Ibaïona tastes nothing like jambon de Bayonne or Italy’s prosciutto or Spain’s patanegra. It’s more like a country ham, a Christmas ham, but stronger, saltier. I don’t much care for it on the first bite, but by the third I adore it. “Very few restaurants serve it,” Ospital says when I ask where I might eat it again.

Fortunately, the Auberge de la Galupe is one of them. In the town of Urt on the region’s northern border, it’s set in a 17th-century whitewashed house with a stone floor. The chef, Christian Parra, worked at New York City’s Rainbow Room in the 1960s. He’s half Basque, half Béarnais, a huge man who roams the floor restlessly checking on his patrons. I eat a six-course meal in which each dish is perfectly prepared (though not by Parra, who never leaves my sight).

I have panfried mullet and then domesticated pigeon, which bears approximately the same relation to the wild pigeon I ate at the Pont d’Enfer that Arthur Miller does to Dennis Miller. I have ravioli with duck and local foie gras—and, as part of an artichoke ragout, morsels of Ibaïona ham, more delicate this time, but unmistakable. I stagger out into the sunshine at four o’clock, ready to play some pelota myself, if I only knew how.

On my last night in the Pays Basque, Spain and France are contesting an elimination match of the European soccer championship. I find myself in Chez Pablo, a one-room restaurant in the over­grown fishing village of St.-Jean-de-Luz. The televised match is on in the kitchen, and servers rush into the dining room with updates. Five miles from the Spanish border, Chez Pablo serves what purports to be Spanish food. The owner’s grandmother had fled Bilbao when Franco assumed power in the 1930s and gone into business cooking the food of her homeland. I order a salad and a Spanish omelet, but the omelet is like nothing I’ve tasted, in Spain or anywhere else. It has onions and, yes, Espelette peppers—though not in the classic piperade that usually accompanies a Basque omelet, but laid across the top like Spanish sweet peppers. The tomato sauce underneath tastes like (and perhaps is) ketchup. I eat it with sangría, relishing every odd, multicultural bite.

The chef, who is also the owner, is uncertain of her soccer allegiance. “I have mixed blood and mixed emotions,” she says, which strikes me as a succinct description of modern Basqueness. There are Basques on both teams, but there is, of course, no Basque team. As I finish my sangría, I hear a whoop of joy from the kitchen. One team or the other has scored a goal, I know—but which one, it is impossible to say.

Traveling the High-Low Country

When calling the Pays Basque from the U.S., dial 011-33 before the numbers below, and drop the zero before the first 5.

The Basques are food-obsessed people—it’s said that they spend a greater proportion of their paycheck on restaurant meals than any other ethnic group in the world, and almost every dining establishment in Basque territory is worth a visit.

For simple atmosphere and carefully prepared versions of local favorites such as veal stew and wild pigeon, try Restaurant du Pont d’Enfer (Bidarry; 05-59-37-70-88). In Aïnhoa you’ll find great food at the Hôtel Ithurria (05-59-29-92-11), and in Sare at the Hôtel Arraya (05-59-54-20-46).

The region also has its share of Michelin-starred restaurants—nine at last count. The lone two-star is Christian Parra’s Auberge de la Galupe, just off the quay in Urt (05-59-56-21-84), with fine renditions of Basque, Beárnais, and French dishes. The one-star Table des Frères Ibarboure(chemin de Ttaliénia; 05-59-54-81-64), home to some of the most evolved plates of seafood around, is tucked into a residential area in Bidart, between Biarritz and St.-Jean-de-Luz. Try the rich codfish ravioli in vegetable broth, and a tuna “carpaccio” with phyllo in Asian spices. And chef Firmin Arrambide’s Basque-influenced takes on of classic French food make Les Pyrénées, in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port (place du Général de Gaulle; 05-59-37-01-01), the standard for Pays Basque dining. (The rooms at this Relais & Châteaux property in an 18th-century inn border on the garish, but they’re still better than anything else around.)

For accommodations in the village of St.-Jean-de-Luz, Hôtel-Golf de Chantaco (route d’Ascain; 05-59-26-14-76), an old and somewhat forbidding mansion set beside a formidable golf course, is the most lavish. A better choice might be one of the small hostelries by the port, such as La Marisa (16 rue Sopite; 05-59-26-95-46). The rooms are small, but the management are friendly and speak English.

Town festivals play a large role in the social life of the area. Call the Aquitaine tourist office in Bordeaux (05-56-01-70-00) to learn where and when you can don a beret and dance a Saut basque.

Low-cost carrier RyanAir (London Gatwick; 011-44-541-56-95-69; www.ryanair.com) serves some of the second-tier cities of Europe and has made travel to the Basque country easier than ever, with nonstops from London Gatwick and similar outposts. Don’t bother with the $5 sandwich from the vending carts in the middle of the aisle: The food, any food, will be better once you arrive. —B.S.