-By Danny Mellman

The Basque -- a small corner of the world shared by southern France and northern-most Spain -- while hailed as the food Utopia, chefs' Eden and gastronomic axis, is indeed all about food, but also so much more.

This autonomous community of Spain, encompassing three territories -- Gipuzkoa, Alava and Biscay -- is a one-stop wonderland of food, culture, art and nature, that is, if anyone dare forgo the other regions of Spain that I have become so enamored of. Not to overstate its culinary prowess, but the Basque is home to more Michelin stars (14) than any other place (per meter in land area) and home of Juan Marie Arzak, the Father of Nuevo Cucina Espana, a culinary rebel and the mentor of Einstein-Frankenstein molecular cuisinologist Ferran Adria and many others.

It is also home to incredible beaches, mountains, prestigious wines and the Guggenheim Museum -- more on that later.

Vitoria-Gasteis, the capital of Alava and of the Basque Country, has plenty of greenery intermingled with older architecture, cobbled streets, an expansive town center and the obligatory, ornately ornate, aged cathedral, Santa Maria. A football stadium, for one of the national soccer teams, with its public pool and training facilities, blends into the local surroundings, as if it were a YMCA. The pedestrians are a very casual mix of tourists, locals and businesspersons, with bicycles and scooters outnumbering trucks. The City Plaza is a maze of eateries, sidurias (a term derived from the pouring of the local apple beverage), shops and galleries. This capital city has a wonderful small city feel, but as night falls, the tables move to the streets and the cafes come alive. In the true Spanish tradition, nighttime is the right time. Socializing, with food and drink being the magnet, seems to be the goal. Pintxos, the Basque version of tapas, are as diverse as Spain itself. Trays of mini ham sandwiches; bouquets of skewered shrimp in flower vases; a glass pedestal crowned with a single gold-leaf-flecked kumquat; almond-stuffed olives wrapped in shaved bottarga (salted tuna roe); or a crystal flute filled with a sundae of seared foie gras, caramelized onions, tiny wild strawberries and green apple "espuma" -- the display is dizzying. A culinary starting point for some, dinner for others -- these little bites, which are so profuse, are eaten by all.

Just outside the skirmish of town lies Salburua Park. A wealth of flora and fauna, biking trails, picnic areas, bird-viewing blinds, marshlands and fields, which are all within view of the city skyline.

Beautiful Landscape, Divine Food
Further south, in Alava, over the Cantabrian Mountain range, lies the Basque portion of La Rioja or Rioja Alavesa. This relatively small region of 12,000 inhabitants covers 15 municipalities, medieval villages and almost 400 wineries. The ancient stone villages, Bronze Age settlements with names like Leza, La Guardia, Navaridas and Paganos, their quaint, winding narrow streets, the wind-etched tattoos of time and the embellishments of those that came before, each town is steeped in its wine-making heritage; underground presses and storing vaults reveal the historic importance of "the fruit of the vine" and their Roman pilgrims. Some of the greatest and most long-lived wines of the world are produced here, in the alluvial marl soil. Not your typical lush, wine-growing region, the seemingly dry, desert-like appearance is broken by green grape vines, cactus, bay shrubs and craggy mountain ranges. Other than church steeples, the newest of which was completed in the 1800s, the skyline is low. Winding, slow-paced roads carve through these walled cities. A simple stroll reveals a grocer, a butcher, a bookstore and then shining stainless steel, gleaming glass, askew carved doors -- the new wineries. Modernist, almost futuristic architecture, Michelin restaurants, spas -- all form a spectacular counterfoil to the centuries-old vines and medieval cave wineries.

Nowhere is this more visible than in the tiny town of Elciego, its two unequal Gothic-Renaissance towers of the church of San Andres and the voluptuous, curving, shiny titanium, asymmetrical walls and painted roof of the Frank O. Gehry-designed Hotel of the Marques de Riscal. This artistic and architectural spectacle, built in 2006, is an incredible contradiction to the historical vineyards and cellars of the 1850s winery of the same name. Serenity, art, food and wine converge in avant-garde style within this luxurious hotel. The grape-inspired Caudalie Vinotherapie Spa, the custom linens and furniture, the incredible wines and cellars, and the Basque cuisine of Francis Paniego, the first Riojan chef to receive a coveted Michelin star.

As we left the vast vineyards and small, walled, gnarled villages, heading north through mountain ranges towards the cold, clear Sea of Biscaya, the agrarian rolls into the industrial -- raw stone and dirt to concrete and tar -- and we are now in Bilbao. Best known for the Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao has always been a central shipping hub of Spain. The turbulent skyline is in constant motion, old, new, steel and wood, urban architecture as art, a city as the gallery. The flow of history and future, like the banks of the river Nervion, one holding the Old City, a Basque outpost, and the other the Guggenheim and its surrounding neighborhoods. This cultural synthesis is a daily reminder of and tribute to the fierce independence of the Basque heritage and the ever-changing city that surrounds it.

