Posts Tagged ‘cafe’

Wave at the camera Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

Liz got a text message just before the weekend. ‘Do you want to go to Gijon for dinner on Saturday?’ It was from Maria Jesus, one of the walking group members who’s about our age. Of course we said yes, so at 8:30 we were standing outside the Calatrava (the Ovetense name for the spaceship style building that doubles as a shopping centre and the Palacio del Congresso). Covadonga (Maria Jesus’ friend who we’ve met a few times) met us there and we walked along to where MJ picked us up.

Maria Jesus is not the world’s most confident driver but we managed to reach Gijon unscathed and then drove around a bit looking for a big enough parking space so that my parking skills wouldn’t be needed. That done it was time to stroll along the seafront (there’s something like 5kM of seafront) chatting away until we reached the restaurant. Both Liz and I like the relaxed approach to evening eating we’ve seen, we decided to pick a small plate each and share, rather than choose a main dish. So we troughed down on mini squid, ham, octopus, grilled fish and sea urchins (which Maria Jesus hadn’t had before).

After coffee we wandered. According to Covadonga it was a difficult hour, because it was a bit late for cafes and too early for the late night bars (it was 1am). We had a drink in a quiet wine bar and then the girls suggested we go to another place (where a friend of there’s had texted from). After asking directions a few times we got there and in we went. It was not really our cup of tea, I haven’t been in an English nightclub in quite a few years and even then Europop wouldn’t have been high on my list of destinations. Still, it was interesting watching the people (and there was no entrance fee). There was no dance floor, it seemed you just found a space and, well, danced… at the bar there were a couple of youngish blokes waiting for their whisky and red bulls and they were grinning and excitedly bouncing along to the music (part of me wanted to ask them if they really enjoyed it or if they had taken some recreational pharmaceuticals). It may be that in the UK it’s the same these days but I’m not sure, I felt like there was no air of self conciousness, no studied cool on display, people were just out, just having a good time. It felt foreign.

Detalle de los Callos de Bacalao con Boletus y Morcón Originally uploaded by jlastras.

Now that Liz is here, we have resumed our ongoing project to find the best lunch menu in town. It’s a difficult project but the rewards are excellent. On Friday (for the unwritten rules state that we can only do lunch one day a week, for wallet and waist related reasons) we tried a bar just round the corner, called Punto y Coma (full stop and comma: not anything to do with comas). I give a class at 3:30 on Fridays so we polled up at just before 2. This was a smart move because the tables were empty. Despite that, a lot of them had reserved signs so we ended up in the bar area rather than the restaurant. This wasn’t a bad thing, it let Liz examine the packed bar. Now, when I say packed bar, in Spain that seems to mean one deep, everyone with access to the bar itself, using it to rest their wine glasses, their plates of nuts, crisps, olives and hams, rather than an English packed bar which is basically a chaotically formed queue. Liz remarked on how well coiffed the ladies were and how smartly dressed everyone was (look at the shoes!!). We thought about this for a few minutes before figuring out that we were just round the corner from the centre of government of Asturias, and that this was probably the local for the local politicos and their staff.

The food was excellent, I started with callos with chickpeas… callos is a specific type of tripe, not something I’d normally go for, but hey… if you never try new stuff… Apparently this combination is typical in Madrid, the Asturians have a different serving method we’ll get to in the future. It was lovely, the tripe was in very small pieces so rather than rubbery, it melted in the mouth. Liz had a tuna and rice salad that came formed into a cube. Then Lubina (no idea what it translates as but it’s fish) while I tucked into chicken with garlic. My poor students… there was a ton of garlic, even the accompanying chips had a garlic flavour. After that we had a cream cheese with quince jelly dessert, and coffee. All for €10. At about nine that night Liz said ‘where shall we go next week?’

It’s getting to the end of the academic year and it seems like there are more foreign students on the streets. Maybe it’s just that they’re venturing out now the rain has stopped. One of the places I get on t’web is Cafe Oriental. It’s got reasonably fast wifi, it’s big enough so you can loose yourself in the back with a small beer and the staff are friendly. As such it’s a popular hangout for the foreign students. These seem to be in two main groups, the Germans and the Americans. The German students were in the other night with painted faces looking all expectant and then really unhappy as the football played out in front of them. It was unusual to notice the Germans because usually they’re drowned out by the Americans.

I like Americans (with some noteable exceptions… Baaaahhhhb for one). They’re usually unfailingly polite, friendly and open (too open sometimes). But there’s one thing that I don’t like and that’s the way their voices seem to have an extra piercing quality. The Spanish can be loud, ear splitting sometimes, but the American students seem to posess some chalk on a blackboard tone to their voices which, even though they’re not shouting, means you can’t help but hear how they’re progressing with their studies, what they think of Spain, how there’s no decent food here (!!!) and how it’s not like home (duh). I don’t want this information, I don’t want to know, I don’t care, but I can’t help but hear it. It irritates me, it feels like they’re being boastful, proud and culturally riding roughshod over the rest of us… I don’t believe that but it’s what their voices do to me. I want to go over and tell them to shut up, to at least be a little quieter, to calm down. I won’t though, for a start they’d look at me blankly and give each other WTF looks because most of what I’m feeling is in my head. Secondly I won’t because, well, I’m English and we don’t do that sort of thing.

On the block, about six doors down the hill is a strange hybrid called Yuppi. I’ve noticed a few in the city, it’s a mixture of bakery, newsagents, cafe bar and fast food place. In the entrance you can buy magazines, papers, bread, rotisseried chicken, DVDs and the like, in the back there’s a shiny bar and restaurant area. The wood is lighter in colour than a lot of the bars and there’s a ton of shiny brass but it’s essentially the same as a thousand other city bars. The fine thing about Yuppi is that it’s open early and late, and on Sunday afternoons/evenings, which is not as common as you might think. I walked past on Saturday morning, at about 9am and in the window there was a couple, he was on coffee she was on beer, and it was pretty obvious that they were just finishing off their night out. They were still there an hour later, still with the same drinks in front of them. At other times it’s full of workers having a quick coffee at 11 or with the older ladies having their merienda (afternoon tea). They do breakfasts, including cooked ones, which I haven’t tried yet, they disguise the fact by calling them brunch but bacon, eggs, black pudding and bread is a breakfast in my book.

I went in today for a quick coffee, sitting at the bar, with the only English book I brought with me, and I was a tiny bit hungry so I had a slice of tortilla, which came with bread. That and the coffee came to €2.25, I’m pretty sure that sort of thing is why Starbucks isn’t on every corner (that and the Spanish would not know what to do with a decaf-skinny-frappa-latte-chino with hazelnut and caramel other than laugh at it; I sincerely hope that’s the case at any rate… but what with the lamentable lacke of taste displayed nightly on TV I’m not so sure).