The philosophy of fire: The kitchen of truth at Etxebarri

EBRU ERKE

The source of the renewed attention on Spanish cuisine in recent years was neither a chef trained at prestigious culinary schools nor a cooking style based on technical showmanship. This shift is unfolding in a small village just an hour away from San Sebastián. Victor Arguinzoniz — a man who once worked in factories and who never received any formal culinary education — created one of the most talked-about restaurants in the world by building a philosophy around fire. His most defining feature is his “ultra-real” approach. Let me explain it this way: If realism is indispensable in art, then surrealism is equally horizon-opening. One exposes life in its rawness; the other redraws its limits through imagination. Just as these two movements are indispensable to art, they are also essential to gastronomy.

Restaurants like Alchemist in Copenhagen represent the surrealist side of gastronomy. They play with the senses, bend reality and bring theatricality into the kitchen. Perhaps experiencing it once is enough; it shocks and shakes you, leaving a strong impression in a single visit. Etxebarri, however, exists in a completely different realm — within gastronomy’s ultra-realist vein. Here, food is not built upon narratives but on truth itself; fire is used not for spectacle but for transformation. Ingredients wear no costumes; they do not hide themselves. They speak quietly and simply. Because in Victor Arguinzoniz’s kitchen, every product is respected as it is. That is why one visit to Etxebarri is never enough; one feels compelled to return, just to understand why this food feels so profoundly authentic. Surrealism ignites the mind; realism reminds the heart why it connects.

Arguinzoniz never left the village where he was born — he took the only tool he had, fire and turned it into a culinary language. It is an approach rarely seen in the history of gastronomy: A cuisine rising from instinct and nature. Victor transformed an old building, and most importantly, designed all the grill systems in the kitchen himself. The pulley-operated grills with millimetric precision that we see at Etxebarri today are not products of any industrial kitchen manufacturer — they are the result of one man’s imagination, born in a village. That is why the world calls him “the grill genius” or “the man who listens to fire.” Arguinzoniz does not see fire as merely a cooking tool, but as an invisible partner that reveals the character of the product. The 50 Best list has placed him in the top 10 almost every year since 2009; in 2024 and 2025, his restaurant was named the second-best in the world. Meanwhile, his sommelier, Mohammed D. Benabdallah, was chosen as the best sommelier in the world. One of the reasons you can’t find a reservation even a year in advance is precisely these accolades.

Mohamed Benabdallah deserves a separate chapter. His story is one of the rare journeys in gastronomy that erases the concept of borders. Born in Algeria and raised in Switzerland from a young age, he gained not only a new life but also a mind capable of thinking across cultures. His first encounter with wine was not in a sommelier school but in Quique Dacosta’s restaurant, where he began as a waiter and changed course the moment he grasped the relationship between food and drink. His six-year period at Mugaritz was not just a job — it laid the foundation for service discipline, depth of wine knowledge and the ability to build invisible connections between plate and glass. When he joined Etxebarri in 2017, he was no longer just a good sommelier, but an interpreter who could see the concept before the dish and who understood how the kitchen and the dining room could function as a single organism.

The language of fire that Etxebarri has forged — wood, embers, smoke and unembellished ingredients — finds its reflection in Moha’s pairings. For him, wine pairing is not a footnote to the menu but the second storyteller of the narrative. The texture of the dish, cooking temperature, salt and fat balance—and even the type of wood used for the flame — all factor into his choice. That is why he says, “I don’t pair — I write a scenario.” Today, he curates the restaurant’s wine and beverage list of over 400 labels; he also acts as restaurant manager, orchestrating everything from the guests’ moods to the rhythm of the service team. In a location that feels “in the middle of nowhere,” his contribution is crucial to the simultaneous presence of world-class gastronomy and an effortless atmosphere.

At Etxebarri, while every dish interacts with fire in some way, different wood types are used for different ingredients — Mediterranean oak, vine branches, pieces of old wine barrels… He deliberately avoids charcoal, believing it hardens the aroma. According to him, wood fire speaks the language of smoke in a more refined way. Therefore, even though approximately 40 percent of the menu changes daily, one rule never changes: “Every dish must interact with fire in some way.” And this interaction becomes a distinct narrative on each plate. When handling Palamós shrimp, the fire behaves gently — barely perceptible — yet with the dry-aged ribeye, it becomes assertive enough to create a powerful Maillard reaction on the surface. One of the most crucial points is that everything that touches the fire passes only through the chef’s hands. He never leaves the stove or the fire.

Now, let’s turn to the dishes. The Palamós red shrimp arrives daily from the Catalan shores of Spain in seawater and is thrown onto the fire without delay. Chef Arguinzoniz cooks it with almost no intervention—only a brief exposure to the embers. A gently touched egg yolk becomes a vessel for the aroma of white truffle. The final steak — named among the top three ribeyes in the world on the 101 Best Steak list — is not acclaimed solely for the quality of the meat but for how the fire is used. At Etxebarri, the dry-aged ribeye’s exterior caramelizes with a Maillard reaction, while the interior turns into a perfect ‘lokum’ consistency with fat melting between its textures. Many chefs describe this dish as “a manifesto written through fire,” as it demonstrates how masterfully fire can be controlled. There are no flames — on the contrary, there is precise temperature management. Every degree, every distance is calculated. Because here, fire doesn’t merely cook — it refines.

The final dish on the menu — Beetroot and concentrated milk ice cream — shows that fire at Etxebarri not only dominates meat and seafood, but also emotion. The milk is concentrated with low heat and subtle smoke before being turned into ice cream. Then comes an unexpected pairing: Beetroot juice. This contrast does more than surprise — it amplifies the earthy notes of the beet. With this dessert, the chef leaves what feels like the last line of the menu: “Fire doesn’t cook. Fire tells a story.”