Tabanko Callejón

Fuengirola in Southern Spain is a town of two parts. Towards the Malaga side is more of a resort, popular with Belgians, Dutch, and some Brits, with its attendant sprinkling of "British" pubs as well as a paseo crammed full of lookalike restaurants.  Strolling through at night, you are accosted by "propaganda" types, trying to persuade you in.  It is the sort of place that has plenty of buzz, but to me at least, little appeal, but you have to see it to be sure.  On our two visits to the town, we have probably only walked through it occasionally. There is a divide though, and when you cross it - and it is very obvious - you are in the truly Spanish part - the old town - and it is there, that for this writer at least, the real attraction lies.

Typically, a Spanish seaside old town will have a lot of backstreets, with various business, shops and of course bars and restaurants. It will usually be unspoilt and pretty well timeless. There are several squares and often these have bars with outside tables of  varying degrees of appeal and sometimes, hidden away, is a gem. Such is Tabanko Callejón. Situated on the main road, opposite Pl. Reyes Católico, a busy square which contains a very smart hotel, the former Town Hall, at its top end. I know this, as this is our hotel of choice when we visit. You could easily miss the bar, next to a supermarket, with an unassuming exterior. It is a proper Spanish bar. Proper in that it almost solely attracts locals and that it ticks every box in the mind's eye of what a Spanish bar should be. It is typically rammed during the day and then, not evening, is the best time to visit if you want the full on experience.

On our previous visit, we had sort of looked in several times, balking at the merry din and wondering, "Are we welcome here?" Once we had actually gone in, and as we couldn't find a single place to stand or sit, we retreated, self-conscious, tails firmly between our legs and utterly defeated. We had also looked in at night where it was a shadow of its daytime self, less busy, more gloomy and somehow not the same.  This time our hotel room, with its little balcony, overlooked the square and the bar. We could watch the comings and goings. We needed a plan, but we were going there no matter what.

We decided on simplicity. Basically, we'd get in there in good time and make ourselves part of the furniture. So, on the appointed day, we'd have a small breakfast, go in early afternoon and eat lunch there. The bar is quite long and thin, and we speculated that we'd be looked on more kindly when taking up one of the few tables if we were eating. 

When you enter, the first thing that strikes you is the hubbub. The air crackles with shouts and laughter and while it is quite dim, you realise instantly that this is the real deal. The place is going like a fair and is just as cheerfully boisterous.. On the right are a few empty, more formal tables, all with cutlery and all with reserved signs on them. The bar takes up the length of the room, with a few high tables and wine barrels acting as tables facing it with stools for seats. There isn't much room between barrel and bar. Just enough to get by. At 2pm, all except one are occupied, while the bar is crammed with bodies, some with small plates in front of them, some not, but all with either a caña of beer, a vermouth, or a glass of wine.  We boldly nab the only empty table as we look round.  Within seconds, a waiter approaches with a brief hello. Are we eating, he says. We reply in the affirmative, he asks what drinks we want and disappears. Dos cañas. He brings two Cruzcampo and plonks them down with a menu. Seconds later, he returns with a plate of bread and a small bowl of paella. "On the house" he says. We are in and can relax.

The theme of the bar is bullfighting. The walls are decorated with the heads of vanquished bulls, looking, presumably in their taxidermized state, a lot more happy than when they met their fate. Bullfighting apparatus covers the ceilings. The bar is dark brown and white walled, with the usual trinkets, bric-a-brac and collectables, and at one end several large wine barrels are dispensing who knows what.  On the door end of the counter is a chill cabinet with salads and seafood. A cheerful pile of knobbly and oversized tomatoes completes the picture.

Looking round, there is a good customer mix. Mostly men or couples, but this changes as a family come in and occupy the reserved tables. They are jolly and have various children, obviously used to it all, who are fussed over and included.  They don't run around, not that there is any room to do so. Behind us is a man in his thirties, accompanied by a younger woman. He is the type that you certainly wouldn't want your daughter to bring home, and they spend their time canoodling, though in fairness, he is the canoodlee rather than the canoodler.  A barman catches my eye as he shucks shellfish with a fierce looking knife, without looking at them. He jerks his head to the couple and shakes his head at me. I shrug and nod. We understand.

You wouldn't really have thought the bar would get much busier, but it does. The dynamics are simple. Newcomers try to squeeze in, or wait just behind those at the front, and when someone goes, they seamlessly slide in. Our server brings our food all at once in the Spanish manner, but as two of our three plates are salad - no problem. We eat boquerones and move on to white verdejo wine while taking it all in. Measures are generous and only three euros.  I raised finger gets you a refill. It is all easy now. My barman friend - a worried father maybe - catches my eye again. His feelings now quite open about the couple behind me.

