Responsibilities Of The Tapas Eater

We went out for some tapas in the early evening yesterday. A nice, old fashioned bar with lots of wood and dodgy paintings. The mother and daughter running the place are super friendly and their tapas are the best. We ordered some tortilla, anchovies, olives and cured sheep’s cheese, with the prerequisite pan con tomate (warm bread with fresh tomatoes and olive oil. Good? you have no idea…). One glass of the local dry white each, good music, conversation… Everything needed for a good night out.

Enter an American tourist –city map in hand, jeans skirt, white trainers and white socks. She sat down next to us and proceeded to order rather loudly –this was clearly not her first stop of the night. But she seemed friendly enough, so we started chatting (ever since I saw ‘Paris, je t’aime’, I can’t help but start conversations with lone tourists from the US). Turned out she was a journalist over on a working holiday, and I ended up having an interesting, if not immensely convoluted, discussion with her.

When she got up to leave –a train to catch to Barcelona– the owner politely stopped her. Maybe she forgot to pay the bill, I thought. But no. The woman, friendly smile intact, pointed to the half eaten plate of serrano Iberico (ham) and said, Please finish that. The American woman replied, Oh, but I loved it! It was just a bit too greasy for me. Not good enough, apparently. No one ever leaves their food, the woman persisted, and if you do then I’ll feel bad. So the journalist picked the greasiest part off of the ham and ate the rest. Ok? She asked, still chewing. The owner shrugged and let her go. After she was gone, the woman turned to us and shook her head. What a pity, she said, and took the left over grease away.