Nerua, Bilbao: A Basque Symphony's Muted Encore
Nerua, Bilbao: A Basque Symphony's Muted Encore
A Bittersweet Reunion: Reflecting on Nerua's Evolution (or Lack Thereof)
Eight years ago, I waltzed into Nerua, the Guggenheim Bilbao's culinary gem, and was utterly captivated. It was a Basque flavor fiesta, each dish a note in a symphony orchestrated by maestro Josean Alija. The energy was electric, the food, pure poetry. The minimalism in Josean's dishes was divine, the concentration of flavors was out of this world. He was a true original in the Spanish culinary scene.
Fast forward to today. I'm back, a seasoned traveler revisiting a beloved haunt. And something's off. The magic's still simmering, but it's... different. Like hearing a favorite song covered by a tribute band – the tune's familiar, but the soul's missing.
We snagged a spot at the chef's table for lunch, a front-row seat to the culinary performance. A chance to chat with the brigade revealed a kitchen humming with talent, but perhaps missing that spark of unbridled creativity. And is it really necessary, 30 years after El Bulli's culinary revolution, to still be wielding the espuma canister with such abandon? Especially when it adds nothing to a rather pedestrian "huevo fluido," better suited for breakfast than a Michelin-starred tasting menu.
As for the opening act, the Alcachofa (artichoke) was a bland overture, leaving me yearning for a bolder melody. The Huevo fluido con torreznos y jamón Ibérico (slow-cooked egg with pork belly and Ibérico ham) showcased technical skill, but the flavors fell flat, leaving me wondering if a simple sunny-side up wouldn't have been more satisfying.
Then came the Ostra a la brasa y pilpil de anchoa (grilled oyster with anchovy pil-pil sauce), and damn, it was good. A smoky, briny kiss of the sea. Even the sea bass with saffron, root vegetables, and mushroom jus, while a visual stunner, whispered where it should sing.
The Kokotxas de bacalao (cod cheeks) were cooked to perfection – tender, gelatinous, and rich. But that smoked leek and cockle broth? In my opinion, it muddied the waters and didn't bring anything to the party.
Thankfully, the Ibérico pork belly with pickled vegetables swoops in to save the day. It's a proud display of Basque bounty, a dish that knows its worth.
And the Pastel de leche con helado de plátano (milk cake with plantain ice cream), elevated with a decadent dollop of caviar, ended the meal on a truly indulgent high note.
But the real surprise came with a bonus track: Perretxikcos – those prized wild mushrooms with their earthy, umami punch – simply sautéed and served on toast. It was a fleeting glimpse of the brilliance I remembered, a reminder that even amidst the symphony's missteps, there are still moments of pure brilliance to be found.
The service is still top-notch, the wine list a treasure trove of local gems. But I miss the Alija of yore, the culinary daredevil who could push boundaries while staying true to his roots. This menu, while technically impressive, feels like it's lost its way.
Perhaps I'm just chasing shadows of a former life, a Platonic ideal of Nerua that exists only in my memory. We travelers often cling to these perfect recollections, hoping to relive them. But like any great city, a chef's gotta evolve. And while Nerua may not shine as brightly as it once did, it's still a damn good meal. Just don't expect the same fireworks show you might remember.
Look, maybe I'm just a nostalgic bastard chasing ghosts. We travelers do that, clinging to those perfect memories like a life raft. But kitchens, like cities, they gotta evolve or die. And while Nerua ain't what it used to be, it's still a damn fine meal. Just don't expect the same culinary fireworks you might remember.