returned to co-found Nueva Cocina Vasca, the movement that redrew the map of Spanish gastronomy. The third Michelin star followed in 2006 and has been held ever since. In an era when many chefs step back from running the restaurant after a third star, fifty years at one stove speaks for itself.

Section 3·Monte Igeldo

The restaurant sits inside a hotel on the slope of Monte Igeldo. From the old town, a local bus takes twenty minutes, and from the stop it is a short walk to the entrance.

Half a flight of stairs down, the dining room opens onto the sea beyond the glass. Every seat faces the water, including those on the upper level. Booking lunch was the right call. To begin a meal in a room full of that light is to have already received something before the first course arrives.

A welcome sparkling wine arrives as you are seated. I had expected Champagne; it was cava. Not a bad start, and sufficient for what it was.

Section 4·The Opening

The first amuse-bouche was a reimagining of the Gilda, a classic Basque pintxo, in the shape of a macaron. The form suggested dessert; the flavour was unmistakably Spanish. It was a single bite with a clear point of view.

This was followed by a consommé jelly with curried chicken: light, pleasant, a clean transition.

The proper opening came with three-colour bread and goat's butter.

The butter was embossed with a goat and the word Akera, which means male goat in Basque. The restaurant's name, Akelarre, derives from the legend of the witches' sabbath, presided over by a goat, a scene Goya painted in a canvas that hangs in the Prado. The goat's milk butter was good in itself, and the bread went down easily.

Section 5·The Bekarki Begins

The Bekarki menu began with Pure Red Prawn Essence and Pink Grapefruit: raw prawn and grapefruit over a rice cracker base, with a sauce made from roasted prawn heads.

This dish was one of the reasons I chose Bekarki over Aranori, and it did not live up to my expectations. The rice cracker underneath felt unnecessary, and its purpose was not apparent.

The second course, Kiskilla, Crunchy of Their Head with Rice Venere and Salpicón Sorbet, arrived in a cylindrical vessel printed with the Akelarre logo, topped with black rice crackers and filled with small raw shrimp and a Salpicón sorbet.

Breaking the crust with a spoon was meant to reveal the contents, but the vessel was disproportionately large for what was inside. It was a dish with an interesting idea at its centre, and fresh shrimp, and an intriguing sorbet, yet when all of it came together, the flavour did not resolve into anything legible.

Third: White Tuna Tartare, Pickled Cherries Chutney. Tuna tartare dressed in chutney with cherries.

For anyone accustomed to raw fish, this was a preparation in which the sauce erased the tuna's own flavour. Without seeing the menu name first, I would not have identified it as tuna.

The wine pairing was 155 euros. The first pour was an Amontillado VORS, a fortified sherry served alongside starters, which I had not encountered in Spanish fine dining before. The aroma was pleasant, but the match with the food did not impress. The second wine, an Albariño 2021, was, frankly, the kind of bottle I could drink at a reasonable price even back in Korea. The third, Egon Müller Riesling 2022, was a step up. The Clos Mogador Nelin that came with the fish course left no impression at all. The Torralbenc Rosado had a retail price, when I later looked it up, in the range of fifteen to twenty euros a bottle. At a 155-euro pairing at a three-star restaurant, a bottle in that price range left me quietly seething.

By this point, honesty requires saying plainly: through the middle of the meal, Akelarre was not meeting the expectations that come with three stars.

By this point, honesty requires saying plainly: through the middle of the meal, Akelarre was not meeting the expectations that come with three stars.

Section 6·Two Moments of Force

Sautéed Fresh Foie Gras with Salt Flakes and Grain Pepper.

It would be no exaggeration to say this dish was why I had chosen Bekarki. Avian flu had effectively halted foie gras imports back home, so I had told myself I must eat it once I was in Europe. Throughout this trip, it appeared on menus and was frequently unavailable. The anticipation had accumulated.

The plate arrived with a white wine sauce, coarsely cracked pepper, and thin shards of salt crystal.

After the first bite, I wanted to place this dish above everything I had eaten at any fine dining restaurant on this journey. The sweetness of the sauce and the sharpness of the salt never got in each other's way, yet came together in perfect harmony. That phrase gets overused in fine dining writing; this dish earned it.

The sweetness of the sauce and the sharpness of the salt never got in each other's way, yet came together in perfect harmony. That phrase gets overused in fine dining writing; this dish earned it.

Tranche of grilled Turbot, with potato, onion, and garlic, was the next course. The fish was cooked bone-in, candied first and finished in the josper, the bones meant to lend juiciness to the flesh.

The execution was technically clean. The dish itself, however, did not stay with me; against the foie gras that preceded it, the turbot read as the kind of straightforward cooking that any competent kitchen at this level could produce. The Clos Mogador Nelin pairing, mentioned earlier, did nothing to lift it.

A cephalopod course followed (Cephalopods in Different Types of Cooking: cuttlefish, squid, and octopus).

The cuttlefish and squid were well executed. There was so little octopus that I almost doubted it was there at all. It tasted good, but it was not much to get excited about.

For the main, I chose Baresarian Suckling Lamb from the two Bekarki options: boneless rib of lamb, simply seasoned, alongside a fried bread made with sweetbreads.

The bread looked from the outside like nothing more than a thick piece of toast; one bite, and a soft aroma of lamb spread through it. The ingredient had been concealed entirely from sight and revealed only through taste.

This was the best main course across all the three-star restaurants I visited on this trip. The next day, Martin Berasategui served the same ingredient, suckling lamb, as its main. The comparison was not that Berasategui fell short; it was that Akelarre's version had been exceptional.

The pairing wine for the main, Bodegas San Román Tinto 2018, a 100% Tempranillo from Toro, had the body and fragrance to suit the lamb. The pairing had steadied itself compared to the first half of the meal.

Section 7·The Recovery

The first dessert, Chocolate, Hibiscus and Hazelnut, was unremarkable.

The second, Fried Frantxineta, Rhubarb Cream, paired a traditional Basque custard-filled pastry roll with rhubarb ice cream.

It was my first taste of rhubarb, and there was nothing vegetal to put me off, only a gentle, floral flavour, and a brittle caramel-like wafer on top of the ice cream was simply good.

The desserts, taken together, were satisfying.

The pairing recovered here as well. The Olivares Dulce Monastrell, a dense sweet wine at 16 percent alcohol, worked cleanly against the chocolate. The Tokaji Aszú 6 Puttonyos 2017 that closed the course was a sweet Hungarian wine, not especially high in alcohol, with fine fruit aromatics. What the first half of the pairing had failed to provide, the second half partially restored.

Section 8·The Coffee

After the meal, the lower terrace café is available for coffee. The clouds had cleared. Sitting with a flat white, looking down at the Atlantic from the side of Monte Igeldo, it occurred to me that this cup, rather than the course itself, might be how I remember Akelarre.

This is a restaurant with two moments of genuine force: a plate of foie gras and a lamb main. Those two dishes alone are reason enough to have come. What runs between them, however, did not hold to the standard three stars implies. The first half of the wine pairing was difficult to defend at its price, and several of the creative dishes prioritized concept over result.

Whether to recommend Akelarre is not a question with a clean answer. A significant portion of what this place offers exists outside the food: the window facing the sea, the afternoon light, the coffee on the terrace, and the name of a chef who has kept this kitchen for fifty years. Whether those things compensate for an inconsistent menu is a question that depends, in the end, on what you came expecting.