The Problem with Brit Bars Abroad

Apart from watching football in one here on Tenerife I tend to avoid British bars and restaurants outside of Britain.

That might come across sounding like a bit of travel snob; the sort of person who only frequents watering holes and eateries owned by the indigenous people of the country I’m visiting. But nope I don’t subscribe to that either. In Britain I ate at restaurants serving food from all over the globe and I had no idea usually who owned the bars so why restrict myself when I travel? I normally choose to eat mainly at restaurants serving local cuisine, but variety is the spice of life and every so often it’s nice to have a change – even over a two week holiday period – especially if the local cuisine isn’t great (just because it’s abroad doesn’t always make it good).

There’s one reason and one reason mainly that I avoid Brit bars and restaurants and that’s because so far, most of the ones I’ve experienced abroad are not the sort of places I would frequent in Britain, so they’re certainly not going to do it for me in another country.

Last week we were on Lanzarote in Costa Teguise. I like Costa Teguise. It has a nice mix of different nationalities which is reflected in the resort’s bars and restaurants. In some ways it reminds me a bit of El Médano on Tenerife.

However, because of flight times, on our last day there we found ourselves needing to grab something to eat at around 6pm. The hotel’s snack bar was closed so the only option was a British bar opposite.

There was nothing particularly offensive with the place, the people were friendly enough, except that it fit a model that seems to be a blueprint for nearly every Brit bar in Spain.

First of all there was the ubiquitous ex-pat client bitching about everybody and everything (do you get one of these with the deeds I wonder?). The décor was mock Tudor and there were blackboards all over the place advertising football, Corrie and the oh so passé pub grub on offer. Then there was the music. It was circa 1980…it’s always circa 1980 (with a heavy dash of 1960s thrown in). As well as the bitchin’ ex-pat, Brit bars abroad seem to be only able to pick up music from decades long gone.

The menu was from the same era – fish and chips (of course), steak and kidney pie (frozen), burger and chips (frozen), chilli con carne and, best (or worst) of all, saveloys – does anyone apart from Brit bars abroad really use that term these days?

And there’s my problem with Brit bars abroad. Before I left Britain nearly eight years ago the bars I went to were modern and stylish, played the same contemporary music I listened to driving to work and at home and had imaginative menus where not everything was fried or microwaved.

That’s not the case with Brit bars abroad. Most times when I go to a Brit bar abroad I feel as though I’m an extra in an episode of Ashes to Ashes. They seem to have been stuck in a groove for quarter of a century and for the life of me I can’t get my head around why they are all following almost exactly the same outdated format.

Do people still actually believe that a frozen burger in a bready bap and Billy Ocean belting out When the Going Gets Tough on the radio is really good enough in this day and age?

But hey, maybe it’s me that’s out of step… but if that’s the case who were all those people that packed out the bars I used to go to?
By the way if anyone does actually know of a quality British bar that strays from the norm, then I’d love to know about it.

P.S. If it includes even one of the qualities (an ironic use of the word) I’ve mentioned then don’t bother.

Throwing a Party La Gomera Style

I’ve been to quite a few shindigs since I moved to the Canary Islands and I don’t think two have ever been quite the same. The most bizarre was a barbecue in a museum in Puerto de la Cruz which was enjoyable in a surreal way, but my favourites are those held by my friend, Jo in Garajonay National Park on La Gomera.

I like these Gomeran parties in the hills partly because there are absolutely no pretensions connected with them and also because they’re very community oriented. Most of the food and drink has been made or distilled by someone present. That factor lends a quality that you would never find in a suburban Abigail’s Party affair.

The one I attended recently was a good example. The day started off with a sort of casual planning session over breakfast as we came round from a bout of ‘catching up’ with each other over a few glasses of vino the night before. Jo had very kindly given up her room to Andy and I whilst she shared the guest bedroom with Sri Lankan Sarah (visiting from Doncaster). Honorary northerner Keith (visiting from Exeter) was consigned to the second spare room which also happened to be the pantry where all the booze was stored, so no great hardship for him there.

