Una cerveza por favour. . . no make that six please

In an effort to suppress my raging desire to airlift our property agent off the planet on the end of my boot, I could think of nothing better to do over the weekend than find a new bar. I know one is not supposed to deal with negative emotions by drinking alcohol, but as my knees have finally succumbed to the wear and tear of walking 200 kilomteres about Madrid in the last 10 days, I am left with little choice. So back off Shirley Temple! On the plus side, I can now update you on where you might get a decent sup at a decent price and also avoid wallet-molestation.


Let us start by killing off one old drone once and for all. Gran Café Gijón claims to be the grand old dame of Madrid traditional coffee houses; something akin to Bewley's in Dublin, or Tortoni in Buenos Aires, or as Mèlange is to Vienna. In fact, somewhat unashamedly, it proclaims itself (on the rear of its menu) as no less than Madrid's "cathedral of humanities and letters" (I kid you not), boasting of a past populated by distinguished artist, writer, actor and philosopher clients. There is little sign of them today however. Even the portraits hanging on the wall are so diminutive as to seem like an embarrassed acknowledgement of a questionable assertion.  Four anorexic white columns support an uninspiring flat ceiling suggesting, at least on a architectural level, that Gijón is more diocesan office than Gothic emporium; a place where a genius might have come reluctantly rather than religiously. Alas, the floor space does little to alter the perception of pretentiousness. The unspectacular square room with the odd potted plant and uniformed waiters (as you would expect) do nothing to entice the ghosts of a purported literary past out of the smoky wood panels.  And, with nothing to really distract the novice visitor, except perhaps the preponderance of the local wealthy blue rinse brigade, all that is left to do here is startle at the shockingly over priced coffees, teas, beers and sandwiches.   Expect to pay over €4 for an espresso (a novelty indeed in a city where the average price of the same drink varies between €1 and €2).  For that price, I would expect a word from the spirit world with Garcia Lorca. In the end, you will not even be convinced your bum might have warmed the same piece of wood as Míro, Machado or Turina.  The big spend might be worth it if the service exuded any of the personality suggested by the crisp white uniforms, however, even by Madrid standards (where service with a smile is a sometimes infrequent and erratic occurrence), the waiters are just a bit too smug and snappy. You be the Judge (http://www.cafegijon.com/). Next.





The Good thing about scampering away from Gijón is that you could end up in the excellent but wholly different La Brocense at 30, Calle Lope de Vega. It has far more understated claim to fame describing itself modestly as "the cocktail bar for friends", but what a find! Inside the curtained door, a cosy bar on the right points the way to a turn of the (nineteenth) century parlour to the rear.  The furniture, with its enticing air of antiquation, renders the room reminiscent of the incarnation of a Dutch master's painting; a feeling accentuated by the ochre candlelight gently illuminating traditional crotchetted  tables cloths and curtains. Yet, could this place equally be an homage to a particular traditional Catalan living room? The bathroom doors are shielded by Chinese panels, which lend a certain charm and irony, standing opposite a brilliant copy of Salvador Dalì's pre-surrealist Girl Looking out a window (1925). The tributes to early Dali are subtle and continued throughout this charming premises with hanging nets and wheat sheaths and even the delph in the cabinets. It is not difficult to imagine an invented past here where Salvador and his beloved Coco Chanel huddle in the flickering amber light - he exciting her wild superstitiousness with his even wilder imagination. 


While friendly and attentive staff tend to your order, there is plenty to feast the eyes and the ears. The clientele are mixed (mostly local) and the atmosphere is  one of mid-volume joviality; mutterings, musings and laughing overlay a soundtrack of off-beat Gótan or café orchestra tunes, making this a perfect stopping point for fittingly priced after dinner drinks or early evening banter. And here you do get the feeling that if the walls could talk you never know what voices you might hear popping out. How fittingly surreal. Salud!