Last night we went for dinner into what was described by one of or party as “a sort of transport caff.” I have to say that his experience of transport cafes and mine must have been radically different.
For a start this place only opened at something like half past nine at night and when we eventually got there (after a few glasses of excellent Rioja in a nearby bar) the sight that greeted us as soon as we went in was the chef (do they have chefs in transport caffs?) triumphantly frying the latest batch of wild mushrooms.
You have to understand that mushrooms are taken very seriously in Catalonia. There are television programmes showing various sorts of people going out and about in remote country areas and emitting short yelps of delight from time to time when they find a particularly tasty specimen which had been hidden from normal view by grass and general undergrowth but these dedicated mushroom hunters seem to have x-ray eyes. They should be employed at airports, I am sure that they would be far more reliable than those damned beeping machines and a good deal less offensive!
We decided to share a plate of the extortionately expensive mushrooms which were, in spite of the price, utterly delicious. We then went our separate ways for the next course.
I chose savoury rice with cod (an everyday staple of all transport cafes that I have frequented!) and washed it down with a fine bottle of Rioja. It was also, unfortunately, the last bottle of that delicious beverage and it was alas, too soon drunk. The replacement bottle we were offered was local to the town in which we were sitting and had quite a pretty label but was, by general consent, disgusting.
The replacement of the replacement was acceptable and the meal seemed to be heading for a tasty conclusion in the form of a surtido of sweets when one of our party declared that he was not feeling well and fairly promptly collapsed. An ambulance was called and soon a chirpy little guy appeared dressed in an official duffle coat with fluorescent trimmings and the discussion continued about what was best to do.
Eventually, just when we were at the point of ordering a taxi (remember the wine) to get him to hospital two ambulance medical workers came and took control. They were briskly efficient and soon he was off to hospital.
If I sound a little glib it is because I saw the same collapsee this morning and not only did he look hale and hearty, but he also had not a trace of a hangover!
The same could not be said for the rest of us who looked a little the worse for wear.
The ostensible reason for going to St Pere was to get the card for Aunt Bet whose birthday will be celebrated in due style a week tomorrow in the wilds of Gloucestershire. Margaret has produced yet another ‘creation’ of flowers and butterflies and it will a unique contribution to the festivities.
The rest of today has been spent in a post alcoholic haze out of which I had to jerk when the family arrived for lunch.
The Crisis is obviously hitting Castelldefels harder and harder as most of the restaurants are now extending their menus del dia into the weekend. The waiter at the restaurant we used for lunch also told us with pride and desperation that the menu del dia has been extended to Sunday as well.
For a start this place only opened at something like half past nine at night and when we eventually got there (after a few glasses of excellent Rioja in a nearby bar) the sight that greeted us as soon as we went in was the chef (do they have chefs in transport caffs?) triumphantly frying the latest batch of wild mushrooms.
You have to understand that mushrooms are taken very seriously in Catalonia. There are television programmes showing various sorts of people going out and about in remote country areas and emitting short yelps of delight from time to time when they find a particularly tasty specimen which had been hidden from normal view by grass and general undergrowth but these dedicated mushroom hunters seem to have x-ray eyes. They should be employed at airports, I am sure that they would be far more reliable than those damned beeping machines and a good deal less offensive!
We decided to share a plate of the extortionately expensive mushrooms which were, in spite of the price, utterly delicious. We then went our separate ways for the next course.
I chose savoury rice with cod (an everyday staple of all transport cafes that I have frequented!) and washed it down with a fine bottle of Rioja. It was also, unfortunately, the last bottle of that delicious beverage and it was alas, too soon drunk. The replacement bottle we were offered was local to the town in which we were sitting and had quite a pretty label but was, by general consent, disgusting.
The replacement of the replacement was acceptable and the meal seemed to be heading for a tasty conclusion in the form of a surtido of sweets when one of our party declared that he was not feeling well and fairly promptly collapsed. An ambulance was called and soon a chirpy little guy appeared dressed in an official duffle coat with fluorescent trimmings and the discussion continued about what was best to do.
Eventually, just when we were at the point of ordering a taxi (remember the wine) to get him to hospital two ambulance medical workers came and took control. They were briskly efficient and soon he was off to hospital.
If I sound a little glib it is because I saw the same collapsee this morning and not only did he look hale and hearty, but he also had not a trace of a hangover!
The same could not be said for the rest of us who looked a little the worse for wear.
The ostensible reason for going to St Pere was to get the card for Aunt Bet whose birthday will be celebrated in due style a week tomorrow in the wilds of Gloucestershire. Margaret has produced yet another ‘creation’ of flowers and butterflies and it will a unique contribution to the festivities.
The rest of today has been spent in a post alcoholic haze out of which I had to jerk when the family arrived for lunch.
The Crisis is obviously hitting Castelldefels harder and harder as most of the restaurants are now extending their menus del dia into the weekend. The waiter at the restaurant we used for lunch also told us with pride and desperation that the menu del dia has been extended to Sunday as well.
I know this sounds like a small thing, but in terms of our little sea side town it is monumental! Last year nothing like this occurred, so the restaurateurs must be responding to fairly dire economic trends.
I still have not had the courage to find out exactly how little money I now possess as it is all in pounds sterling (how ironic that word sounds now!) and invested in some sort of bond. Spend! Spend! Spend! never seemed like sensible advice, but I would have done better to have done just that than force myself into uncharacteristic acts of judicious financial restraint. I should have gone with my instinct and had the time of my life.
But, enough of this lowly raving. I must remember that I am a card carrying member of the Middle Classes and as such I am a devout practioner of Delayed Gratification.
I only hope that the delay is not over long!
I still have not had the courage to find out exactly how little money I now possess as it is all in pounds sterling (how ironic that word sounds now!) and invested in some sort of bond. Spend! Spend! Spend! never seemed like sensible advice, but I would have done better to have done just that than force myself into uncharacteristic acts of judicious financial restraint. I should have gone with my instinct and had the time of my life.
But, enough of this lowly raving. I must remember that I am a card carrying member of the Middle Classes and as such I am a devout practioner of Delayed Gratification.
I only hope that the delay is not over long!
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