A single woman enters and skilfully finds a spot in front of the tomatoes. She acknowledges everyone around her and throws us a winning smile. Children, old ones, locals and foreigners, everyone is welcome if they play by the rules and really, all you have to do is read the room and tune in. We are happy and our food finished and enough wine for now, we depart.  As I look back, "our" table is occupied already. No doubt it had been subtly watched and earmarked.

So, when in Spain, find these places. They are so worth a visit and a people watcher's paradise.  The atmosphere is unbeatable and the experience lasting. Don't be afraid of them.

We also had an afternoon in Torremolinos as a trip out on the Sunday of our week away. Though not in the same league as Tabanko Callejón, we found a couple of excellent traditional bars, including one, surprisingly, in the main shopping Street. Well worth looking in the backstreets anywhere in Spain really.

Spanish Cruzcampo is pretty easy going stuff. Maybe the best, but Alhambra and Victoria are OK too. San Miguel and Mahou, not so much,  but you may think differently.

 

 

In a Neat Little Town

Many years ago when I was working, for a couple of years, I used to visit Belfast probably once a month or so.  I remember then that Special Branch paid a fair bit of attention to travellers, and at Manchester Airport, I was asked more than once for my reason for visiting.  "Business - Government business" was my answer.  I was quick to add that it was Social Security business and that was that. No such problems at Manchester Airport now, but I still find it fun, when asked about why I went to Belfast, to tell people that I used to advise the Northern Ireland Government. Well, I did, but it sounds a lot less impressive when I reveal that it was about how to integrate NI and GB Social Security computer systems.

So, last month we went for a few nights, just for pleasure and in my book, that was going to be trying out a few more pubs than I was able to visit then. Back in the day, my visits to pubs were fairly few and confined, more or less, to those that were near the famous Excelsior Hotel, where I usually stayed. This time, we stayed in a nice hotel in the Botanic area and as we walked from the bus station towards it, I was pleased to note that Great Northern Tower, where I worked, was still there and right next door to the famous Europa Hotel. I didn't remember it being quite so close, though opposite was the Crown Liquor Saloon, which I did.

After checking in, we set off to get the feel of the place and to visit a few pubs, more of which later.  But for now, I'll just mention one or two differences between Nornireland pubs and those in GB. Firstly, they just seem more professionally run. Most of the bar staff aren't teenagers with a combined inability to look you in the eye and the attention span of a gnat, but older men and women who clearly regard bar work as a profession. In short, the service was almost universally great, as was the conversational nature of the transactions.  The pubs varied a lot, but were clean, warm and welcoming. Not exactly like GB pubs, more like in Ireland, without a telly on every vertical surface.

Now what about the beer? Well, you won't be surprised that Guinness is pretty much the leading drink there.  I was though, a little surprised at the lack of imported brands, although there were a few (mostly lagers) from Ireland.  Some from GB of course and surprisingly few local beers at first glance, though I suspect the major brewers have much of the taps tied in one way or another. We started off in Robinsons, a fine big boozer next to the Crown Liquor Saloon. Our choice? Well, Guinness of course - you have to for your first at least don't you, and this was a fine example of what I regard as a pretty unimpressive beer. I had learned before I went there that the gas mix in Ireland - presumably including the North too - is a 75/25 nitrogen to CO2, whereas in GB it is 70/30, making for a less creamy and smooth pint than in Ireland. The atmosphere was good and late on a Tuesday afternoon, the pub was busy with a constant stream of people nipping in for one after work.  

Now I'll return to other pubs in my next post, but my final two observations are one particular one and one more general. Aren't the people there just lovely?  Everyone was so helpful and pleasant, from bar staff to bus inspectors - yes they still have them there  - and  a finer body of ladies and gentlemen you couldn't wish to meet unless you were a fare dodger of course, which we weren't.

And the last point? Belfast City Centre was pretty much like any other British City Centre. If you think it might feel a bit Irish - well, not to my eyes.

Next up Bittles Bar - Did we get thrown out for requesting a half pint?

There are some smashing restaurants around in Belfast too.  Together with great pubs, loads to see and do, and of course, the Titanic Experience, I recommend it highly.

Wetherspoons. Good or Shite?

