If only someone was taking photos of my expressions there would have been photo booth images of roll my eyes, OMG, holy smack! What did I just put in my mouth? Mmm… good surprise written all over my face.  The food was the uncontested highlight of my time spent in Bilbao, Spain.

Before leaving home, a google search for  “gastronomie” lead me to the resturuant, Nerua in the Guggenheim Bilbao Museum.  So, I booked a late lunch reservation on line at the recipient of the coveted Michelin star distinction two hours after my plane was due to touch down.  I entered the restaurant from the outside of the museum on the Spider statue side and wind up directly in the kitchen of the restaurant.

I gave the deer-in-the-headlights look when the kitchen staff all paused and greeted me with “Buenos Dias!” I instantly thought I must have entered somewhere where I shouldn’t be. I backed out of the door but was collected by a server and shown to my table. There was only me and one other table occupied so I received individualized service. It was fantastic.  I was catered to like Belle in Beauty and the Beast.  The special care I was given let it be known, gave way that this was going to be quite the culinary experience like no other.

Meanwhile, as bread and wine was brought out, I took on the role as food paparazzi.  Noticing me taking constant photos, the staff asked if I wanted to take a seat in the kitchen.

I chose the meal option with eight courses over the six, with the chef’s wine selection for every course. The courses just kept getting better.  I didn’t even know what I was eating half the time so my mind couldn’t predict what it should taste like ahead of time.  Sometimes I was expecting cold, sweet, citrus, but what I got was warm spicy, hearty sweet. Surprise stayed written all over my face. I had 11 individuals working regimentally and in silence on my one meal!

Now I don’t have all the hoity-toity, fancy food critic words to describe each bite. In fact, I was almost tempted to watch Disney’s Ratatouille for inspiration. All I can tell you is this food was divine and the overall experience well worth all I paid.  So instead of me trying to explain to you the glory that danced on my taste buds, please take a stroll through my photo essay on my culinary experience:

I expressed how it seemed as though they really cared. They must love me if they take the time to have five cooks using little tweezer-like utensils to perfectly arrange little balls of miso in bean broth or just to chat with me afterwards. This was their life’s passion that they shared with me. This team wanted to make sure I had good food to eat. I witnessed no yelling or ego or tempers existed like on the television shows, Top Chef or Hell’s Kitchen.   No boxed mac ‘n cheese or mashed potatoes. No microwaves. No prepackaged food. No food cooked last week. No good enough. No secrets.  No drama. Just plain fabulous. Superb. Fantastical.

As the staff started cleaning after being open to serve me and me alone, I reflected on all that I had just experienced.
So this is gastronomy; cooking with love. Putting your heart, soul, and passion into meals. It was t that moment it donned on me: I was introduced to gastronomy a long time ago by my Grandma Nellie. Although this was my first time dropping some
$300 on a meal, this was not my first gastronomic experience.  The meals seeped in love offered at my grandma’s gave the same experience.

When I was a little belle, I used to spend the summers with both of my grandmothers.  Days at my mother’s mama’s house revolved around meals. Whatever I wanted for breakfast she always had in stock or would get for me. She is that awesome. I remember asking for doughnuts and low and behold she had them. Bacon and biscuits, she break it out for me. Pancakes or waffles, she’d have it. Any cereal I could name, she’d have it for me. At home, I’d just have to make due with the one cereal we had on hand but with grandma, breakfast was made to order!  I remember taking a long shot and requesting Toaster strudels which, by the way, they don’t sale in Germany, for breakfast. I saw commercials for them and thought it looked good.  She happened to have coupons for them and said ok. We went to the super market that day. Since that summer that I was 8 years old, they’ve been a mainstay on her grocery list and you can count on them always being in her freezer.

For lunch I’d have a sandwich. I used to only do mayo sandwiches. It Grandma Nellie who introduced me to the concept of actually putting meat and cheese on sandwiches.  I remember sitting at her table and her asking me what I wanted on my wheat bread and me listing off Mayonnaise.  She complied but I think it through her off because she mentioned my choice to my aunt later on.  It wasn’t long before she had be trying out deli slices. She’d cut my sandwich bread into fourths or, on particularly grown-up days, halves. Sometime in triangles, other times in squares or rectangles. I remember feeling special and anticipating what shape may sandwich would be in for the day. And I got chocolate milk. Everyday. Sometimes I’d sneak a guzzle Hershey’s chocolate syrup out of the aluminum can she always bought it in. I even got her to buy strawberry syrup for me. She was the one who introduced the addition of cheese on broccoli instantly making broccoli my favorite vegetable. In fact, all vegetables were made better by grandma: potatoes, green beans, carrots. Grandma could cook them so they were edible to the most selective pallet of the second grader.

If I was tidy, sometimes I’d get a dessert served later in the evening in green bowls full of vanilla ice cream with fresh strawberries that I could eat them in the living room while watching the news with her.  And to top it all off… I got to stay up late… ‘til 11 pm. I tell ya, Grandma Nellie’s house was a child’s luxury vacation resort.

When my parents picked me up I was so excited to go home but it wasn’t long before I missed grandma’s attention to detail when cooking. I told my mom how her mama used to cut my sandwiches before serving them to me. My mom confirmed, yes, she cooks with love. This was the first time I ever understood the concept of cooking with love. Grandma Nellie must love me because she cut my sandwiches for me. She cares about the food that I put into my body. Her meals were healthy, not for me to just shovel in to keep me alive. The extra effort and care put into my meals made me know I was, without a doubt, loved by this woman.

My initial experience at Nerua transcended the resturuant and was experienced in all aspects of my Bilbao exploration. There was no settling for good enough anywhere. The attention to detail was evident in  service, food, and every angle and curve of the architecture and art. Even the simple finger food appeared to be made with pride. What a fabulous example to apply to life. Whatever you do, put your passion into it. No secrets, nothing to hide. Of course, as the chefs at Nerua displayed, this doesn’t work if your work is massed produced to serve billions and billions. But to your selected few, good enough is not good enough. Put your heart and soul into your work and serve with pride.

That’s all for now y’all!

 xoxo,

     Belle