Tapas anybody?

Tapas has become very trendy hasn’t it? Lots of things have become very trendy, particularly regarding food and drink. It makes sense in a way. Britain invented trendy, a guy called Beau Brummel. And the food and drink culture was in a pretty dire state till quite recently. Personally speaking, I don’t care much for trends, maybe because I doubt the sincerity but enough polemics. Back to tapas. I was lucky enough to recently spend ten days in southern Spain, Western Andalucia, to be precise. Seville, Ronda and a tiny village of two hundred people in the shadow of magnificent mountains.  Like many of us, until relatively recently - about 1999 - I thought of southern Spain as sun, sea and sangria. Tacky Brits with skin like lobsters, drinking beer and eating calamari. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s limiting. There’s more to life and there’s more to southern Spain. A whole lot more. A unique place, partly due to the Arabic influence on the architecture and the cuisine, partly due to the geography, the proximity to Africa, partly due to the intense heat and climate.

            And the food is equally impactful. Lunchtime, inside an authentic tapas bar

is a memorable experience, for me, one of the greatest culinary experiences. There really is something in escaping the blue skies and searing heat, it feels almost furtive. There’s plenty of time to eat outside, later in the day, when the sun has gone down. You start with a cerveza. Ice cold, Cruzcampo, ideally, made in Seville. It doesn’t last long. Then tapas frias, cold tapas. Ensalada Rusa, Russian salad, apparently named after a Russian fellow who came to Spain, invented it and took the recipe to his grave. Made fresh every day, there’s potato, mayo, sometimes egg, usually tuna and always grated carrot. One we had included little chunks of sweetcorn. And there’s the salad of Pulpo. Octopus sometimes done in a similar way, sometimes in a more classic salad; tomato, onion, peppers and so on. Boquerones, small white anchovies in vinegar, garlic and parsley. That’s got things started so let’s go for some hot. Albondigas. Mini meatballs, usually made from pork, in sauce; tomato or almond. Croquetas. Meat filled balls deep-fried in breadcrumbs. One of our favourite places does them with mushrooms.  A delightful little bar in a small town called Cortes. Intense blue skies contrasting with the white buildings. A hot wind blowing through the narrow streets. Classic Andalucia. The delightful patron, Alphonso, always welcomes you with a smile. He, or rather his talented wife, does the aforementioned albondigas in almond sauce, the less common of the two. Pure exalted pleasure. They also do another classic; Flamenquine, cheese wrapped in ham, again done in breadcrumbs. I consider it my local, ever though I only manage to visit a few times a year.

Another of our favourite places, a hectic, crazy bar in Ronda - a tourist town with an extraordinary bridge over a deep gorge, surrounded by spectacular mountians - into which the odd bemused tourist strays, does a black-pudding sandwich. Doesn’t sound like much but believe me, it is. Spanish Morcilla as they call it, is spicy and sweet, probably due to that Spanish marvel, Paprika. It also serves a plate of sharp crisp lettuce, served with white wine vinegar. Simplicity is the key. Then there’s the fried fish. In another place we had Hake - so beloved of Michelin Starred chefs in London - deep fried. As a man from Glasgow, I like things deep fried (just don’t mention Mars Bars, a dull cliché). And in Andaucia they know how to fry. There’s Camarones, like a deep fried prawn pancake. The list goes on. Harder to find, but recommended is Cauliflower with paprika! There’s quail’s eggs in vinegar. There’s the extraordinary Garbanzos con Espinica. Chick peas and Spinach. A wondrous legacy bequeathed by the Arabs to southern Spain using spices such as cumin. There’s Solomillo, pork in a whisky sauce. Both these dishes are specialities of Seville. And so much more…

 It’s ultimately often simple stuff but the flavours are so good, the atmosphere so unique, that it’s perfect. Little Andalucian men in hats, skin like leather, shouting in their almost incomprehensible dialect. Spanish mothers with their noisy babies drinking ice cold beer. Completely in the moment, no showing off, no looking over your shoulder. Even in classy and more fashion-conscious Seville, most people are happy ensconced in the olfactory pleasures of the moment. Beau Brummel would have hated it. As for further drink, if you don’t want another beer, have a sherry. A Fino or a Manzanilla, salty and tangy. Perfect to wash down the fried goodies. Unlike Frasier and Niles Crane, I only drink Sherry in Spain.

I feel sorry, in a way, for the people who spend a fortune in trendy and pricey Tapas bars up and down the country. I think it’s great that our modern cuisine options are so varied but when when you’ve been fortunate enough to have access to the real thing for so long…

Smugness is also a modern affliction, no chance of that here, just pure gratitude. Mucho Gracias, by the way.