Then, as now, I love to find little out of the way places....A 'hole in the wall.'

The date:     last week of September, 1973, in the afternoon.
The place:    Along the Calle Vitoria, in the tiny tapas shop, El Abuelo (The Grandfather) 

I walked south from Puerta de Sol in Madrid along Calle de Espos y Mina, first taking a left on to Pje. Matheu and then a right on to Calle Vitoria. I soon arrived at El Abuelo. The oval sign next to the door announced it.  Although my knowledge of Spanish was very limited at the time, the words Vino Generoso struck a chord with me. Ah, are they generous with their wine? Sounds good to me. The door to the place was of heavy Spanish Oak with an ornate handle instead of a door knob. 

The door was propped open, as it was most of the days and into the evenings at that time of year. One small, stone step separated the street from inside. Looked friendly. 

The room that is El Abuelo is roughly twenty feet square. There is a slim pillar in the center of the room with a narrow shelf completely surrounding it, set at a height somewhere between a man's waist and his chest.  The same sort of shelf extends around three of the outer walls as well. There are no chairs or stools. A counter of blond, shiny wood dominates the left side. It is set away from the wall just enough to provide a work space between it and the wall.  In the left corner, behind the counter, is a large grill. Almost always, there is a man busy at it.To the right of the grill and raised to just above counter height, are two very large, black wooden barrels set into the wall, each with a spigot. 

At first glance, the room seemed full of people, but was not really crowded as I turned and made my way over to the counter in front of the grill. As I walked, I both heard and felt crunching beneath my shoes.  

At the counter, I placed a 25 peseta piece on it and said, 'tinto', to the man taking orders. He quickly turned, grabed a short, six-sided clear glass from stacks of them that fill the area below the barrels and filled it with about two fingers of red wine from one of the spigots. He then picked up one of the small white plates holding 5 grilled shrimp that the grill-man continually produced, and set both the plate of shrimp and the glass of wine before me. I turned away to find a place along the shelves somewhere to enjoy my tapa. 

The shrimp were whole, with their shells intact. I peeled them with my fingers and dropped the heads, legs, tail and shell to the floor, adding to the layer accumulating there. They had been liberally salted while grilling, and were very fresh. They were fat, and pink and they still swam in a little pool of juices on the plate from the grilling. The meat was springy in that way that told you they hadn't been out of the water for long. In fact, they had been hauled into the city from the coast that morning. The wine was deeply red and satisfying. It tasted like the wine in such a place ought to taste. The glass held about 4 sips or two mouthfuls. 


This was my very favourite place in Madrid. I was 21 years old. A skinny, geeky kid, just out of college and recently married, and I marvelled at what we were doing. 
Five grilled shrimp and a small glass of wine cost 38 cents in American money. It was too good to be true. And yet, here I was, and would be, with Jeanne, for four months.

I probably looked ridiculous the first time I walked in El Abuelo. I didn't even know then what sort of place it was. It just looked intriguing to me (and I liked the sign) so in I went. I stood and watched and soon discovered the ordering procedure. I had to learn to eat the shrimp too. I had never eaten whole ones before. I watched how other patrons would pull the head off first and suck out all the juices to be found in it, before starting to strip of the legs and tail and shell. I enjoyed the procedure immensely once I mastered it. I never really got used to walking on the layer of shells though. 

Soon, it would be time for me to walk down to the Plaza Espana to catch the bus out to the university and meet Jeanne at the end of her day's classes. As I licked my fingers a final time and drained the last of the wine, I planed to make a stop here again, with Jeanne this time, as we walked home, back to our pension on Calle de las Huertas. I knew she'd like to try the vino blanco and dinner was at least an hour away. 

And look at what a treasure I found on the internet...It's still there. 

This Is the place in Madrid that I loved so much. Notice the little half step? I remember so clearly stepping over it. Look at how good it all still looks.

 It started as El Abuelo in 1906, but it is now called La Casa del Abuelo since it has expanded inside and has a wider menu. In 1999, Jeanne and I went back to it and found that it had turned trendy and chic and pricey.

 I found that one food writer on the internet has listed it in his top ten tapas restaurants in Madrid. I'm not surprised to hear it. I knew all along it had greatness in it. 

It still specialises in shrimp. (gambas) 

And here they are, just as I remember, although the serving size then was 5 shrimp, the plates were smaller and they didn't have the logo on them. 

This ends my reminiscing about a hole-in-the-wall tapas restaurant in Madrid 44 years ago. Maybe it wasn't a true hole in the wall. Maybe twenty feet square is too big to qualify, but when thinking about holes-in-the-walls, one has to also take into consideration the menu. At El Abuelo, the entire menu, if there had been one, would have read, "5 grilled shrimp with red wine, 5 grilled shrimp with white wine." That's it. If that doesn't qualify as the menu of a hole-in-the-wall joint, I don't know what does. 

That was then, this is now. A few days ago, Allie had business in Auckland and found a Vietnamese place for lunch that excited me when I heard about it. It is located half-way down a staircase, just off High Street. It has a tiny 'footprint' as they say and their menu is only 6 items. They serve lunch, and as they run out of any given entree, they erase from the menu board. They are done for the day when the board is bare. Love it. 

Come with us as Jeanne and I go to find this little treasure and sample a couple of their offerings. 

Diving into the city from Queen Street.

High Street should be just ahead on the right.

I see it, High Street.

High Street narrows considerably, but not quite as narrow as Calle Vitoria is. 

Still, High Street is not without it's local flavor. I've always wanted to browse in a rare books shop.  I discovered that this one is actually located a couple of floors up and is open by appointment only. Hmmm. Don't know if I want to browse that badly. 

Whoa, what the heck is this thing? Looks like a stealth car. 

Oh, a Lamborghini, and look at the plate. I have a tie-in to the Spanish part of my post. 

There it is. Delicious Vietnamese Lunch, Downstair. Let's go. Jeanne's already going. 

(btw, Hello Kitty is not another cat-petting cafe) 

We've found it. It's the place to the left of center, wedged in between the stairway and another restaurant. 

The total customer area within it is about four feet by nine feet. The entire room is about nine by 10 feet.  

Their menu. We ordered a bahn mi sandwich and a Bo Sot Vang (beef stew) and shared them. 

With only four feet between the wall and the counter, I couldn't take a very good picture from inside the restaurant. 

One of the ladies told me that they have been in business for 5 months. Allie discovered it when she spotted a line of people on the stairway. She guessed that whatever they were all lining up for must be good so she followed the line to the source, and then dashed back up the stairs to get into line herself. Her choice, the bahn mi of course. 

I'll bet the business the Indochine Express does really annoys the restaurant next door. I love it. Good on ya, Vietnamese ladies.

We didn't go far to eat our lunch. Just hiked about a block and a half up to one of the gates to Prince Albert Park. Jeanne is tasting the stew. Very meaty, a few large pieces of carrots, one piece of pumpkin and some onions. Oh, and red wine in the sauce. (I've always had a soft spot in my heart for red wine...go figure.)            -djf