The Guggenheim Museum is the brainchild of Frank O. Gehry and the Basque government, the 32,500-square-meter focus of Bilbao, the metamorphosis of the ragged, industrialized Franco era, which now fully integrates the city itself into the structure. Up close, titanium, limestone and glass form a veritable sculpture. The canal Nervion, originally used to ship and haul goods to and from the sea, bounds this artistic monument on one side, with the calle Iparraguirre, a major thoroughfare, now designed with more area for walking and biking than driving, and the fine arts museum on the other. From a distance, the interconnecting shapes and materials form a curvaceous, sparkling form, reminiscent of a great ship.

To be truthful, the artist envisioned the complexity of crumpled paper and crushed coke cans for inspiration.

The Puente de La Salve bridge, a main city access, seems to disappear through the museum. At one point, the edge seems to run directly into the river. In the Guggenheim, massive galleries and displays, art of all sorts: steel plates that create a feeling of claustrophobia, movement and motion by R. Sera, "Fire" by Giuseppe Arcimboldo, a giant (40-foot tall) topiary "puppy" of steel, soil and flowers by Jeff Coons guards the rear entrance. Painting and works by Warhol, Rauschenberg and others, not to mention the permanent collection of "great masters" is always on view. On the broad pedestrian streets, falling stairways, numerous walks, action abounds. No festival, no holiday, just the attraction of being outside. Tourists, locals, kids and geriatrics all take to the streets. Dogs, skateboards, bikes, rollerblades coexist with the tree-lined streets and monumental public sculptures, what I am missing. Is it possible to encourage public use while preserving open space?

As I gaze, I notice that the walls and numerous statues of the city are for viewing pleasure, not a canvas for spray. Peaceful coexistence, it is the "Guggenheim Effect."

Walking across the famous lighted Calatrava Bridge, from the smooth concrete and limestone of the Museum walkways, one enters the ancient, sober, stone streets of the old city, carved stone facades, gas street lamps, gargoyles and the century-old Arriaga theatre. Clear Spanish chatter becomes a mix of Spanish and the Basque language, Eskuda, which, outlawed by Franco, rarely written, is of unknown origin -- African, Russian, Eskimo, no one knows for sure. One sure, unifying factor is food. Street vendors, cafes, restaurants, Pintxos abound. A "hole-in-the-wall" bar with its selection of bites -- fresh spider crab with coarse guacamole and licorice granite, marinated mackerel, salted mint and cherry meringue, always the unexpected. Little stores, a hand-painted public bandstand, mimes and other street characters beckon from the small streets and alleys. Café Iruna, dating from 1903, measures the history of the local cuisine.

And lest the artistry of Marques and the Guggenheim overwhelm us and make us forget, there is yet another marvel: the transporter bridge or "hanging bridge" of Bizkaia, built in 1893 by the Gustave Eiffel disciple, Alberto Palacio. This architectural masterpiece of steel and cables, shuttle cars and pedestrians, spans the Nervion between Portugalete and Las Arenas, the sibling ports of Bilboa and the Basque. This UNESCO world heritage monument, which is used primarily by the locals, is a "don't miss." For the small fare of 0.26 Euro, one can ride the bridge or take the lift up 50 meters and then stroll the 165-foot catwalk to the other side; incredible views abound and the ever-present salt air and sea breezes will set true the vision this artist had 120 years ago.

Traveling toward Donostia-San Sebastian, the capital of Gipuzkoa, another highly acclaimed gallery stands -- no titanium, no sheer glass, no twisting voluminous walls, only openness. This is the collection of Eduardo Chillada at Museo Chillada Leku: a roadside arboretum with gravel paths, a stone farmhouse and geometric hard sculptures. Stone, granite, concrete shapes dot the hillside, as if sprouting from the earth itself. All relating to the artist's sense of being and place; "Where are we from and why do we belong?" was always the question. This harmonious environment is for peaceful viewing or as a business or social gathering place. Unlike the Guggenheim, there is no confinement here, no urgency to view, only to enjoy.

Into the beachside capital of San Sebastian, one instantly feels the history, large boulevards, ornate buildings, urns with impatiens, spruce and giant palms. A feeling of grandeur pervades as you stroll the beach promenade, which passes the three coastal beaches of Ondarreta, La Concha and La Zurriola, viewing surfers, fishermen and sunbathers. The gas lamps, the modern Kursaal center, a venue for the international film and jazz festival, the Basque national orchestra, and numerous gardens and terraces beckon to the year-round flow of visitors. Antiques, art galleries and Old World civility draw, but none as much as the cuisine.

