Bar Nestor, San Sebastián
When somewhere is as hyped as Bar Nestor, I get nervous. Restaurants spoken about in near-mythical terms rarely live up to the expectations that build around them.
But my best friend Liz had assured me, with the same reverence she usually only reserves for Korean BBQ, that the steak here was the best she had eaten anywhere in the world. And Liz is never wrong about food. If she says something is worth flying for, it usually is.
Before arriving, I had read all the horror stories about the queues: two-hour waits just to stand elbow-to-elbow at the bar and the near impossibility of securing a slice of their famous tortilla. I had carefully prepared my partner, who considers queuing one of life’s great injustices, for what I promised would be a worthwhile ordeal.
As it turns out, there are real advantages to visiting San Sebastián in February.
They open at 1pm. We arrived at 11:45am. There was no one there.
Slightly puzzled but quietly delighted, we waited until a small hatch opened and a cheerful man appeared to take orders for the tortilla and steak, the two dishes you must reserve in advance. We were only the third couple to put our name down, which meant we also secured a spot at the bar’s only table.
He told us to return at 12:45pm. Slightly suspicious (and deeply protective of our table) we went for a quick espresso nearby but returned early just in case. The street was still calm. No queue, no chaos.
At 12:45pm sharp, names were called out one by one and we were ushered inside. We settled into our place at a shared table beside a friendly Japanese couple who, like us, travel the world in search of memorable meals. The day before, they had taken a trip across the region just for lunch. I recognised myself in them.
The red wine began to flow and the room slowly filled with that warm buzz that only small, crowded bars seem able to create.
First came the tortilla, each portion called out by name like a small ceremony. It was excellent. Though if I’m honest, it still doesn’t quite surpass the caramelised masterpiece served at Antonio’s, which exists in its own category of tortilla perfection. Even so, it was far better than any tortilla I’ve had outside this corner of Spain.
Next arrived the padrón peppers and a simple tomato salad. Both were exquisite. The tomatoes were firm and bright, their acidity cutting cleanly through the richness of what we knew was coming next. We had to stop ourselves from finishing the entire plate before the main event arrived.
And then the txuleta appeared.
Thick-cut and cooked rare, the steak arrived with a dark, caramel crust and a generous scattering of rock salt. The fat, a deep buttery yellow, melted almost instantly, a sign of beautifully raised, grass-fed cattle. This wasn’t the only txuleta we ate on the trip, but the depth of flavour here was remarkable.
It is easy to understand why Bar Nestor has achieved near-legendary status. Liz, as usual, was absolutely right, this meal is worth flying for.