I inadvertently started a sort of flame war on Twitter the other day. I innocently called into my local Spoons the other day after a few pints of Holts and Lees.  I took a photo - this photo - which seemed to kick off a lot of angst.

Bloody Wetherpoons. Mass Market beer. pic.twitter.com/cCY2ogpOpw

— Tandleman (@tandleman) April 21, 2022

It seems that many of the Twitterati retain a visceral hatred of JDW, even if they up their cask game beyond the "usual suspects".  In a tirade reminiscent of a Usenet Flame War came the sort of comments that are all too often flung about where Wetherspoons are concerned.  You can look for yourself to see what exactly was said, but the same old clichés were trotted out. Let's list a few:

"They buy nearly out of date beer; they are sucking the life out of every High Street; they are loss leading cask beer; they are screwing brewers by forcing them to sell at under fifty quid a nine; £2.10 is an unsustainable joke even before the recent huge increases in EVERY aspect of producing beer;"

You get the picture. Of course, added to the general tirade about Wetherspoons, were the usual attacks on CAMRA and its members for daring to a) offer and b) use 50p vouchers.  Another theme was that brewers are devaluing their own products by selling to Wetherspoons and further shooting themselves in the arse by doing so at unsustainable prices.  I particularly liked this post - countered by Cooking Lager. One can almost feel the spittle flecks:

If you want the future of beer to be pisswater served in a lifeless, soulless husk, then sure, we can pretend it’s sustainable. If you care, it’s not even close to it.

— Tim Hoolahan 💙🤍💛 (@TimHoolahan) April 21, 2022

So what is the truth here?  Like many things, it is complicated. Let's all remember that JDW didn't fall from the skies as a fully formed company of nearly 1000 pubs. Owner, Tim Martin, started with one pub and slowly built his empire. Back then, as far as I recall, the company always used its buying power to keep prices down and attract a wide base of customers on the" pile it high and sell it cheap" model.  I assume as business picked up and the number of outlets increased, their buying power also increased.  This essentially is the model that most supermarkets use. They don't have high profit margins, but they squeeze their suppliers to maintain value to customers. It isn't new at all.  

Back on Twitter, I was moved to respond by naming what I called "the elephant in the room":

There is a degree of self entitlement and holier than thou about all this. I might write a blog about it later. Elephant in the room? Too many small brewers cutting each others throats and having their throats cut by bigger "small brewers" is one. Yes think I will.

— Tandleman (@tandleman) April 22, 2022

I suppose that the argument that brewers are devaluing their own product is some kind of abstract, perfect world thought, as the evidence, rather is that many breweries - most breweries - are not so indignant about the issue that they won't sell. The inconvenient truth is that they are all scrabbling for outlets and the real reason for their supplying JDW, is that if they don't, someone else will.  There are a lot of brewers out there with beer to sell. Likely there are more brewers than we really need to supply the market, but nobody likes to admit it. Oh, and JDW pay the agreed price promptly.  You make beer - you have to sell it. Not much outrage there.

Another inconvenient truth, that we must remember, is that selling cask ale is a quite small part of JDW business, but it accounts for a lot of cask beer. JDW does not make much of its money from cask and if they suddenly ceased to exist - or decided not to sell cask at any price, the problem of over-supply wouldn't go away.  There wouldn't suddenly be sunny uplands where cask beer will be sold at £140 a nine and all breweries would live on milk and honey. Rather, even more of them would have to cease trading. Be careful what you wish for.

So back to the hatred, by some of Wetherspoons. What's really behind it? Yes, they are a big company that force prices from suppliers to be lower than some would like, but unlike, say, certain other pub companies who also buy cheaply, they pass the savings on to customers. Bad people?  There is undoubtedly, too, a certain snobbery aspect. This will be vehemently denied, but really, many rather look down on ordinary people being comfortable with their peers in an environment that they can afford. Better by far they should learn to improve themselves and save up to buy expensive murk in a tin shed or railway arch. That would improve the beer market and give more money to deserving brewers, rather than to the ingrates flogging to Wetherspoons.

You know, this is a somewhat overlooked point. I am writing a blog piece about JDW as mentioned. It is tricky. Much of what is written about them is pure snobbery. How dare of ordinary people enjoy themselves in an outlet in which they are comfortable and can afford. Pt1

— Tandleman (@tandleman)

Pt 2. They should save up and drink better in a tin shed so that saintly brewers (who would happily kill each other for a sale) can pursue their calling.

— Tandleman (@tandleman) April 26, 2022

So are JDW saints or villains? I'd venture neither. They fulfil a need, and they keep mash tuns full.  You also have to remember two basic facts. Nobody has to go there and nobody has to sell to them, but should you really despise and demean those that do? 

