By Keith Kellett

I often take part in Spain’s Vaughantown English-language programs. They usually start with a get-to-know-you tapas party on Saturday night. For first-timers, it’s an introduction to a Spanish custom, where your beer or wine is often served with a little nibble.

It’s difficult, if not impossible, to translate the word tapas concisely into English. Originally, the word meant “lids,” and was assigned to the pieces of bread or slices of cheese or ham that covered drinks to ensure the drink wasn’t contaminated by insects, leaves or bird droppings when it was consumed outside.

As time went on, the pieces of bread became little open sandwiches, and nowadays, the term has come to mean any little snacks served with a drink. It’s even given rise to a verb … tapear … to partake of tapas.

There are some who say the practice came about as the result of the command of a King, one of the Alfonsos, I think who, concerned at instances of drunkenness among his army, decreed that no alcoholic liquor should be served unless food was also provided.

Tapas serves a multitude of purposes. Maybe it demonstrates the hospitality of the bar owner, or just encourages thirst to sell more beer or wine; maybe its eaten to fill the gap until dinner. Like most Mediterranean countries, the Spaniards dine late. Or, it could demonstrate the quality of the food, so the customer may return to eat more substantially later. Or, maybe a bit of all four!

There’s a multitude of places to enjoy tapas. In Madrid, there’s El Quinto Vino, in Calle Hernani , which is always crowded. I fought my way to the bar, and exhausted two thirds of my Spanish by saying ‘Una cerveza, por favor!’  Usually, I try to avoid too great a press of people in bars, but this was different. Anywhere else, I would dismiss the décor as “too Spanish” or “touristy.” But here, the mass of pictures, bits of wine boxes, photographs and wall souvenirs – with every spare bit of space taken up by bottles of all kinds – seems just right.

Just down the road is La Carihuela, which I like for its superb exterior tile work. The beer and the tapas aren’t bad, either. They brought me a sort of Cornish pasty, about the size of a 50 pence piece.

But, tapas bars aren’t only confined to the bigger towns. In a little town called Carriòn de los Condes, I found an excellent tapas called Chamffix. Although, I do wish Alberto had told me about the pigs’ ear before I’d eaten a piece.

For more information:
www.elquintovino.com (Spanish)
www.madridman.com

Keith Kellett is globalfoodie’s United Kingdom correspondent. His email is: Keith@globalfoodie.com.