Basques Gather to Celebrate ... Being Basque!

The Great Basin is home to a large number of Basques who immigrated from their homeland between Spain and France decades ago. Gatherings are held through the year to celebrate this obscure culture.

Basques Gather to Celebrate … Being Basque

Joining the Mendiko Euskaldun Cluba two years ago, Jeff and I volunteered to help with their annual picnic in Minden, NV. It's actually more like a pow-wow where Basques from all over the Great Basin and central California reunite to catch up with each other, eat rich, traditional food, imbibe copious amounts of liquor, and celebrate their culture.

Basques have lived in the Pyrenees Mountains along the Spanish-French border for thousands of years. Their language owes no relationship to any other in the world. And they were sea-farers along the coasts of Europe and North America before Leif Erickson was more than a twinkle in his Daddy's eye.

In the early-20th Century, however, young Basque men ventured to the western United States to tend sheep, make their fortunes then bring it all back to the Basque Country. Not all of them made it home.

Many stayed to establish ranches of their own with their hard-earned pay. Some opened Basque restaurants and inns to continue the camaraderie they enjoyed in their early years in America. They preserved their homeland culture in the American West until their Millennial and Gen-X children showed signs that the language, dances, and other cultural elements were  disappearing.

So, two years ago, the remnants of the Mendiko club in Carson Valley, NV revived with the goal of teaching youngsters how to be Basques. After only two years, the club has exceeded its goals. As you can see on their Facebook page, the children's dance group is getting better all the time. Language sessions are taught to young adults. And at the yearly picnic, held in the CVIC hall in Minden, NV, the elders, those in their 80s who immigrated decades ago, are showing how to roast and smoke the cuisine that is gaining popularity with locals as well as people traveling through town.

Some of the elders hooking chickens to be hung in the barrel for smoking.

Jeff's job with the club picnic was to help barbeque the lamb and chicken for the meal's entrée. Last year, Jeff and the other young men chafed at the secretive manner of the elders who knew the recipes and methods of cooking over coals. They used 50-gallon steel drums reconfigured to hang several chickens in the smoke. This year, the young men were able to take charge and have most of the work finished before Jeff even arrived at 7:30 a.m.

At 65, Jeff boasted that he was old enough to do the fun work instead of the hard work of setting up the heavy barbeque and barrels, but was not as old as the elders who still carefully guarded those recipes.

When I arrived to set up chairs and tables, we entered the CVIC hall to the blare of trumpets and the authoritative roar of drums. The Mass was over. The Bizi Emankora presentation had taken place. And all the kids were involved in their own Flash Mus Tournament.

Mus is a Basque card game that combines elements of poker and bridge with the strategic aspects of chess. Reading the rules of the game, it reminded me of that scene in Star Trek where Capt. Kirk and Spock tried to confuse a prison guard with nonsensical rules of a game so they could escape.

Older players have told me that when they play in tournaments, the mental challenges of the game soon succumb to picons. All attempts to win go out the window. The gentlemen can barely walk back to their rooms at the Carson Valley Inn where the event is held. Thank goodness they don't have to drive.

Which brings me to another Basque gift to the world, the picon, often referred to in non-Basque circles as a Picon Punch. I guess that last word is appropriate. There is a saying: one picon, two picon, three picon, floor. This strong beverage contains club soda, brandy, amer picon, grenadine, and a lemon twist. Sounds harmless,  doesn't it.

Measurements for the brandy and picon or torani are roughly three to one. The soda amounts to a splash. The grenadine, however, can be overdone easily, giving the drink a sickly sweet taste. One method to apply grenadine is to pour the grenadine in a teaspoon, pour it back in the bottle, and the amount the sticks to the teaspoon goes in the drink.

The classic picon is served in a special stemmed glass; but wine is always served at the table in a whiskey glass. As Marie-Louise Lekumberry, co-owner of JTs Basque Restaurant in Gardnerville, told a movie director using JTs in a movie, "No self-respecting Basque would drink wine out of a stemmed wine glass."

(Here's a short KOLO-8 video about JTs, the food they serve, and the generational legacy of one of the Basque restaurants still doing a vibrant business in the Great Basin.)

JT's is also THE bar where respectable bartenders in the area learn the proper way to mix this cultural drink. Jeff also tests every bartender he meets in Nevada by asking for a picon. If they look confused or even ask what that is, he sighs heavily and orders an old-fashioned … a close approximation to the picon.

Back at the CVIC hall, the room filled with all ages of attendees. Many sported the red scarves, shirts bearing the symbolic Lauburu, and berets indicative of the old "French" presence in the American West. There are several place names with "French" in the title.

The Lauburu

In reality, those Frenchman were Basques running sheep in the area and congregating in towns where they brought the sheep to market. The French Basques stayed mainly in California while the Spanish Basques went further east of the Sierra Nevada.

