Restaurante Botin: Dining with History

Dining Room (Photo Credit: Restaurante Botin)

When you walk through a city as old as Madrid, you can’t help but search for remnants of a past that you might have some recognition of. But nothing stays the same, especially not cities prone to the tick tock of change. It is something I am acutely aware of having watched beloved watering holes and restaurants in San Francisco become storefronts for fast fashion or yet another yoga studio. The durability of their structures fools us into believing in the longevity of these cultural pillars. Built to last we like to think, except most things are not.

Perhaps the exception is Restaurante Botin in Madrid. Founded in 1725, it is the oldest operating restaurant in the world, as conferred by the Guinness Book of World Records. Its history has stretched through wars, dictatorship, economic hardships and COVID-19 pandemic. Any one of those could have been enough to end its run, but it has endured, and over the last 300 years it has become an institution.

My desire to dine at the oldest restaurant in the world was only trumped by my hunger to eat at one of Ernest Hemingway’s favorite restaurants. Any acolyte of Hemingway knows he had a fondness for Spain, especially Madrid. The country was the setting for several of his writings, and Restaurante Botin made appearances in the Sun Also Rises and Death in the Afternoon.

When I arrive for my 11:15 p.m. reservation, I wonder how much has changed since Hemingway dined here. I read later that despite renovations and expansion of the dining room from one to four floors, the building has maintained its centuries old rustic charm.

Upon entering the restaurant I am whisked up a creaky wooden staircase that unfurls into the main dining room on the second floor. The space is warm and honors the history it holds with stoic wood beams that line the ceiling, traditional Spanish tiles that adorn the walls and tables set with white table cloths.

I had come to have the suckling pig, because that’s what you do when you visit Botin, and it was what Hemingway would have had. Prepared in the Castilian tradition, the tender flesh of the young pig is roasted under a flame that has never been extinguished since the restaurant opened until the skin has turned crispy and golden. Served with potatoes, the dish is simple but plentiful.

Though I am full, I order the cheesecake at the recommendation of the server, because he says it should not be missed. And he is right. The cheesecake melts onto the plate like brie cheese, and its texture and flavor are unlike anything I have ever had. It is the standout of the night.

I am one of the last diners in the restaurant, but before I leave I sheepishly ask where Hemingway used to sit when he dined here. I am just another American cliche chasing the ghost of a man. He points to a table that had been behind me all along. I stand beside it to see what I might discern being at the spot of a writer I so admire.

When I later reflect on my visit to Restaurante Botin, I remember the food, but I mostly remember how the experience made me feel. And I think that’s the real reason people keep coming here year after year. We all want to be part of something…history…someone else’s greatness. And in a world where so much feels fleeting and transactional, that's something you can hold onto.