I first visited Bilbao in the 1980s—pre-Guggenheim, pre-Bourdain. While my then-beau rehearsed with the Bilbao Opera, I wandered the city solo. It was gritty, authentic, and entirely unconcerned with charm. When I asked a local where to eat, he shrugged and said simply, “Anywhere.” Not a recommendation, not a list. Just a quiet kind of assurance that wherever I ended up, it would be good.