The Joy of Tapas
The Joy of Tapas
Barcelona
Its five pm in the capital of Catalonia. Outside it is pleasant twenty-eight degrees. You have marched up and down the Ramblas, watching the street entertainers, keeping your belongings close to you. You escape the sweaty crowds, and duck down a cobbled street in the Gothic quarter. The heavens open with a summer storm. Raindrops bouncing dramatically off the ground. You are hopelessly under dressed for this. There is only one thing to do but dive for cover in to the nearest bar. You are not particularly hungry, but for a second you hope that they have tapas.
Almeria
Its three pm in the capital of Almeria, the nearest mainland Spanish city to Africa. Heavily influenced by the Moors. Officially it is the driest region of Europe, and today the mercury is a suffocating forty-two degrees. You struggle to breathe climbing the hill, your destination is the Alcazaba. Your path clings to the narrow thread of shade on the pavement. Your mind starts to play tricks. This is spaghetti western territory. Is that tumbleweed you can see coming down the hill. You can’t go on. You need to stop for a drink.
Barcelona
They don’t have tapas. However, you have chosen well, as this Basque bar serves pintxos. Eaten as appetisers, like a Spanish happy hour.
Pintxo means ‘spike’, as the food is spiked with a cocktail stick, often placed on a small piece of bread. You eat and drink vertically, the smell of rain wafting in through the open doors. You start with a drink. A glass of Basque cidre poured from a height to elevate the flavour. The optimum time to savour is just after pouring, so you are encouraged to drink little and often.
Almeria
You push open the door like a gunslinger entering the tavern. You are surprised to find that the place is full. In fact, it is quite rowdy with animated locals committed to some serious mid-afternoon drinking. Luckily the staff spot you and miraculously come up with a stool at the bar. Without a common language you communicate with smiles and pointing.
First up beer to slate your arid throat. A cold pint of Cruzcampo, chilled to two degrees and served in a chilled glass. The coldness takes your mouth by surprise, the sharp CO2 bite is not unpleasant. You have escaped the hell of outside.
Barcelona
So, the system is very simple. The vast variety of pintxos are lined up on the bar, allowing you to make your choices. At the end you simply add up the number of sticks and pay for them.
You make a start with Pincho de chorizo y Manchego (Chorizo and Manchego Cheese). Its smoky, sharp, and tangy. Then on to a classic Gilda (Anchovies and pickled green chillis). It has a strong salty, pickled flavour. Then probably a coquetas de papas (potato croquettes), this time infused with some ham. Then its time for cheese. A buttery chevre goats cheese, with sweet, caramelised onions.
The chef arrives from the kitchen with dramatic gusto. She has a fresh plate of morcilla cocida pinchos (Black pudding). Hands reach out from every angle, keen to be first to try this tantalising treat. It’s a competitive business, the world of pintxos.
Almeria
So as normality begins to return with each gulp of beer you face a communication challenge. This is a proper old school Almeria bar. Every time you buy a drink you must have a tasty morsel to eat. You trust the staff, you go with the flow.
First up is barriga de cerdo (pork belly). Crispy on top, you bite through the layers of marbled fat to the meat below.
The first beer disappeared in the blink of an eye, so you are on to the next one. This time it is accompanied by some kind of stew. It might be pork shoulder. Google tells you that it is in fact, estofado de conejo (rabbit stew). It is moist and unctuous, mopped up with crusty bread.
The bar is beginning to thin out and it will close at five pm, before opening again late in the evening.
Barcelona
You have found your rhythm. You have developed a system with the bar man, a mere raise of the eyebrow results in a fresh drink. You have moved from the cider to a very nice Albarino. It is cold and tastes of pears and grapefruit.
Your pintxo pace has slowed down to a walk. Although you should try the pintxo de Txaka (Crab). Pillow soft crab and mayonnaise shaped like a cylinder.
As your experience comes to an end, there is another added benefit. You know that twenty-two is vientidos in Spanish.
The rain has stopped as you step out. Thankfully dinner here is not until midnight, so you continue not explore the city.
Almeria
You decide that two beers are not enough and order a third. By now you are best friends with everyone in the bar. The locals howl with laughter when they give you Rinones al Jerez (Kidneys cooked in sherry). Not to be impolite you give it a try. The waiter sensing your uncertainty appears from nowhere with a plate of Jamon Iberica instead.
So, as you are gently ushered out the door with the last of the stragglers you return to the heat. It has dropped to a mild forty degrees.
Instead of turning up the hill, you retreat to the hotel. The Alcazaba has stood for a long time, it can wait another day.