Bolleria fina en Tolosana

Al principio de la Avenida Goya, en Zaragoza, se encuentra una sucursal de Tolosana. Además de poder comprar el pan, repostería tradicional, chocolate y demás laminerías, puede uno sentarse a tomar algo en la cafetería situada al fondo del local. En ella, y con la siempre estimable y regular compañía de M.D., he merendado esta tarde. El café estaba pasable, pero se compensaba con un extraordinario cruasán de chocolate. Me traía el recuerdo de los deliciosos desayunos en la cafetería Oyarzún de Donostia, junto al ayuntamiento de la ciudad. No es fácil encontrar un cruasán en condiciones por estos pagos. El local está además bien iluminado y aunque la zona habilitada con mesas es más bien pequeña, el lugar resulta acogedor. Hacía tiempo que no me sentía tan cómodo y he hallado pronto la razón: no estaba permitido fumar. Resulta sorprendente, acostumbrado uno a tomar el café en el asedio vaporoso del humo de los cigarrillos ajenos.
Más información en: www.tolosana.com

Thursday night at La paloma

Barcelona, as every Spanish town, has hundreds, thousands of bars, pubs and discotheques; it’s a touristic big town, where millions of foreigners come every year to spend a weekend... and, why not, some money. Having this huge amount of places, it might always be difficult to choose where to dance. Well, this is my suggestion, although it is not original at all: La Paloma.
When I told my father I was going to La Paloma he reacted really surprised and a bit disappointed. “La Paloma? Isn’t it a place for old people?” And yes, it is a ballroom. Every evening there is an orchestra called “La gardenia blanca” playing good all-times music: swing, cumbia, cha cha cha... However, that’s not what makes “La paloma” so special.
When the clock shows it’s 2:00, the orchestra leaves, opening the way to a DJ. People change completely and the dance sesion starts. If you like house music, you have to know this disco. There are people from different nationalities, as usual in Barcelona. To get in you have to pay around 10 euros (unless you manage to get a free pass, very common for other bars, but not so much for this one; perhaps they just don’t need it) but it’s worth it.
The place first opened with a different name at the end of the 19th century and took today’s name in 1903. The decoration makes the disco look like a theatre, with all those paintings and nymphs, and the big chandelier which reigns over the dance floor; in fact, part of the decoration was made by the Liceu set designer.



Besides myself and my friends, many famous people have come to La Paloma; the premier party for “All about my mother” took place in this disco; but even before, celebrities as Pablo Picasso where amongst the people who enjoyed spending a Friday’s evening there.



The “silenci” project is also surprising: while you approach the place, some mimes arrive and ask you, holding a finger to their lips, to be quiet, so that the neighbourhood is not too disturbed.
So, don’t hesitate: go to “La Paloma” at Tigre St. 27, in Barcelona.

Mussels at March 5th Street

I don't really know if you have ever been to Zaragoza or its surroundings, but there are plenty of old, small places where you can eat a sandwich made of ingredients which may be quite exotic for a foreigner. One of this is La Mejillonera, always located in a tiny street in the centre of the town, called Moneva. This small bar is specialized in mussels (mejillón in Spanish) and in squid sandwiches, as the one showed.
However, last week I was wandering around another central street from Zaragoza, called March 5th (remembering an old battle which took place in this town in the "Carlists" war; read a history book if you want to know more about it), and I found a pleasing surprise: another subsidiary of la Mejillonera had been opened. So a bit later, in order to avoid the nuisance of going starving to the cinema, I decided to go in and eat something.
All comparison is false, but anyway, there I go (I'm talking about the Moneva's one). The one at March 5th is newer, with much more space between the tables and the bar and, ofering the same, it seemed to me a more comfortable option. I chose a table and the waiter arrived immediatly, as if he had been waiting for me the whole evening. I asked for a squid sandwich, spicy, of course, a plate of mussels and a glass of red wine. The bread was gummy, and that was quite strange, because bread is one of the reasons I always come to this place. It was not so bad, but the new place started to seem less comfortable than before... Let's go on... I decided to change, so I decided to taste those nice mussels waiting for me. Everything was fine, what a tasty sauce,... but then I saw something shining in the mussel; the sauce was so good I decided to fake I hadn't notice anything. But then, that shine became in my mouth an unpleasant feeling, like sand among my teeth and I found myself chewing a piece of nacre. I swalowed some wine and bless; it was a bad wine, but I didn't really care. Meanwhile, the waiter was taking of the dishes like an uncontrolled robot, making me take my glass, still having some wine in, in case he took it out of me. Well, the film could still arrange the night (thanks, Woody).

