You are standing at a bar counter in Pamplona’s old quarter during San Fermín. In front of you, on a small white plate, is a row of small skewers: an olive at each end, a curved anchovy in the middle, a pale green pepper folded between them. The bartender will tell you it is a Gilda. It costs one or two euros. You pick it up by the toothpick, eat it in one bite, and the toothpick goes back in the dish.
This is the bite that created pintxo culture. Not a classic version of a form that already existed. The form itself. Before the late 1940s, a pintxo bar did not exist, because the pintxo did not exist. A regular customer at a San Sebastián wine bar picked up a toothpick one afternoon and changed the way an entire region eats.
Three Ingredients, One Toothpick
A Gilda has exactly three ingredients. They are not interchangeable.
The first is the anchoa: a salt-cured anchovy fillet, packed in olive oil. This is not a fresh anchovy and not a boquerón in vinegar. It is the cured, oil-packed fillet from the Cantabrian Sea, specifically the Bay of Biscay, where European anchovies (Engraulis encrasicolus) are caught in spring at peak fat content, then salt-packed and cured for a minimum of six months. The result is something fundamentally different from any other anchovy: silky in texture, dark red-brown, concentrated in flavor, salt-intense but not aggressive. For the full breakdown of how that cured anchoa differs from a vinegar-marinated boquerón, and why the label on the jar guarantees less than most shoppers assume, see Encierro’s anchoa versus boquerón breakdown.
The second is the aceituna manzanilla: a green manzanilla olive, pitted. The manzanilla is the canonical choice for its size and flavor balance: briny, slightly bitter, just fatty enough to anchor the skewer without overwhelming it. A version made with Gordal olives (larger, meatier) is a legitimate variation; the principle holds.
The third is the guindilla de Ibarra, also called piparra. This is a pickled pepper grown in and around Ibarra, a municipality in Gipuzkoa province in the Basque Country. It is long and thin, yellowish-green, pickled in wine vinegar, and it is not spicy in any meaningful sense: the Ibarra guindilla measures between zero and 500 Scoville units, which puts it well below a jalapeño and barely above a bell pepper. What it contributes is acidity, a mild vegetal brightness, and texture. The Ibarra guindilla carries a regional Basque quality designation (Eusko Label Kalitatea) that certifies its Gipuzkoan origin and traditional vinegar-salt preparation. Substituting a generic guindilla from another region produces a different result: often spicier, thicker-skinned, less aromatic.
Assembly on the palillo (toothpick or cocktail stick): one olive, then one end of the anchovy fillet, then the guindilla folded in an S-shape and pierced at two or three points, then the other end of the anchovy (curved so the fillet arcs through the middle of the skewer), then a closing olive. The whole thing is served cold, at a bar counter you are probably standing at rather than sitting beside.
You pick it up. You eat it in one or two bites. The toothpick stays.
The Man Who Made It
Bar Casa Vallés stands at Calle Reyes Católicos 10, in San Sebastián (Donostia). It was founded in 1942 by Blas Vallés, who had moved from Olite in Navarra to open a commercial wine shop; he received his formal bar license in 1946 and continued to sell cask wine alongside food and drink service. His grandchildren, brothers Antxon and Blas, run it today.
The Gilda was not invented by the bar owner. It was invented by a regular customer named Joakin Aramburu, known to everyone as Txepetxa. At some point in the late 1940s, Txepetxa picked up a toothpick from the counter. On the counter in front of him, in separate dishes, were the things the bar put out for customers to eat with their wine: anchovies, olives, guindilla peppers. He skewered one of each.
That was the act.
Before it, a pintxo bar did not exist in any recognizable form. The items were just there, in dishes, to be eaten separately. Txepetxa’s toothpick unified three things into a single composed bite: portable, holdable, a discrete unit. Other customers at the bar began making their own. The bar owners started serving them formally. Other bars in San Sebastián’s old quarter copied the practice. By the 1950s, the habit of placing composed skewered bites on bar counters was standard in the city’s bars.
