Today's entry is a guest post by Robin Graham, another expat blogger based out of Spain. He's stationed on the opposite end, about as far south as you can get, and I love reading about his vastly different experience in the form of witty prose. That's why I invited him to give us a sneak peek of one of his favorite spots down South:
It’s a while since I was here - we had to cancel our last trip to Seville. And it feels good; we always pick this spot at the bar, where we can look at the fridge-full of food products as if it were a television. Sometimes this place is number three in my mental top ten, sometimes number five, sometimes number one.
They still keep the jamonera beneath a window that in the warmer months becomes a hatch so that customers can be served in the street when the place spills over. It’s a tiny bar, with just a few stools and a bit of standing room.
There isn’t too much cooking going on – the ingredient is prioritized here. The menus consists of a range of brusquettas, designated white (mascarpone, walnuts and blue cheese), red (tomato pesto and pecorino), Andaluz (mozzarella with salmorejo and jamón) and Siciliana (mortadella, provolone and olive paste).
On top of that there’s bresaola, goat’s cheese in a salsa verde, scamorza and a caprese salad made with good buffalo mozzarella and sprinkled with oregano rather than basil, just to keep things Spanish. It’s the only tapas bar I know of that serves up such a range of Italian treats in Spain’s beloved, bite-sized portions.
The ladder still leans against the wall by the door so it can be moved and scaled by a member of staff to retrieve a bottle from the overhead wineracks, such is the premium on storage space here. At times there is loungy music and at times there is just the hum of the patrons’ chat.
It’s a neighborhood bar and in fact takes its name from the neighborhood: Alfalfa. Well-known enough but away from the hordes.
A real favourite.