The Guiri Treatment. It happens most frequently with taxi drivers, occasionally at markets where the stall owners don’t know me, and now and again at bars. Basically it’s when a local service provider takes me for a guiri (an unflattering term used to describe foreigners, especially tourists) and decides it would be a clever idea to try and rip me off. Trust me, this is never a clever idea. I not only make sure I do not get ripped off, but I make enough of a fuss that (I hope) the guilty party will think twice before trying this kind of stunt again on a visiting foreigner.
The other day it happened at a bar I’d only been to once before. We had been out walking and stopped in for a quick beer before lunch, and I asked for 2 cañas. Most bars only serve one size of beer (the small cañas) but as I have sometimes been served larger ones when I’ve asked for a cerveza I always make sure I specifically order cañas to avoid confusion.
On this occasion I did the same and was given two large beers. I pointed out the mistake to the barman and he waved me away, so I assumed that he realized the error was his and that I wouldn’t be charged extra, which is usually the case when this happens (though at one bar they actually dumped the two large beers down the drain and poured me two fresh cañas – huh?). In fact, we only drank half the beers because we had to get going – and I can never finish a big beer anyhow – but when we went to pay he charged full price – 5€ for 2 large beers.
Let’s just say a very lively discussion commenced with the barman getting more and more heated, saying stuff like… “well, you drank it, didn’t you?” and “what am I supposed to do with that beer now?”… which, as you can imagine, didn’t go over very well with me. And yeah, I know it was just a couple of euros difference, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that this man purposely served me something I hadn’t ordered and then thought I was a Stupid Guiri who would just pay up and leave. Except I didn’t and – eventually and as always – victory was mine. Stupid Barman.
… or at least one of them. This is Rafael’s jamón cutting station at 
This morning the IKEA guys came with all the new stuff and put everything together within three hours. Me? It would have probably taken three days – or more! BUT it meant that at 12.15 Peter and I were not only ready for “Beer O’clock”, but also that we were more than ready for the breakfast we hadn’t had time for.
Stuff like this just makes my day. After a couple of hours sorting out “papeles” at the social security office for my online digital certificate, and then setting up appointments for blood tests and my next oncology appointment, it was definitely BEER O’CLOCK. But then I remembered reading about a place I’d never been to (yep, there are still a few of them out there) so Peter and I walked over to the 
Preview tasting menu: “solid cocktail” of Hidalgo fino, Lustau vermouth with trout roe and orange zest; grilled oysters with toasted butter and artemia; onion crisp topped with larded tuna, onion purée and tuna fat; cod liver salad on mushroom slivers, baby spinach and lettuce, fish emulsion and spicy vinegar; squid ink potato parmentier with cuttlefish roe and chipirón; sea bass with confit black trumpet mushrooms and fish emulsion; lemon meringue “pie” on a crispy biscuit.
A bit like when you see bullheads in a bar, you can always spot an inauthentic travel piece on Sevilla that talks about all the “spit and sawdust” bars here, with napkins strewn all over the floor. I’ve lived here for over 23 years and the very few bars in the centre that used to put down sawdust have long since stopped this practice. But every now and then you find one. This was taken at Taberna Azahar, a bar I’ve been planning to go to for ages (mostly for the name, truth be told). It’s up in the Macarena barrio, not a place I frequent very often. Anyhow, although they still put down sawdust, there are little bins throughout the bar for paper napkins.
Chef Óscar here at Casa Morales has no idea what the barmen have written on the specials board. Do you? The past couple of days I’ve been checking in at my usual “tapas tour bars”, saying hi to everyone, you know, just staying connected. And today this happened. Cracked me up…
Back in the “old days” women in Spain (as in many countries) weren’t allowed in bars, so of course there was no need to have a toilet for them to use. You can still sometimes come across old urinarios like this one, which didn’t even used to have doors on them. This relic is in one of my favourite sherry bars, 
