We were walking by and noticed this place was playing the USA - Belgium match on the flatscreen,…read moreand so the three of us ducked inside. We were charmed immediately by the taxidermy: the mounted heads of stoic bucks, a ram-ewe couple, and as coat hangers the upturned hooves of unlucky deer. "Charmed" because it had been some time since any of us had stumbled upon a true "greasy spoon".
While American goalkeeper Tim Howard was setting a record for most goals stopped in recorded World Cup history (16, to Belgium's shame), I sipped Martini vermouth and picked at an oily chorizo empanada, and later a pincho of tortilla. Plates of these tapas, the kind that has sat out all day, accompany basic drink orders. The waiter balked when we ordered waters to accompany our drinks, as water is for fish, and the waitress gave us a lot of stink-eye because she was Portuguese, and the Americans had knocked her boys out of the World Cup. I loved them both immediately.
The bar was occupied by four police taking a break from their shift. Of course they were drinking vermouth and cocktails, and watching the match. Of course they drove away at half time. Outside the door a "smoker's stool" is placed, for the bartender or whoever needs it. The door is flanked on the one side by a cigarette machine and the other, a pair of chintzy slots: "Java Treasure" and "Gnomes". The walls are pastel-pink.
The floor remained littered with discarded tapa shreds, napkins and receipts until closing-time. I noticed that my friend had spilled her drink a bit and the liquid was traveling slowly across the tabletop and I thought to myself, "this is the kind of place where it is okay to just let it happen", and none of us, if the others even noticed, made any attempt to wipe it clean.
All of these qualities are worth a lot in the arena of greasy spoons. These sorts of places are disappearing in the USA at least, relics of the 1970's, and it was refreshing to have discovered one. I imagine their breakfast cures hangovers and the clientele is largely regular. Don't let that stop you. If you are in the mood for lowbrow, working-class greasy spoon goodness, stop in here. At least for the taxidermy and complimentary shot after your meal.