I will definetly come back, but next time I'll go to the old one, although I will have to be squeezed among many other people close to the bar. Maybe I expected too much from this.

Mejillones en 5 de Marzo

Pasaba el otro día por la calle 5 de Marzo y me encontré con una grata sorpresa, habían abierto una nueva sucursal de La mejillonera. Así que más tarde, pensando en acudir al cine con el hambre saciada, decidí entrar y comer algo. Este es un local -ahora varios- especializado en bocadillos de calamares y raciones de mejillón.

Las comparaciones son odiosas, pero vamos con ellas (me refiero al local de la calle Moneva). El de la calle 5 de Marzo es más nuevo, cuenta con más espacio entre las mesas y la barra, y siendo la oferta la misma parecía prometer más comodidad. Me senté en una mesa y el camarero acudió presto como si llevara esperándome toda la tarde. Pedí un bocadillo de calamares, picante por supuesto, una ración de mejillones con salsa escocesa y una copita de tinto. El pan estaba gomoso, y me chocó, porque era el pan una de las razones por las que yo acudía a la mejillonera a tomar el bocata de calamares. Se dejaba comer pero el nuevo local empezó a perder brillo ante mis ojos. Sigamos. Cambié de tercio y comenzé a hincarle el diente a los mejillones, todo iba bien, que rica la salsa... Entonces me pareció ver algo brillante en el interior de uno de ellos, extasiado, no le presté más atención. Aquel brillo se transformó en mi boca en una sensación desagradable, como de arena rascando los molares, y me pareció estar masticando una priedecita de nácar. Eché un trago al tinto y me encomendé a Dios; rascaba, pero no me importó. Entre tanto, el camarero iba retirando platos como un autómata descontrolado, obligándome incluso a asir la copa, medio llena todavía, por temor a que la recogiese. En fin, la película podía arreglar la noche.

Pienso volver, pero la próxima vez acudiré al local de la calle Moneva aunque tenga que apretujarme en la barra. Tal vez esperaba demasiado.

TRAPPISTES ROCHEFORT BEER

I open the blog with a 9,2% belgian beer made in Saint Remy Abbey by the trappist monks. It has reminded me a Polish beer which has a similar alcohol content, able to stroke a person after the second bottle; Kaper, if you manage to get one. The one we’re talking about is made of the water coming from a well inside the abbey, malt and other cereals, and a kind of sugar candy. The recipe is secret; the monks would never disclose it, they’re not so stupid. Dark coloured, the first thing which is noticed is the high alcohol content, even unpleasant at first taste. It is said that this beer evolves with the time and the expiration date is just indicative, a pure legal requisite; in fact, these process haven’t been deeply studied yet. Disturbing...

Cerveza Trappistes Rochefort

Me inauguro con una cervecita belga de 9,2 %, fabricada en la Abadía de Saint Remy por monjes trapistas. Me ha recordado una cerveza polaca de similar gradación que te dejaba tieso al segundo envase; Kaper, si podeis haceros con ella. La que nos ocupa se elabora a partir de agua procedente de un manantial situado en el interior del monasterio, malta y otros cereales y una especie de azúcar caramelizado. La receta es secreta, los monjes no son tan tontos como para publicarla. De color oscuro, lo primero que llama la atención es su alto contenido en alcohol, que hasta puede resultar desagradable en un primer momento. Dicen de esta cerveza que evoluciona con el tiempo y que la fecha de caducidad es indicativa, un mero requisito legal; de hecho estos procesos no han sido estudiados todavía con suficiente precisión. Inquietante...