This is why the Gilda is not simply an early or famous pintxo. It is the pintxo from which the form descends. Bar Casa Vallés is still operating, run by the third generation of the Vallés family, at the same address. barvalles.com
For the fuller picture of the city this bar sits in, a royal summer capital with its own film festival and culinary university long before it became a pintxo destination, see Encierro’s guide to San Sebastián / Donostia.
Verde, Salada y Un Poco Picante
The film Gilda came out in 1946. It starred Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford, directed by Charles Vidor. In Spain, it screened for the first time at Christmas 1947. Franco’s censors passed it despite its sexually charged content: a fact that did not go unnoticed by the audiences watching it.
Rita Hayworth’s character in the film is the kind of woman who, in 1940s Spanish, you would describe as verde, salada y un poco picante: green, salty, and a little spicy. The phrase was applied to the pintxo by Txepetxa himself, or by someone in the bar, in the months after the film’s Spanish premiere.
The phrase works on two levels simultaneously, which is why it stuck. On the surface level, it describes the food. The guindilla is literally green. The anchovy is literally salty. The pepper has a mild heat. But in colloquial Spanish of the period, none of those words were purely literal.
Verde was the standard euphemism for sexually risqué. A chiste verde is a dirty joke. Un viejo verde is a dirty old man. Calling something verde in that context meant naughty, off-color, suggestive.
Salada meant not just salty but charming, witty, and in the right register: provocative. In flirtatious speech, qué salada is a compliment for a woman with edge.
Picante meant spicy, but also hot, titillating, sexually provocative.
In the repressed social climate of early Francoist Spain, naming a pintxo after the film’s central character using a phrase that meant both “green pepper, salty anchovy, and mildly hot” and “naughty, provocative, and exciting” was not an accident. It was a joke with a second layer. It is also, seventy-five years later, still the name.
Rita Hayworth was born Margarita Carmen Cansino; her father Eduardo came from near Sevilla. The fact that the defining Basque pintxo was named after an actress of Spanish heritage is a detail her Spanish audiences would have noticed and appreciated.
Why the Ingredients Are Not Optional
The version of the Gilda you will find in most Pamplona bars during San Fermín is correct. Three ingredients on a toothpick, served cold, priced modestly. Variations exist: a Gordal olive instead of manzanilla makes the thing more substantial; a Matrimonio version adds a boquerón in vinegar alongside the cured anchovy and creates a flavor argument worth having. But the canonical Gilda does not have four ingredients. It has three.
The anchovy matters because Cantabrian anchovies are categorically different from substitutes. The Bay of Biscay’s cold, plankton-rich water produces fish with a specific fat content and flavor that the salt-cure transforms over months into something silky rather than aggressive. The collective quality mark “Anchoa del Cantábrico” has existed since 2004, certifying Cantabrian-sea origin and traditional processing. Quality anchovies from the Basque fishing ports (Getaria, Bermeo, Ondarroa) are equivalent; “Cantabrian” covers the full Bay of Biscay coast.
The guindilla matters because the Ibarra piparra is not simply a small pepper in vinegar. It is a specific variety from a specific place in Gipuzkoa, with a mild character and aromatic quality that the curing process develops. Using a generic guindilla changes the balance.
The olive matters less than the other two, but the manzanilla’s briny-bitter profile is part of the equation. The point of the Gilda is the specific way three strong, distinct flavors (fatty umami, briny acid, mild vegetal heat) resolve into something coherent on one toothpick.
This is also why the Gilda pairs with txakoli and not with most other wines. Txakoli’s high acidity and saline finish meet the anchovy and olive where they live; the natural effervescence clears the palate between bites. In Pamplona’s bars during San Fermín, the two arrive together as naturally as they do in San Sebastián: a cold pour from height, a Gilda on a plate.