The party was due to start at 3pm and throughout the day preparations came together in a slow casual manner between a series of outfit changes from the women present that would rival an episode of Sex and the City (one for breakfast, one for cleaning and cooking, one for a post cleaning beer and then one for the party itself). I’ve learnt from past soirées that the smartest plan of action is to offer to do something creative in the kitchen. As Jo’s cooker is an antique specimen with hobs that have a mind of their own and hardly produce enough heat to barbecue a fly, it keeps me out of the road and away from cleaning duties for most of the day.

The ‘something creative’ was to make a couple of trays of empanadas (little cresent shaped pies), spicing up the usual tuna, tomato, onion ingredients with a mix of spices, a splash of soy sauce and a few other ingredients from Jo’s kitchen cupboard as Taj Mahal provided a mellow soundtrack whilst the others bustled about prettying up the terrace and themselves (all except Keith…on both counts). To be honest when you’ve got a terrace overlooking an unspoilt valley, it doesn’t really need a lot of prettying up. The views distract from anything else.

After the empanadas were out of the road Andy got creative with some Serrano ham and olives whilst Sarah and I set up a production line to make mini two-cheeses montaditos topped with olives and sun dried tomatoes and then a bowl of tumaca (tomato, garlic, olive oil, pepper mixture for spreading on hit bread) to complement the Serrano that hadn’t been artistically arranged by Andy. A couple of shop bought tortillas and a mountain of fresh crusty bread finished off our contribution.

After that it was time for a beer as other guests began to arrive adding their own contributions including Berliners (little doughnuts with jam), home brewed red and white wines; a huge and quaffable carton of cider (also home brewed) that seemed bottomless, cumin flavoured cheese, guacamole, couscous and intriguing hibiscus flowers soaked in syrup which are supposed to be added to cava (they look pretty, but actually spoil the crispness of cava).

From then on it was just a matter of mingling, chatting with a load of interesting people and sampling each person’s goodies as the afternoon turned to evening, then night, then early morning. There’s no talk about who’s got the biggest house or the flashiest car. Material posessions that aren’t functional aren’t important on the edge of the rainforest. The only rivalry evident is related to who has made the most potent home brew and the only bullshit about is where it belongs…in the fields.

In the end not a lot happens at these parties. We eat, we drink, we chat, we laugh and we feel wonderfully relaxed. But most of all for a short time we feel part of a tiny close-knit community in a remote valley on a little island near Africa. And that alone is something very special.

The first Buzz of Carnival in Puerto de la Cruz

Last night I saw something that sent a shiver of excitement down my spine and brought a tingle to my tastebuds; something that seductively whispered ‘carnaval is here’ in my ears and had me licking my lips in anticipation of the maelstrom that was about to assault the senses of anyone who had the courage to plunge into its all-consuming madness.

I’m not talking about seeing the carnaval stage taking shape or the mini taster parade to announce this year’s carnaval queen candidates…no, I’m talking about a force that was responsible for pulling me out of a decade of being a pescatarian and back, grunting with desire, into the world of the carnivores again.

I’m talking about a food stall extraordinaire…Mesón California.

Forget the wussy bite-sized montaditos of the Madrids and the Barcelonas of this world; at Mesón California you get Desperate Dan-sized, jaw testing versions. Check out the picture if you think I’m exaggerating. These are montaditos for real men – and women of course – and being carnival, also for ghouls, vampires and slutty nuns and nurses etc.

Its erection is the sign for me that carnaval has arrived and I’m positively salivating at the thought of my annual pilgrimage to worship at this exquisite shrine to Spanish street cuisine.

Pinolere Craft Fare in Tenerife, Isn’t it Lovely and How Good’s Your Lovemaking?

It was so quick that it was almost imperceptible, but I saw it; I saw the woman’s eyes flick to my groin and back to my face in a fraction of a millisecond…and it wasn’t a complimentary glance either. I knew exactly what had gone through her mind.

Pinchos, corn on the cob, hard boiled eggs, beer & wine - not an extensive menu, but a great place to hang out.

