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The truth about tapas
When I first came to Spain, you could literally have lunch for the price of three chatos de tinto, in Madrid, Barcelona and Pamplona. But rising labour costs have wiped the charming practice out everywhere, except in Granada and a few backwaters, such as - excuse my patriotic fervour - Montefrio. The new-fangled invention called a "tapas bar", rife in London and New York as well as here in Spain, defies the whole purpose of it, since there, you order your tapas, and pay for them, separately from the drink.
We have our earliest record of this marvellous tradition from King Alfonso 10th "El Sabio", whose wisdom extended also to music and poetry, as lovers of the cantigas de Santa Maria are well aware. Alfonso advocated always nibbling some food while drinking wine.
Several centuries later another great monarch, King Felipe II, went so far as to decree that tavern keepers should accompany each glass of wine with a tapa or "cover" _ originally a round slice of bread and sausage served on top of the glass like a lid - to reduce public drunkenness and all the ensuing violence. And it worked, because one rarely sees a drunk Spaniard, even though they drink virtually around the clock.
Of course, the reason we all love tapas is not just because it's nice to get a tasty freebie, but for the sheer fun of being served something you didn't ask for, such as a fried swallow, some snails in hot sauce, a grilled shrimp speared to a bit of bread with a gob of mayonnaise, or a deep fried artichoke heart, all piping hot and dished up by the tavern keeper's wife, the woman whose solid biceps and flushed face you occasionally see in the little square window behind the bar.
Every day the cook prepares a series of three or four different dishes so that the customers get something different with the first, second, third and fourth drink. If you lend an ear you will notice that the man at the bar, as you and your companion order your second round of wine, will cry over his shoulder as he pours it, "ˇDos segundas!", or, if you have made it to the third drink, "ˇDos terceras!".
In Montefrio, the best time to tapear (they have even minted a verb for it, since I was first here) is between 12 and 2, in other words just before lunch. Then, all the taverns compete with tapas that range from roasted morcilla (black pudding), tender chunks of fragrant jamón serrano (mountain ham), calamares fritos (crispy fried squid rings), and a variety of deep-fried anchovies, sardines and so on.
I always advise the visitors staying in my cottages to do as I do when they want to have a meal which is both tasty and amusing: crawl the taverns and when you are served a tapa you really like, order a dish, or ración of it, plus a mixed salad and a chunk of bread. I know, ración makes us think of wartime rationing and what-not, but here it means a big and well-loaded plate. If there are only two of you and you want several different things, order a media ración of each and you will still not be able to eat it all.
Bars here _ and there are some forty of them, including the ones in the high school and the children's playground (of all places!) - sink or swim on the quality of their tapas. This means that the ones which are tucked away in obscure corners of the town often serve bigger and better tapas in order to encourage the drinkers to go out of their way to visit them.
But I will not recommend any specific bars for their tapas, except my friend Pedro's in the Parque Infantil, because businesses change hands so often here that my information would soon be out of date. Montefrio's entrepreneurs swap shops as readily as some people do wives, so that that you often find the friendly owner of the shoe store serving you a glass of wine, and, if you go to the store, your favourite tavern-keeper fitting you up for a pair of sneakers. So get out there and search for yourself, but don't get drunk doing it!
xx
