For the Love of Pipas or Spanish Sunflower Seeds

Spain’s Crunchiest hidden obsession

The humble sunflower seed or pipa doesn’t appear in cookbooks. There’s no manual, no Michelin-starred chef tutorial, yet Spaniards consume pipas by the truckload, 30 million kilos to be exact, more than any other country in Europe. They're our unofficial national snack, cracked open with certainly more skill than the government applies to chasing illegal Airbnbs.

Photo by Saqib Iqbal Digital on Unsplash

Pipas are oval and flattish but larger than other sunflower seeds. The technique to eat them is deceptively simple: place the seed pointy-side facing your mouth between your front and bottom teeth, bite down to crack the shell, use your tongue to grab the kernel, and remove the shell from your mouth with your hand or spit it out (if you are alone). According to Facundo, Spain’s legendary pipa producer, they need to have a double crack. Guiris don’t always master this skill with many eating the whole sunflower at first attempt with ensuing tummy aches. In the recent past, we used to throw the shell/husks freely on the floor of bars, park benches, or beach towels but this is seen now as a bit uncivilized or maleducado (though deeply nostalgic for some, yes mostly me). “Pipa” means seed in Spanish, similar to the word pepita.

Origins

While sunflowers originated in the American continent, the habit of snacking on their seeds didn’t become part of our culture until the Spanish Civil War. According to some accounts, Russian soldiers fighting on the Republican side introduced the custom. It quickly caught on.

In a country grappling with food shortages, censorship, and widespread poverty, pipas offered something rare: a cheap, communal and entertaining snack.

Most seeds are imported from far flung places like China, USA and Bulgaria, but like coffee, they’re toasted here. The USA is one of the main exporters but it is unlikely you will find anyone thoughtfully boycotting them. We just secretly love them too much and brands don’t exactly point to their origin. There are large national brands, often with packaging that looks like bird feed or gas station fare, but posh pipas have a regional slant, like La Granaína, which stands out with packaging inspired by local art and identity. Having a built-in paper bag for husk disposal is de rigueur for posh ones.

Posh pipas from La Granaína

Types of Pipas

Traditional ones fall into three tidy categories: agua sal, naturales con sal, and tostadas (for wimps or those with hypertension). Some flavoured newer varieties, like Tijuana, come with an artificial barbecue tang that have added novelty to the mix, but disgust purists. For the ritual to be truly Spanish they must dry out your lips or as my friend Izaskun says give you free lip fillers.

Drink Pairings

In terms of drinks, the caña is the perfect pairing or if you are alcohol free La Casera, a sweet fizzy drink. The bitterness of the beer offsets both the dryness and saltiness and in the case of La Casera it creates an effervescent sweet and salty high for your mouth. I love them with a sharp lemon granizada but the logistics might prove complicated as you really can’t show up to a heladeria with a bag of pipas.

How and When to Eat

Growing up, pipas were part of the summer holiday routine both for beach goers and for the ones that like me went to el pueblo or small town. My friend Prado remembers watching movies in the Cine de Verano or open air cinema to the loud soundtrack of cracking husks which drowned the movie’s dialogue. My cousins and I would eat them during our parent’s siesta watching TV (Verano Azul), and again when we returned to the plaza, a WhatsApp of sorts, to regroup after exploring the town’s baretos (the legal drinking age was 16 until 1991). Opening a bag marked the beginning of gossip, the start of the night’s post-mortem. The mounds of husks told a story. The taller the mounds, the more exciting the night. Dispersed little ones, the night was a slow one. I imagine the inside of some Spanish Ministerios facing large mounds of pipas these days…

In Spain, we say: “Las pipas son un vicio” or pipas are a vice. Once you start, you can’t stop. I sometimes wonder if they contain a secret ingredient that encourages long conversations. Pipas slow time down. They create a rhythm. You eat, you talk, you pause. They feed intimacy. You can still eat them alone scrolling on your phone but it won’t be the same.

The suitably dramatic pipa ad every child knew: I regret leaving this world without having tasted Facundo pipas said the bull.

A Pipa Epiphany

I remember clearly the moment I realized I was still stuck in the '90s. It was Holy Week, and I had nabbed and paid for a foldable chair in the corner of Plaza de la Alhóndiga in Granada to watch the Real Cofadría de Penitencia y Hermandad Salesiana del Santísimo Cristo de la Redención y Nuestra Senora de la Salud which is an impossible feat now. Just reading the name of a single cofradía can feel exhausting like a long prayer, but absolutely no one uses these names, opting instead for abbreviated version like “los Salesianos”. Naturally, I opened a bag of pipas to entertain myself during the long wait of almost two hours. Processions are like fashion runways, yes there are a few devotas but most go or come out in the procession to be seen (except the penitentes of course). Within minutes, I’d built a respectable mound of husks at my feet. That’s when I heard it a group of older women cuchicheando:
“¿Pero esta señora no sabe nada?” or does this lady know nothing? I was mortified. Twice. First, that I was now officially a señora. Second, had Spain really changed that much?

And then came the final blow: I looked down and realized the posh brand I was eating had a little paper bag attached. For the husks. Right there. I had simply ignored it.

Semana Santa is chaotic enough: Japanese tourists, kids asking for wax to make giant wax balls (it’s a thing), the chants of saetas, dubiously skilled bands. But the eyes of true religious devotees of a certain age can see everything and they must have prayed to Our Lady of Health (Salud) herself to give me some manners since it has not happened again.

The Lady of Health helped me kicked the habit of throwing pipas on the floor Credit: Blanca Valencia

The Pinnacle of Pipas eating

At home, they are best consumed in front of the TV, with a cordless vacuum close by. (Lakeland sells one that looks like it was made for this purpose.) The ultimate pipa moment, though, is still ahead of me: sitting in el poyo or ledge of a window at Easter, dressed like a camarera de la virgen, the women dressed in impossibly chic black outfits with lace mantillas that accompany the Virgin, with a caña in hand, cracking pipas. When it happens, I’ll post it everywhere.

Pipas are effort for little reward, but they’re funny like that part ritual, part reflex and part invisible gastronomic thread that connects the country. I urge you to watch the show that Spain can be with a large bag of El Piponazo Gourmet.

Thanks to Prado, Monica, Izaskun and Kika for all your memories of pipas…