The sun at the Pinolere Craft Fair was beating down with September ferocity. People are talking about the end of summer, but if summer was based on hot, hot, hot temperatures as opposed to just hot ones, we’d have another two months left here on Tenerife. Andy and I had just completed our first circuit of the stalls at the fair and had conveniently ended up at the huge beer and food kiosk that keeps everyone fuelled and happy. Despite applying sun cream and sun block my nose was starting to resemble a clown’s so we squeezed into the shade, ordered a beer and some pinchos and started waxing lyrical about how beautiful it was, what great stalls there were and what a fab atmosphere Pinolere had.

...And the pinchos (seasoned meat kebabs) were damn good.

“It’s lovely,” a woman standing beside us announced when she heard us speaking English.

She wasn’t English, she was from La Orotava, but clearly wanted to practice her grasp of English which pretty much amounted to answering ‘it’s lovely’ to everything. After a few moments we switched to Spanish and she told us all about herself and her son, what he did and what his girlfriend did, including how much they earned. Then she mentioned that she only had the one child. When I asked if that wasn’t unusual here she laughed and replied “one is more than enough.”

At that Andy told her we didn’t have any and that was when her eyes flicked to my groin and back. I knew her first thought was ‘he must be firing blanks’ or whatever the Spanish equivalent is.

A few years ago we were on a boat trip in Kenya that stopped at a small village where people still lived in thatched huts. We were met by the village chief who for some reason took to me and stuck to my side as we walked around. He told me all about the village, showed me leaves from a tree that tasted like opal fruits and told me all about himself and his family; naming all of his numerous children before asking me how many children I had. When I told him none he was shocked and I saw myself shrinking in his eyes. After that he deserted me and went to find a real man.

The Spanish woman recovered quickly.

“Ha, even better,” she laughed but the seed was planted so to speak.

At that point I’d being doing much of the talking, but as Andy took over and spoke to her about the fair and the weather she looked back at me.

“She speaks better Spanish than you,” she remarked.

“I know, she does everything better than me,” I replied.

“Really,” her eyes widened and she added. “Even in matters of love?”

I knew the no-kids comment had lodged in her brain. I was clearly almost a eunuch in her eyes…and how had we gone from ‘it’s a lovely fair’ to what I was like in bed anyway?

I made some suitably macho retort and then, grabbing Andy by the arm, spotted something we just had to buy at that moment at a stall on the other side of the fair. We ‘venga’d each other and left her to get back to exploring the fair.

The shopping centre - rural Tenerife style

We had a wonderful day at the Pinolere fair. Our haul of goodies amounted to a round of Benijos Cheese, a jar of honey, two pendants with Guanche designs, two bamboo whistles that made bird calls (for nephews), a book marker made from a banana trunk and a fan in a cotton case with a Guanche symbol on it. And all it cost was a handful of euros and a slur on my masculinity.

Oh, and as for the whole no kids deal just in case you’re wondering…lifestyle choice.

Nightlife in Tenerife – Is Abaco the Classiest Bar in Tenerife?

You’d think that being surrounded by banana plantations the nearest bar to us would be a quaint little rustic place where the plantation workers swapped their machetes for a glass of vino tinto but no, this is Tenerife where expectations are often confounded.

A short -ish stroll to the end of the banana road and up the hill opposite takes us to Puerto’s, and possibly even Tenerife’s poshest bar, Abaco, a grand 18th century mansion which is a cocktail bar and live music venue at night and a museum and folklore centre during the day. Of course to get there we have to pass a restaurant which must be in the running for one of the nicest restaurants in Puerto de la Cruz, Ganania, but that’s used more for weddings and celebrations.

Despite living so close to this wonderful sounding place, we’d never actually been to the bar at night even though it sounded incredible – don’t ask me why.

Abaco - A Classy Bar in an Old Mansion

On Friday night we decided to rectify this, mainly because I’d read a tweet on twitter from jazz singer, Anna Rodriguez that she was performing there. A quick check of Abaco’s website showed that it was free concert (always a bonus) so at around 22.00 we set off along the banana road to the bar where we’d heard fruit and vegetables littered the floor.

