Why I Always Go to the Market First — Especially in San Sebastián

As a pintxo tour guide, the first thing most guests ask me is: what's your favorite bar for pintxos?

I always answer with a question: have you gone to the market yet?

They usually look confused. After all, San Sebastián has no shortage of pintxo bars—and even more pintxo tour guides, but very few of us are chefs and pintxo tour guides. 

As a chef in the Basque Country, ingredients come first and the market is king. 

Saturday morning, before setting up the class, I drop off our empty food containers at the fishmonger and butcher. I let them know how many guests we’re having today—because by the time we arrive with the group, the market will be buzzing.

My first stop is always at Andoni’s, our butcher. I’ve stopped asking how he’s doing after several “just look at me, I’m doing great!”. So now, I just greet him with an “Egun on!” (Good morning in Basque), a quick pause while glancing at him and saying “I see you’re doing great!”

After that, I go to Josu’s, our fishmonger. The two men could not be more different from each other, but if there’s something they have in common it’s this:

They’re proud of their product.

Each, in their own field, eager to show us what they’ve got and the stories behind where it’s coming from.

This particular Saturday, the market is packed. There’s a bit of backlog in the orders and Josu and Julia are overwhelmed with the number of customers waiting to be served. This is part of the reason why I stop by earlier to let them know we’re coming but the morning has been so busy they haven't had the time to prepare our order when, midway through my explanation, someone in my group asks:

“Why did you choose this stall in particular?”

Even though it’s a commonly asked question, I wasn’t expecting it mid-presentation.

The obvious answer could have been “Quality and Service” but that felt so vague. I’m sure every other stall works hard to offer the best quality and service they can. Instead, I looked around the displayed fish they have over crushed-ice-beds and found what I was looking for: A stiff, upward-curved, red mullet — almost defying gravity.

I waited to make eye-contact with Josu, asked for permission to hold it with my own hands, and present it to the group:

This.

Fish so fresh, rigor mortis is still in place.

Josu doesn't speak English, but he knows exactly what I'm saying. He smirks and invites me into his stall to wash my hands. He looks relieved. The question gave him the breathing room he needed to finish our order. I pay and we’re all set.

Next stop: Andoni’s.

We’re still eating Txuleta today, and knowing Andoni, this cow is from a farm less than 20km away.

Now, does it take longer to buy groceries visiting stall by stall?

Absolutely. It does.

But I can tell you:

With a stiff, bright-eyed, vivid-red-gilled fish in hand, you DO NOT have access to this quality of ingredients in the supermarket. And trust me—you can taste the difference.

Especially in Basque cuisine, where simplicity exposes everything.

You’ll hear me say more than once:

When we have our Basque cuisine cooking class, half of the work is done at the market.
The other half we do at Kookin is respecting the ingredients enough to highlight their own qualities—and trying to intervene as little as possible.

In Basque cooking, the market does half the work.

The rest? Respect the ingredient—and get out of its way.