What is/was Usenet? Usenet (/ˈjuːznɛt/) is a worldwide distributed discussion system available on computers. Users read and post messages (called articles or posts, and collectively termed news) to one or more categories, known as newsgroups. Usenet is culturally and historically significant in the networked world, having given rise to, or popularized, many widely recognized concepts and terms such as "FAQ", "flame", sockpuppet, and "spam"

Back in the old Usenet days in the 1980s, we (semi jokingly) boiled things down a bit when discussing beer. Was it good, or was it shite? Hence this blog piece title.

A Tale of Two Holt's Pubs

 On Saturday just gone, E suggested we go to the Manchester Transport Museum. Actually almost entirely a bus museum, but hey ho. While it was by no means busy, I enjoyed the old buses and E liked seeing buses of her Manchester youth, dolled up as they were in their former council liveries. All, more or less, were from the local area and most, surprisingly, were in working order, with some of the latest looking like they could nip out and pick fares up there and then. Better than some of the old wrecks that First Bus continue to use, but I digress. Apart from a mock-up of the first Metrolink tram, the sole other non bus was a dray from Beverley's Brewery in Wakefield, so this being a beer blog, here's a photo of it.

 We left, seeking a pint on this hot day. E suggested the Holt's Brewery Tap, the Derby Brewery Arms, about half a mile away, and so there we went. Outside enjoying the traffic views on Cheetham Hill Road were a few lads drinking lager and inside a couple doing the same. I swerved the cask on the basis that nobody was drinking it, for a couple of pints of nitro stout, which was refreshing in the sunshine.  We reflected that the pub was absolutely deserted and while we enjoyed watching the astonishingly varied Cheetham Hillites, but seeking something a little more lively, we caught a bus back to Shudehill and, after a swift one in the newly refurbished Sadler's Cat - see below - we decided on a last one in the recently Holtised, Lower Turk's Head. Now this, at around five pm on a Saturday, was absolutely rammed. Both fairly large rooms were bulging at the seams and bar staff flew up and down serving as quick as they could. It was standing room at the bar only. What a contrast.

We stood at the corner of the bar, me feeling like I was back in the good old days, and E, probably a bit less keen, keeping her eye open for leavers, so she could nab a seat.  I had a pint of Holt's Mild, which was superb. Eventually we got a seat opposite the bar where we could easily watch the mayhem.  It took me a few minutes to adjust. This was like old days, with an astonishingly varied clientele. Older couples mixed easily with younger folks seeking a few cheaper drinks before venturing into town for the evening. Some though were clearly there for the long haul and were getting rather merry. This was a throwback to when pubs weren't quite so segmented and compartmentalised. Only the needless repetitive music, just loud enough to be annoying amid the revelry, struck, literally, a discordant note. I was, though, for a bit, slightly uncomfortable, thinking about Covid. E perhaps more so, but that passed, and we braved another pint before nipping over the road to get the bus home. 

Joseph Holt has spent money on both pubs recently, but I rather fancy that it is better spent on the Turk's Head.

Sadler's Cat was rather empty inside. Formerly the Pilcrow and now operated by Cloudwater, it has a new ventilation system, but you'd be wisely advised to put a coat on here. There can't be a colder pub around. No wonder most were outside in the windy square and hats off to the hardy bar staff. 

E resisted my bright idea of having one in the Hare and Hounds, another splendidly old-fashioned boozer selling Holts. 

What do you note about the pub from the photo (left)?

Sam's One Pound Gamble

It is true. That doyen of the cheap pint, Samuel Smith of Tadcaster has decided to get out of that particular game, with prices rises all round on re-opening. Well as far as we can make out that's the case, but of course, with Sam's, the facts are as murky as a Railway Arch Pint.

So what do we know? Samuel Smith, outside London is pretty cheap for draught beer and lager. In their heartland, pints are often £2 or less.  Rumour now has it that mild and bitter will rise by a pound a pint and lager by up to £1.20.  An entry on Facebook by one of their landlords, which seems to be a re-hashed version of something sent by the brewery to managers (all Sam's pubs are managed) - justifies the price increase.  It reads roughly thus:

"We have had no choice but to raise our prices. For years Sam Smiths pricing has been way below our competitors. Our family run company have been producing excellent value in brewing since 1758. In these uncertain times and let’s face it, no one really knows what the future holds, to open up hundreds of pubs is really risky and costly. We are just raising our prices inline or below of our brewing friends. 