The first sight of Abaco is impressive. The mansion could rival any of the Casas de Balcones in La Orotava, but I’m willing to bet that there are any number of visitors to Puerto de la Cruz who don’t know it exists. The front door opens directly onto the main road (it’s quiet so no real danger of doing a Sam Tyler as you step outside) and sure enough the vestibule was decorated in rich hues and with tastefully arranged piles of fruit everywhere. Like many of these mansions, stepping inside was like entering the Tardis; the vestibule led to a sprawling courtyard and gardens with tables tucked away in secret romantic corners. It was stunning; the only problem is that apart from another couple at a table it was empty and we felt a bit like intruders as we explored.

Inside Abaco's Courtyard - This is the toilets!!

The concert was being held in the cocktail bar where at least there were a few other people, but it hadn’t started yet, so we grabbed a table outside to admire the beautiful old building and grounds from the inside. Within seconds a waitress turned up and handed us a drinks menu – it became apparent why such an incredible bar wasn’t packed to the gunwales. The average price of cocktails was €8; the cheapest bottle of wine €20 and if you wanted to go for it, a bottle of gin or vodka would set you back €65.

When the waitress returned I meekly asked for two glasses of vino tinto and then Andy and I discussed how much we thought it would cost, settling on €5 per glass based on the prices in the menu. To be fair, although the price of a bottle sounded high, when you work out how many drinks you would get out of it, it isn’t that excessive.

At around 22.30 Anna Rodriguez started her set and we moved inside. Anna’s got an excellent voice and she sang some numbers which varied from Bebel Gilberto songs to jazz classics to a slowed down to a crawl version of The Police’s ‘Message in a Bottle’. It was laid back stuff, a bit too laid back for us, but the bar cat liked it and settled down for a snooze in one of the more comfortable bar chairs.

I can’t say that we’ll become regulars at Abaco – it is immaculately decorated and quite unique and definitely worth a visit, but it’s a bit too quiet and tasteful for us (not that the staff were fussy or pretentious – the service was excellent and very friendly). That’s probably because we’re not refined and are used to the almost manic chatter in the Canarian bars in town. Personally I think it’s better suited to a more mature clientele (hark at Peter Pan here) who enjoy a bit of style in sumptuously serene surroundings, but I could be being unfair here. We left at about midnight and the younger Canarians don’t get going till then, so it might have livened up a bit later.

Price wise, although €8 might seem a lot for a cocktail, they turned out to be more works of art than drinks and were served in huge goblets and looked two to three times the size of your average cocktail. And as for our wine, it was €3 a glass which, considering the uniqueness of the venue, live music and a complimentary goblet of mixed nuts which was refilled as soon as it was emptied, wasn’t bad value at all.

Aha, so this is where they get the fruit for the cocktails.

Romería de San Isidro Labrador: More colour on the streets of La Orotava

Why was I the only person standing on this side of the street like billy-no-mates while all the popular people stood opposite smirking at my obvious insanity?

The answer was simple – the other side of the street was in shade, my side was in full sunshine and the sun was seriously hot.  I didn’t know if I could last the pace; already my bonce felt oven-cooked and I could feel the dizzying effects of dehydration despite taking occasional glugs of lukewarm water; a couple of hours of this and surely I’d end up as a pile of bleached bones cluttering the immaculate streets.

Glug, glug, glug...

But from my position I could see all the way up to the Casas de los Balcones and down to the Plaza de la Constitución. When the camels arrived their angle would be towards me. If I wanted good photos, I’d have to put up with the frying.

A group of people joined me on my side of the street a few feet away, but as they had set up makeshift shelter under a rainbow canopy, relocated some stools and a wine barrel as a table from the rural hotel opposite; they dealt with the sunny side of the street with quite a bit more panache than me.

The Romería de San Isidro Labrador comes only a couple of days after the Flower Carpets and just when you think you’ve seen La Orotava’s best show, the town comes up with another lavish spectacle. This one kicks off with the arrival of the festival queens in full traditional costume atop camels. It’s a spectacular start to the romería, even if the queens look as nervous as kittens on their temperamental carriages.

