(Note: This review is now depreciated, and is only available as a historical note. STOP bar has changed hands since then.)
Recently while en route to the Gym, Martin and I were sidetracked by a pressing desire for a Guinness. It´s a pet theory of mine that a beer before and after a heavy gym season prevents you from muscle strain by relaxing you. Opinion is divided on the issue – I say it´s true, everybody else says it isn´t.
Anyway, we were going to swing by Ole! In Turre, but unfortunately I spotted through the window a chap who owed me some money. Not being in the mood for spending 20 minutes having him explain earnestly to me why he wouldn´t be able to pay me today, but would definitely pay by the end of the week, we scooted up the road and around the corner to the only other bar in Turre that we know of that serves Guinness – Stop.
Now, Stop used to be a particular favourite of mine years ago, where the two large lesbians who ran it did the best bocadillo de lomo y queso con pan catalan in the area. However, it´s now owned by some English people (and what isn´t nowadays in that town?), who have decked it out in flags of every nation.
So, we popped in and order two Guinness. Cans, of course (they had terrible trouble with the draught version), but beggars cant be choosers. We sat out on the terrace, and watched the world go by.
And this is where we went horribly, horribly wrong. Martin, feeling peckish, ordered a tapa of lomo. And out it came. Two slices of dried up meat, cut into threes, on top of some stale bread and with some ali oli out of a bottle. Not even the wasps wanted it. More ali, than oli.
Now, what did I expect? I´m not sure. Certainly, not that. I just hope to God that the rest of their menu isn´t as bad as that lomo. Not even the Guinness could wash it down. Martin threw a piece to a passing sparrow, and dented a parked car. Enough said.