You’ll chop, stir and laugh your way through classic Basque pintxos recipes in central Bilbao, guided by a local chef who shares family stories and tips. Taste local wine as you cook together, then sit down to enjoy your own creations plus charcuterie and dessert. Expect good food, warm company and a few surprises along the way.
The class typically lasts around 3 hours from start to finish.
Yes, local wines are served throughout the class for guests over 18 years old.
You’ll prepare four traditional Basque pintxos: Bilbainito, La Gilda, Cod Brandada, and Spicy Garlic Mushrooms.
The menu includes some vegetarian items but also seafood and charcuterie; check ahead for dietary needs.
The exact address is provided after booking; it’s centrally located with public transport nearby.
No experience is needed; the chef guides everyone step by step.
Yes, soft drinks and water are included for all participants.
Your evening includes all ingredients for four classic Basque pintxos recipes taught by a local chef in central Bilbao, unlimited local wine (for adults), soft drinks or water if you prefer, plus a generous charcuterie and cheese board to snack on while you cook and a homemade dessert at the end before heading out into town again.
Rolling up my sleeves, I tried to copy the way our chef, Ane, sliced the peppers — she made it look so easy, but my fingers felt clumsy at first. The kitchen smelled like garlic and something sharp, maybe vinegar? There were six of us around the counter, all strangers until Ane poured that first splash of txakoli into our glasses. She told us about her grandmother’s cod brandada recipe — apparently there’s some secret with the potatoes that I still don’t fully get. I laughed when my egg for the Bilbainito rolled off the board and almost hit the floor (saved it with a weird ninja move). No one judged.
The whole place felt like someone’s home more than a school. Ane nudged us to taste everything as we went — salty anchovies for La Gilda, then those olives that snap between your teeth. We learned how pintxos are basically little edible arguments between neighbors about what tastes best in Bilbao. I kept sneaking bits of cheese from the charcuterie board while we waited for the spicy mushrooms to finish sizzling. The wine helped me forget my Spanish was terrible; Ane just smiled and taught us the word “txampis” for mushrooms anyway.
Sitting down together at this long table, plates crowded with our four pintxos creations, it hit me how proud I felt of these tiny things we’d made. Maybe it was just hunger or maybe that’s what happens when you cook with people you’ve only just met. Dessert was torrijas — sort of like French toast but softer inside, sticky sweet on top. Walking out into Bilbao’s evening air later, hands still smelling faintly of garlic, I caught myself grinning for no real reason.

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