I just love this guy's expression

These fiestas are all about eating and drinking and it made me smile to see that even as people were going to join the processional carts which are filled with food, they were stuffing their faces with ice cream and crisps.

Once the Romería gets into full swing it becomes an overwhelming cavalcade of colour, sounds and smells. People shout to have their photos taken, children thrust ‘papas’ and boiled eggs at you, men offer chunks of barbecued meat and goatskins filled with wine; dancers twist and swirl along the narrow streets and musicians pluck at timples and instruments made from olive oil cans. The sunshine made the traditional rainbow coloured skirts and scarlet bodices positively zing with vibrancy. It was a feast in every sense of the word and I snapped away, pausing only to munch on potatoes and a type of crackling as seventy or so ox drawn carts lumbered by.

Traditional...but chic

I’ve been to a number of romerías, but I think La Orotava’s is my favourite. The historic streets are a perfect backdrop for the parade of traditional costumes, but there’s also something sophisticatedly stylish about La Orotava’s romería which reflects the town’s noble history. I came away from the town once again completely wowed by this wonderful island of Tenerife.

See more pictures here

TripAdvisor Tenerife…The Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But…Unless You’re Liquidised.

I’m outraged of Puerto de la Cruz. I’ve just been censored on TripAdvisor Tenerife, or as one expert wittingly coined the phrase…liquidised.

This happens when members go ‘off-topic’, or post abusive, offensive or racist comments and TA Big Brother steps in and wipes out their post. This seems to have been happening more and more recently. Anything that’s remotely juicy disappears, replaced with the intriguing:

-:- Message from TripAdvisor staff -:-
This post was determined to be inappropriate by the TripAdvisor community and has been removed.

When you dip into TripAdvisor Tenerife, you’ll notice that many of the queries don’t make for engrossing reading, so a little contentiousness adds a bit of welcome spice now and again. When I log in and see the ‘message removed’ post my curiosity is aroused; what could have been so bad to have warranted being ‘liquidised’?

Well I’ve just found out.

A musician who sang in the Casablanca Apartments resurrected a post about Puerto de la Cruz from a couple of years back to mention that they were now singing in the Shamrock Bar in town (cue post removed for self promotion), but that wasn’t what prompted me to reply. What prompted me was this from an earlier comment:

“I cooked quite a bit when I stayed at the Casablanca cos we found it difficult finding a decent English restaurant, I live in Spain and never found Spanish food tasty, I live near Benidorm and I like good old English carveries etc. You will really enjoy your holiday, don’t get me wrong but I wouldn’t recommend Puerto for its restaurants.”

Now somebody having a severely limited palate is their own business. But when they go on a public travel advisory forum and try to tell people that Puerto’s restaurants aren’t very good they make it everybody’s business. They are putting their empty head above the parapet and should therefore expect to be shot at.

I felt compelled to comment, to put the record straight…and found myself subsequently liquidised.

Okay, there might have been a hint of sarcasm in my reply (it could and probably should have been a lot worse) but basically I confirmed that if anyone wanted English restaurants, then Puerto de la Cruz was not the place for them. However, if someone was looking for cuisine which reflected the Canarian, Spanish and South American influences found in authentic Tinerfeño towns then maybe it was.

My advice is gone, but that of someone who is clearly gastronomically challenged remains…and we wonder why a lot of people continue to view Tenerife as little more then Britain in the sunshine.

Going Guanche – Gofio Amasado

It has been part of the islander’s staple diet since guys and gals in furry, but by all accounts fetching, little numbers cavorted around campfires in the hills (I’m sure you can see the faintest trace of it at the corner of Raquel Welch’s mouth in the poster for 1 Million Years BC); it’s handed out at every romería on Tenerife (where I’ve noticed veteran romería goers ignore it in favour of more choice pickings) and it’s used to thicken stews and as a cheap version of a power drink. It’s primitive, but it’s still as popular as ever with Tinerfeños. It’s that Guanche favourite – gofio.

