The crowds thinned out as we got farther from Las Ramblas, but by late that night chanting crowds were flowing down our tiny Carre Cervantes. While the night was still young, we dropped into a quiet Basque bar to have a drink and sample some of the pintxos (literally, a toothpick or wooden skewer, but the Basque catchall name for tapas). Each pintxo cost a Euro and was big enough for both of us to get a taste. Trays of each were lined up on the two-level stand-up bar, and servers circulated with hot pintxos fresh off the stove.
Tortilla espanola on crusty bread, piquillo peppers stuffed with tuna, ham croquettes, a kind of crab bruschetta topped with a guajillo chili and an olive, a similar smoked salmon sandwich ... We tried about 10 things, each beautifully presented. This mix of little items turned out to be surprisingly filling.
These pintxos, like much of the food we enjoyed in Spain, were each topped with a little something: a sprig of fresh rosemary, a slice of olive, a sprinkle of pimenton, a rosette of aioli. Besides looking nice, these little garnishes sparked up the flavor enough to add another dimension, a bit of complexity, a bit of the unfamiliar. Who knew such a small touch could make such a big difference?
