A sea side town out of season is an ambiguous place.
Everything is the same and different.
Some places have closed and others have opened. There is a feeling of impermanence and transition.
The people you see around the streets near our flat are usually locals – outsiders confined to the weekends.
It is still very tempting to mark the middle of the day with a menu del dia – these meals are still being served for the benefit of workers and residents rather than passing visitor trade.
Some things, however, have changed. It is significant that, all things being equal, it is now an advantage to sit in the autumn sun for your meal rather than search out the more traditional Catalan shade.
My favourite restaurant on the corner of our street now recognizes me as a regular and almost puts my choice of drink on the table before I’ve unfolded the napkin (vino tinto y Casera, since you ask!) I usually eat my meal as the sole non-Catalan in the place and feel both a sense of belonging and of difference.
The whole problem revolves around where to sit.
There are plenty of tables outside the open bar which are protected by an awning, but are still open to most of the elements and the odd cutting breeze. As I still maintain summer wear with increasing defiance, I should sit outside, but as the restaurant is in shade it is too bloody cold and, bearing in mind what my dad always said (“Only a fool or a pauper is cold”) I prefer to seek the more balmy areas inside.
This too is a problem. There are various types of inside. I could sit at the bar, but there I should eat tapas rather than the excellent value afforded by the menu del dia. That leaves the tables. There are two sets of tables inside: those with tablecloths and those without. I tend to go for the napery rather than bare metal because I feel that the basic table is almost a sign of chummy familiarity – a stage I have not yet reached!
If you are eating alone, then it is surely bad manners to sit at a table for four or even worse, at two tables placed together. You sit down and all other places are cleared away. You are in solitary splendour then other people arrive and have nowhere to sit because of your selfishness. It is difficult to digest food when you gullet is constricted with unjustifiable embarrassment as your food turns to dust in your mouth under the relentless glare of exiled diners. Well, to be fair, it’s not quite like that, but decisions have to be made and sat with!
There is also the problem of the television. Catalans live with the TV. In every Catalan house that I have been into the TV is on and remains on whether there people are watching it or not. And that’s the problem. I find TV difficult to ignore. Whether I want to watch or not, my gaze is drawn to the moving pictures. In restaurants too the ubiquitous screen shines its beguiling rubbish while you eat.
So it was quite easy for me to follow the Etiquette necessary to find a seat: a table for two; inside; table cloth; away from the TV; facing towards the street. Success at last!
The only problem was that it was next to the loo.
Everything is the same and different.
Some places have closed and others have opened. There is a feeling of impermanence and transition.
The people you see around the streets near our flat are usually locals – outsiders confined to the weekends.
It is still very tempting to mark the middle of the day with a menu del dia – these meals are still being served for the benefit of workers and residents rather than passing visitor trade.
Some things, however, have changed. It is significant that, all things being equal, it is now an advantage to sit in the autumn sun for your meal rather than search out the more traditional Catalan shade.
My favourite restaurant on the corner of our street now recognizes me as a regular and almost puts my choice of drink on the table before I’ve unfolded the napkin (vino tinto y Casera, since you ask!) I usually eat my meal as the sole non-Catalan in the place and feel both a sense of belonging and of difference.
The whole problem revolves around where to sit.
There are plenty of tables outside the open bar which are protected by an awning, but are still open to most of the elements and the odd cutting breeze. As I still maintain summer wear with increasing defiance, I should sit outside, but as the restaurant is in shade it is too bloody cold and, bearing in mind what my dad always said (“Only a fool or a pauper is cold”) I prefer to seek the more balmy areas inside.
This too is a problem. There are various types of inside. I could sit at the bar, but there I should eat tapas rather than the excellent value afforded by the menu del dia. That leaves the tables. There are two sets of tables inside: those with tablecloths and those without. I tend to go for the napery rather than bare metal because I feel that the basic table is almost a sign of chummy familiarity – a stage I have not yet reached!
If you are eating alone, then it is surely bad manners to sit at a table for four or even worse, at two tables placed together. You sit down and all other places are cleared away. You are in solitary splendour then other people arrive and have nowhere to sit because of your selfishness. It is difficult to digest food when you gullet is constricted with unjustifiable embarrassment as your food turns to dust in your mouth under the relentless glare of exiled diners. Well, to be fair, it’s not quite like that, but decisions have to be made and sat with!
There is also the problem of the television. Catalans live with the TV. In every Catalan house that I have been into the TV is on and remains on whether there people are watching it or not. And that’s the problem. I find TV difficult to ignore. Whether I want to watch or not, my gaze is drawn to the moving pictures. In restaurants too the ubiquitous screen shines its beguiling rubbish while you eat.
So it was quite easy for me to follow the Etiquette necessary to find a seat: a table for two; inside; table cloth; away from the TV; facing towards the street. Success at last!
The only problem was that it was next to the loo.
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