Salty, green, a little dangerous — named for Rita Hayworth in Gilda. You thread a salted anchovy, a manzanilla olive and a pickled guindilla on a toothpick: three bites that hit at once, oil catching the light. You eat them standing at the zinc.
The pintxo was born in San Sebastián after the war, named for the film, and is still the one from which a thousand others descend. It is bar food in the strict sense — assembled, not cooked, with a glass of Txakoli poured from a height.
Thread them just before serving so the anchovy does not go slack. A little oil over the plate. They are the opening argument of a Basque evening, not a meal. Don't fuss; three things on a stick is the whole recipe.
Method
- 01
Drain the anchovies, olives, and pickled peppers well, so the pintxos don't weep onto the plate. If the guindillas are long, fold them once to make a bite-sized bundle. Have your toothpicks ready; this is assembly, not cooking, and it should go quickly. The anchovy is the salted, oil-packed kind, not the vinegar-marinated boquerón.
- 02
Thread an olive, a folded anchovy, and a pepper onto each toothpick, in that order — salty, green, a little dangerous, as they named them for Rita Hayworth. Repeat until you have 12. Don't pack them so tightly the olive splits; you want three things that hit at once when you bite. Work just before serving so the anchovy doesn't go slack.
- 03
Arrange them on a small plate and thread a little extra-virgin olive oil over the lot, so it catches the light. That's all the dressing they need. They are bar food in the strict sense: assembled, not cooked, eaten standing at the zinc. A little oil on the plate is an invitation, not a puddle.
- 04
Serve them at once, with a glass of Txakoli poured from a height — the Basque way, to wake the wine. These are the opening argument of a Basque evening, not a meal. Eat them standing if you can. They should be salty, briny, and a little hot, all in one bite.