Soon the cacophony of languages rose to ear-splitting decibels. English melded with Spanish, and some Basque filtered in from speakers who were not just the old ones any more. And not a word of French was to be heard. As we approached the doorway to the hall, one of the elder men greeted us with Kaixo. I was familiar with that greeting. Hello. But the line of sounds that followed left both of us blank.

The man chuckled and told us the meaning, then turned to a teenaged boy and held the same conversation with him. The elder beamed with pride as did the boy. The language lessons were getting down to the younger generations, and none too soon. While there are lots of long-lived people in Carson Valley due to its ranching culture, the aiton-amonak (grandparents) are dying off.

Once the tables were set up for the lunch, someone announced that the food line was ready. Dinner is being served outside. Several repetitions later, the crowd was still too talkative to break for lunch. These were friends who hadn't seen each other "in ages." Family matriarchs were seated at the tables while their progeny visited around them. A few tore themselves away to bring food to their amatxis (grandmothers).

Suddenly, a voice singing the first line of Happy Birthday rose above the rest. By the third line, the entire room sung “happy birthday dear Dominic.” The birthday boy buried his face in his hands and the last strains of the song rang out and conversation resumed at its former deafening pitch.

It took a couple of hours for the lunch to finish. Men hanging around the bar gradually peeled off to join the line outside. They returned, as did Jeff, with plates piled with BBQ lamb, chicken, lamb stew, beans, salad, and a huge roll. Balanced on top was an ice cream drumstick. A cup of burgandy washed it all down. Unless you vehemently refused a certain item, everyone got the same amount of food.

With a regular diet like that, one would think that Basques would be waddling alongside the rest of the American population. As I scanned the celebrants, I marveled at how few were truly obese, other than Jeff and I, of course. Only one other man could have weighed in at 700 lbs, but the rest of the men, regardless of age, appeared to be muscular and trim. The women also were slim and energetic, attending to the family's elderly and keeping everything in a semblance of casual order. There were no rowdy children running around. Maybe they were still playing mus or preparing for the dance performance after lunch.

The reasons for this apparent good health and heartiness could be because most Basques still do physical labor. One young man Jeff talked to spent his childhood on a ranch and later worked either in farm or gas fields. Also, very little Basque food is deep-fried. The French fries are, but none were served at this banquet. It was all barbequed, grilled, or simmered in stew pots. The leafy green salad was dressed in the vinaigrette that is customary to this cuisine. Never have I seen any of the creamy options available in other eateries.

So between physical labor and food that has pure, authentic, locally-grown ingredients, Basque bodies are for the most part strong and healthy.

Anyone who has ever enjoyed a Basque dinner knows that it is a culinary event that must be paced over time and not hurried. It is too sumptuous and rich. And the conversation with new friends across the table is too precious to rush. Meals are still served family-style on long tables where those nearby begin as strangers and end as friends.

Jeff and I sat across from two men from Sacramento, cousins whose parents took them around to all the Basque restaurants when they were kids. When joined by one of the local Basque elders, they talked about which eatery was still open, which ones were closed or reopening, which had the best food, and who made the best picons. JTs was deemed the strongest!

They mentioned all the festivals held each year around the Great Basin. The big three-day event in July in Elko was one Jeff and I attended. The cousin mentioned one that was five days long. That would take a week's vacation to attend and recover.

A few hours at this picnic was more than enough for me. My ears were ringing from the joyful din. It was exhausting to hear what others were saying. Indeed, the gentleman sitting right next to me was difficult to understand; and it wasn't just his accent.

When I heard tables banging on the floor, I hoisted myself up to help reset for the dancing performances and the Kantari Eguna, a performance of Basque songs that is held annually between Rocklin, CA and Gardnerville, NV.

Resetting the room was slow and delicate work, however. We didn't want to rout people from their chairs when they were all having such a great time. Conversation and camaraderie is the highlight, indeed the purpose of these gatherings. And schedules need to remain flexible.

I met Jeff on the other side of the room. We watched the reset come to a halt, waiting for the room to clear. He said, "We can probably go now. They will have more than enough people help to set up chairs."

I agreed. Last year when I helped at the end of the afternoon, dozens appeared to fold and stack chairs on trolleys. Everyone but the very old offered a hand. This year, I was much closer to being one of the very old. It was a nasty surprise. I crashed as soon as I got home and couldn't face the same onslaught of robust food and conversation at JTs breakfast that is only served after one of these regional affairs.

As for today’s schedule, there would be another repast of chorizo, followed by dancing. The day would be topped off with garlic soup at 11 p.m.. I never would’ve made it. These Basques can party hearty.

This is how the Basque community works. There is no job too menial or degrading to do. All who are able pitch in make the work go so quickly, it's actually fun. It's all part of the celebration with family and friends.

This work ethic is how Basques have built a dynasty of communities throughout the American West that still holds on to its Old Country ties while living prosperous lives in the Great Basin.

Photos were taken by Jeff and Sue Cauhape.