The Gilda in Pamplona
Pamplona’s pintxo culture concentrates in the Casco Viejo (old quarter) and reaches its highest intensity during San Fermín. The bars along Calle Estafeta, San Nicolás, Jarauta, and the streets surrounding the Plaza del Castillo serve pintxos through both the midday aperitivo and the evening poteo: the pre-dinner crawl that moves from bar to bar in the hours before the late dinner of San Fermín.
The Gilda is a standard offering at pintxo bars across the city during the festival. It is not the identity-defining bite in Pamplona that it is in San Sebastián, but it is present and well-executed. Bar Mo at Calle Espoz y Mina 11 is one documented example: their Gilda XXL (anchovy, Gordal olive, pickled pepper) has drawn notice from food writers covering the city.
If you are navigating the old quarter using the Pamplona bull run map, the streets that cross through and run off the encierro route (particularly around Estafeta and south toward the plaza) are the same streets where the pintxo culture operates most intensely. The Gilda will be there, cold and correctly assembled, at every stop.
For those spending more than a day in Pamplona, the full rhythm of the fiesta morning (the encierro, the post-run almuerzo, and the afternoon poteo with pintxos) is covered as part of Encierro’s Pamplona tours and fiesta preparation.
In December each year, Gilda Day is celebrated across Gipuzkoa province: pintxo bars serve their own interpretations, and the pintxo that started the form gets a day of recognition in the region that produced it. In Pamplona during San Fermín, no such ceremony is required. The Gilda is simply there, on every bar counter, unremarkable and essential.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is a Gilda pintxo?
A Gilda is a three-ingredient pintxo: a Cantabrian cured anchovy in olive oil, a green manzanilla olive, and a guindilla pepper from Ibarra, Gipuzkoa, all skewered on a single toothpick. It is served cold, eaten standing at a bar counter in one or two bites. The Gilda is the first modern pintxo, created in San Sebastián in the late 1940s; every other composed pintxo in Basque bar culture descends from it.
Why is the Gilda pintxo called “Gilda”?
It was named after the 1946 film Gilda, starring Rita Hayworth, after the film’s premiere in Spain in December 1947. The pintxo was described as verde, salada y un poco picante (green, salty, and a little spicy): a phrase that matched both the physical ingredients and the double meaning those words carried in Spanish slang of the period.
Where was the Gilda invented?
At Bar Casa Vallés, Calle Reyes Católicos 10, San Sebastián (Donostia), in the late 1940s. The bar was founded by Blas Vallés in 1942 and is still operated by his grandchildren. The Gilda was created not by the bar owner but by a regular customer, Joakin Aramburu, known as Txepetxa, who skewered the three ingredients together onto a toothpick.
What makes a Gilda authentic?
Three specific ingredients: a Cantabrian salt-cured anchovy in olive oil, a green manzanilla olive, and an Ibarra guindilla pepper (piparra) pickled in wine vinegar. The Ibarra guindilla is mild, thin-skinned, and carries a regional Basque quality designation (Eusko Label Kalitatea). Using generic guindilla or a different anchovy changes the flavor balance significantly. No more than three ingredients in the orthodox version.
Where can I eat a Gilda pintxo in Pamplona during San Fermín?
Gildas are available at pintxo bars throughout Pamplona’s old quarter during San Fermín. The bars along Calle Estafeta, San Nicolás, Jarauta, and the streets around Plaza del Castillo all serve them, typically alongside txakoli, during both the midday aperitivo and the afternoon poteo. Bar Mo at Calle Espoz y Mina 11 is one well-regarded example. San Sebastián remains the benchmark, but Pamplona’s bars serve a correct version.
What wine goes with a Gilda?
Txakoli: the Basque Country’s lightly effervescent white wine. Its high acidity cuts through the anchovy fat, its saline finish mirrors the olive, and the natural pétillance clears the palate between bites. The pairing is standard across Basque and Navarran pintxo bars: txakoli is poured from height into a wide tumbler, a Gilda sits on the plate beside it, and both are consumed at the bar counter, quickly, before moving to the next stop.
Every article on the Encierro blog is authored or reviewed by active bull runners with direct experience in Pamplona.