Please bear in mind how really low our prices we’re for years and at some point to sustain stability we have no choice but get inline with everyone. 

When I made a quick visit to the THT on Sunday, our landlord mentioned he had a Sam's manager in, who had mentioned in conversation, the price increase will be in the range I mention above.  Now I can't yet actually confirm it and equally, I have no idea how prices will or won't change in London, or indeed how much we can depend on what we read elsewhere.

Sam's pubs operate without televisions, with no music - recorded or live; no use of phones, laptops or even Kindles, as well as being liberally emblazoned by signs telling you in no uncertain terms what you can or can't do within. It probably isn't unfair to say that part of the quid pro quo for doing what you are told is low prices.  Having said all that, the actual sentiment of catching up may have some validity. Outside London, for draught products only, Sam's pubs are cheap as chips. In fact, cheaper than chips if you drink mild - but it is a bit of a gamble to pile it all on at once. Given the odd way Humphrey operates, like an East German holiday camp, he attracts a certain kind of customer.

Now if you are paying bottom dollar for your ale, you may well be minded to put up with all this, but if a price rise take your pint to broadly in line with elsewhere and you realise that five pints cost you a fiver more,  I dare say many won't.  After all, why pay £3 a pint to put up with Humphrey's lopsided world, when you can go elsewhere and won't have to?

Whichever way you look at it, this is a gamble and it signposts, the end of a unique business model, but if it backfires, it may also be the last blast of Humph's reign.

Wetherspoon's may be the likely beneficiary of any ex Sam's customers. While the Bailiwick of the opinions of another lopsided eccentric,  you can at leastphone your pals about it, while gently effing and jeffing. And you can get cask ale, which you can't in almost all the 33 Sam's pubs in my area.

Can't see it helping to re-open the many Sam's pubs which are currently closed.  You would have thought that a slow increase might have worked better, rather than a short, sharp shock.  Then again, people have short memories.

Missing Cask Stout

Like many others, I have been supping the odd beer at home, mainly, it has to be said, in the garden around five o'clock if the weather has been fine.  It has on the odd occasion needed a fleece to keep warm, given that here, it never seems to be sunny but not windy. Somehow though it feels more conducive to enjoyment and also better for mental well-being, to drink a beer in the fresh air, rather than in a lumpen mess on the couch in front of the TV. I suppose too, it is just that bit  more agreeable, with blue skies, a glass in hand and an overabundance of crisps or Pringles. In fact, together with the lovely E, it has been quite pally really.

Surprisingly, despite several weeks cheek by jowl, we haven't nearly killed each other yet. In fact, it has been pretty amicable. As an aside to that, I fancy the story might be a tad different if we had been marooned in our small London flat. At the very least I  imagine, tempers would have become frayed, but here in the Centre of the Universe, we have space to get away from each other. The garden too has been a fantastic port in a storm and though it won't win any prizes, it is neat and tidy. (My main concern is that the neighbours don't get a petition up against us, so we are doing fine on that score at least).

In addition, we have a Zoom meeting every Sunday with our pals from the Tavern. It started off a little stutteringly, but just like the real thing, the Virtual Tavern has become more lively as we get used to the medium.  Oddly - and you won't believe this - the sessions themselves get more animated and indeed vivacious, as we sup more ale.  It was ever thus I guess and with some diehards staying yakking for several hours, not so bad really, though clearly we all yearn for the real thing, which we  agree without dissent, is still a long time off.

I've been missing a decent pint of cask though and have been buying bag in the box stuff from our local Pictish Brewery, but have been hankering after a cask conditioned stout.  Thankfully I have located some and tomorrow (I think) five litres of stout will come from Blackjack Brewery in Manchester. It is described as "balances of malt, sweetness, bitterness and hedgerow hoppy aroma."  That'll do. I have had it in the Blackjack Tap before, so I'm looking forward to it, even though it is re-racked, but like the Pictish beers, fine if you don't leave it hanging around too long. Not a likely outcome I can assure you.

Since I don't have a bag-in-box adaptor - didn't anticipate the need sadly - like my Pictish beers, I'll rig up a workaround.  Expect to see photos of tightly sparkled stout sometime tomorrow.

It is even more surprising that we haven't killed each other. The day after lockdown E suffered a sudden onset of rather severe sciatica, which is only now almost gone. Her Stoic nature alone made survival of that possible.

My other go to lockdown beer, as mentioned before, is St Austell Proper Job. Why not share your lockdown favourites here.