I’ve had a bag of this toasted flour for ages and, apart from trying it mixed with soya milk (the power drink version – which was okay) and adding it to porridge to try to improve the flavour (didn’t work) haven’t done a lot with it.

This week I decided to have an attempt at making gofio amasado. Couldn’t be simpler. Add water to gofio and ingredients of your choice until it reaches a doughy consistency, roll it out into a long sausage like shape and simply slice it into medallions. Almost literally, a piece of cake.

I’ve tried gofio amasado on numerous occasions and most times felt it lacked a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ so my version included crushed nuts, chopped dates and grated padano cheese. But I did forget to add honey. Here’s how it turned out…

Admit it, you're positively salivating.

‘How did it taste?’ I hear you cry. I quite like it, but let’s put it this way: Gordon Ramsay isn’t going to be offering me a fortune for my secret recipe.

Come on – what did you think it was going to taste like? This is what cavemen and women ate sitting around their campfires of a night, it was never going to be sophisticated. However, I do have a couple of ideas to improve on the flavour for next time. Watch this space.

Christmas on Tenerife – The Preparation

We’re not ones for roast dinners, partly because at our ages the price on the waistline is much too high, but mostly because the temperature here, whatever the time of year, isn’t one where you feel the need to stock up on body fat to get through long cold winters. So plates piled high with roasted meats, potatoes, gravy, Yorkshire puddings etc don’t really fit the bill…except at Christmas when we do have a full blown turkey dinner.

A foodie's treasure trove

The Al Campo hypermarket in La Orotava stocks up on turkeys from about a week before Christmas, so no problem with that, but buy it too early and you’ll have a seriously whiffy fridge by Christmas Day. However, although we normally buy our veg at Al Campo, it isn’t the greatest choice or quality. For that you have to go to one of the agricultural markets. This year for a change we decided to take a trip to the market at La Laguna to stock up on veg.

La Laguna, like La Orotava and Garachico, is one of those places on Tenerife which I never tire of visiting. There’s always something interesting to see and the marketplace is no exception.
It’s a bustling hall full of stalls piled high with tiny papa negras (potatoes), beets, courgettes, aubergines, kakis (persimmons), lemons, oranges, pineapples, melons, red and white sweet potatoes and bunches of lettuce and herbs. Then there are the salted fish stalls where great slabs of salted fish are lined up under huge bunches of dried red chillies, or the carnicería stalls where pigs’ heads look down accusingly from shiny butcher’s hooks (I tend not to spend too long looking at that one). My favourite stall is the spice and herb counter where rows of neat wicker bags are filled with mountains of sweet paprika, cumin, long sticks of cinnamon, curry and coriander.

Visiting these markets is more than a shopping experience it’s an assault on the senses. The prices are a bit higher than supermarkets, but it’s worth it for the choice available, the quality and not least, the experience.

Christmas on Tenerife – Christmas lunch

Albóndigas before they were pounced on

The week before Christmas we drove across to the south west of Tenerife to wish Merry Christmas to a few friends, including Shani and Heiko of the Katrin whale and dolphin watching boat in Los Gigantes. Whilst we were there we stopped off in Playa de San Juan to have lunch in a new attractive looking contemporary tapas bar, El Aljibe, on the seafront. It’s interesting to see how much San Juan has changed in the five years since we moved here. Then, British voices were relatively rare, but now nearly everyone we passed along the promenade were British. However, they seemed to be the sort of visitors who were enjoying what is still very much a Canarian town and El Aljibe’s tables were filled with people tucking into tapas and carafes of wine. It always pleases me to see people who are actually interested in the island, its culture and its food.
As for the restaurant itself, the quality of the food matched the attractiveness of the décor. Fried camembert melted in the mouth, the albóndigas (spicy meatballs) were clearly home made and had the tiniest hint of piquancy, but it was the incredibly tender and more-ish chopitos (tiny fried squid) which stole the show.
We might have had more exuberant Christmas lunches in the past, but sitting in San Juan with the sun on our faces, it was hard to remember one which was quite so pleasurably relaxing.