We walk into a Basque bar

Santa Fe Basque Restaurant and Bar, Fresno, California
I overheard a guy say as he walked by,“I’ll take a couple of shots, and then I’ll start singing soon.”

Thursday night was karaoke night, and some people didn’t need shots for the courage to sing. Julia, the bartender, started the evening off by nailing “Be My Baby.” The quality of the other singers varied, as it usually does. The playlist was certainly Sinatra heavy (“My Way” was sung twice, by different people). But since we didn’t come for the singing, that was just a bonus.

We didn’t even come to watch the Warriors, though I must admit that’s sometimes the case. It was just as well since the Warriors didn’t play well and lost to the Pacers, 106-126. I guess even that was okay because it was Indiana. And Indiana was related to the reason we were at Santa Fe Basque (besides, you know, for this blog).

Thursday was the night of our 32nd wedding anniversary, and we'd gotten married in Indianapolis, Indiana. To celebrate, we decided to go out to eat -- and make our typical Thursday night bar visit.

We’d been talking for years about going to a Basque restaurant (there are two in Fresno) because of a memory from my childhood. The family car broke down in Winnemucca, Nevada, during a cross-country trip with my parents and brothers and sisters, and we were stuck there until the car was fixed. Fortunately, our motel had a pool, and the town had a family-style Basque restaurant.

The Basque people come from the Pyrenees Mountains in southern France and northern Spain. To judge from the two restaurants I’ve visited, Basques make wonderful food and serve a lot of it.

So when we got to Santa Fe, we decided to eat dinner in a booth before drinking at the bar. There’s a regular dining room, too, but our booth in the bar area had a good view of the bar, and we could also watch people getting ready for karaoke (in case we ran out of things to talk about).

The interior decoration is, well, interesting. There’s a boar's head on the wall, and dollar bills (and even a few fives) stapled to the ceiling. Behind the bar, we saw cartoons and humorous slogans (such as “The hardest part of being a bartender is knowing who’s drunk and who’s just stupid”). We wondered if we should go to the upcoming Fresno area Basque festival after seeing a poster for the event on the wall.

Mindy ordered fried chicken, and I ordered pork chops (following David the waiter’s advice, we asked for added garlic). Before we got them, though, the “set up” was brought to the table: three other courses, starting with lentil soup and bread, then a beautiful green salad and potato salad with shrimp. Garbanzo beans and a chicken stew arrived just before the entree, and little dishes of pistachio ice cream topped with whipped cream concluded the meal. We enjoyed watching people at the bar chatting, laughing, and sharing stories. Once the karaoke started, people encouraged the singers, even getting up to dance along to their singing.

When our meal was over, we sat at the bar and ordered house cocktails: a Basque martini and Picon Punch. According to Wikipedia, Picon didn’t actually originate in Europe but was created by Basque immigrants to the United States, who took it back to the Old Country. At Sante Fe, they use Torani Amer with the traditional soda water, grenadine, lemon and brandy (garnished with an olive and a maraschino cherry).

There were two empty seats together near the middle of the bar, and Mindy asked the man on the left if he minded if we sat there. Joe assured us he didn’t bite. And it’s true, he did not, and neither did Charlene, who sat next to him. Not even when we asked them the two questions we always ask, “what makes for a good bar?” and “whether you go or not, what makes for a good church?”

Charlene said a good bar had a good crowd and a good environment, with a mixture of ages. “People here are down to earth,” she said.

Joe said they’d lived in the area for years, but only found this place about a year ago, and they immediately felt at home. Charlene said, “They welcomed us with open arms.” Their only regret is that Santa Fe Basque Restaurant and Bar doesn’t have a happy hour.

Joe said, “The places in Tower are too loud. It’s hard to talk to people.” They also raved about the food at the Santa Fe. They eat at the bar, where Charlene gets the club sandwich that’s just like she used to get years ago and Joe gets the setup. They talked about the abundance of food -- they usually have to take some home “My dog needs to eat too,” Charlene laughed.

When we asked about churches, Charlene talked about one church they attended that was all about “funds.” (I misheard at first and thought she said the church was all about “fun,” which didn’t sound so bad, but the church was all about fundraising.) They loved another church, even though the worship was in Spanish and had to be translated, and even though the services took an offering at the beginning and the end. They said the church wasn’t around anymore. She also said, “both churches preached the Word, and that’s what you look for.”

Years ago, our daughters liked to listen to the soundtrack of the Disney musical “Newsies.” One song is about a character’s dream of leaving New York for the glories of Santa Fe. Since New Mexico was more of a drive than we had time for on Thursday evening, this Basque bar and restaurant provided just the “change of scene” we needed.