This is still a food destination for locals and tourists alike. Why here? Was it the French aristocracy, the cold clear fertile sea, the rich farmlands or a bit of them all? Always a summer playground for royals, like Monaco, Cannes and Portofino, the Basque Country, in particular San Sebastian, managed to maintain the local rustic cuisine while absorbing the food and tastes of settlers and traders. Capsicum (chilies), potatoes, pastries and chocolates are just a few items embraced by the strong French- and Spanish-influenced cuisine. The style of eating is as deeply ingrained as the food itself. The grand cider houses -- Sagartegiak -- with their salt cod tortillas, bone-in steaks and ewe's milk cheese; the Txoko, 100-plus-years-old gastronomic clubs, tiny communal spaces, where men, no women, gather for communal cooking and singing; small whitewashed cafes and stand-up bars around every corner and in every dwelling. Some are unshuttered houses, a front porch or a stone shed, all share this interest in food. The Michelin-starred domains of the Nuevo Cucina Vasca, culinary meccas for the adventurous, serious culinarian -- all options build the Basque cuisine and culture; food gets top billing, whether it is salt cod, olive and toast, or pickled mushrooms, lobster and passion fruit espuma cloaked in vanilla smoke.

A morning like any other; coffee and tortilla (baked omelets) or hard-grain bread and fresh preserves, maybe fresh kiwi and melon. A stroll through the Mercado de la Bretxa, this old city underground market offers all types of ingredients and a visual display to those unaccustomed to local fare. Drying racks with blood sausage, jamon -- Serrano, Iberico, Bayonne -- local produce, fresh fish, sea urchin, baby eels, pig's trotters, hams and fruits, calves' tongue and salt cod. Dried peppers and fresh lavender perfume the air, as a seemingly endless supply of cheese, fresh and cured meats and long-stemmed leeks stand at attention. Never far is a pastry or coffee or snack.

Dreaming of Pintxos
Parta vieja is the main area for pintxos; all sorts, simple to sublime, little beer bites to miniature masterpieces, and your appetite grows with every bite. A glass of sidre, local beer or txakoli -- a slightly effervescent white wine -- is the perfect accompaniment. Classics: potato omelets, salt cod and hard egg; jamon with toast and olive; a skewer of chili pepper, olive, shrimp and anchovies; a mini blueberry parfait spiked with Idiazabal and topped with seared foie gras; or baby cuttlefish stuffed with onions and Manchego layered in a cocktail of lemon confit and black olive syrup. The "txikiteo" tapas spree or crawl, as we Americans can relate, should be filling enough; Bar Ganbara, Alona Berri and Casa Gan Darias are a few well-known spots, but in my opinion, stop in anywhere you like, you won't be disappointed. Incredibly fresh seafood is available in most establishments, and for those gourmands, die-hard culinarians and those travelers who take themselves way too seriously, there are the "Michelin" houses.

As good as all the local food is, at least one meal should be at one of these food temples. That of Arzak and daughter Elena, Berasategui, Subijana and Andoni Aduriz, among others will certainly exemplify the area's food to the greatest extent and quell any trace of doubt. Though Arzak is proclaimed mentor of all, in the Neuva Cuisine Vasca, each has created his or her own style and relationship to their ingredients. Ferran Adria, probably the most notable and creative, is at his El Buli in Rosas. This style has found its way across the world into the United States, France, England, The Netherlands and many other culinary destinations.

I had the distinct pleasure of dining with Andoni Luis Andruiz at his Mugaritz. "Over the hill and through the woods" does not justify the woodland setting of this country inn outside San Sebastian; it was a truly enlightening experience. The building and interior, somewhat rustic, lots of wood, twig side tables, vine cuttings, natural stone, it was all very quaint, simple, unexpected. We began with a tour of the kitchen "laboratory," bubbling foam, cooking on cold steel, test tubes of stock, flames, irons and lots of cooks, and 32 staff by my count. How many diners? Forty. The incredibly manicured herb garden, each leaf and flower clipped individually, various trays holding 40 sprigs of fennel, 40 leaves of sage, 40 leaves of lemon thyme, miniature bouquets of salad, each with the exact leaf and variety count for color and flavor. Back in the kitchen, one cook thinly sliced smoked, poached roasted watermelon while another picks pin bones from salmon with tweezers and a magnifying glass. I was now interested. A warm bread assortment, fresh butter and grains milled on-site -- that is scratch. The start was a small pail of pebbles and a dish of mayonnaise/aioli; the perfect little stones turned out to be clay-roasted baby potatoes. As we progressed, through a perfect poached egg with truffle essence to a "classic" Carpaccio, blackened veal with charred "embers," the playful style continued, this is serious food, but not too serious. To make a point, toward the end of our 11 courses, one of my dining companions attempted to eat a "mint" that, when soaked with hot, lavender scented water, became a hand towel. The service was impeccable and the wine list reasonably priced. Fourth best restaurant in the world, I don't know, but we had a great time and I found the food to be accessible.

As we have progressed, our thinking has gotten more abstract or simple pertaining to food; are we for taste or the perception of taste? Whatever point we choose in gastronomic history, chefs' divergent paths move to the same end: the essence of the product is what matters most. With that said, given the variety of quality ingredients, available dining venues at all price levels and accessibility to great food, I am a believer.

Chef Danny Mellman is a freelance writer for The Gourmet Retailer and a frequent blogger. He can be reached at danmellmancooks@yahoo.com or on Facebook at facebook.com/DannyMellman