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Cafe Bar El Paso, Bedar

Last night, it occurred to us to go to the Bedar fiestas. Calling up J & Ali, up we popped. Yes, it was a Sunday, but based on previous years we expected some tapas and bars to be floating around, and we were hoping for a pleasant evening of tapas, beers, churros and good music.

Boy, were we wrong. Turning up at 9ish, the only people at the bar were two horses, their riders, and a gaggle of assorted parents. Nay tapas. We tried the Miramar (Restaurant Miramar Bedar is supposed to have the best lamb in the area – I usually avoid it as I went to school with the children and feel embarressed when they ask me why I don’t call them anymore), but it was closed. Eventually we ended up in the only busy part of town, Cafe Bar El Paso which is at the entrance to the village in front of Cafe Bar El Cortijo. El Paso was busier, so we went there.

Lots of Brits floating around, and maybe of a couple of Spaniards. Small but long terrace outside next to the road, lots of tables, a large empty room where the main bar is, and an empty restaurant with the lights off.

El Jefe came out, puffing on his cigar. He suggested that we had a main course each, as he was “sin tapas – me lo han comido!”. So we did. What to have? He recommended the lamb, “que es muy bueno”. No leg, he added quickly, but ribs, and fresh “muy bueno”. We ordered the lamb, with the exception of Ali who had the emperador instead.

At this point I popped into the toilet. I stared, baffled, at the large squat toilet in the middle of the room. After some squinting, I noticed it was actually a shower tray with no shower (remember I’ve just had LASIK surgery). The toilet was so crammed in the corner nobody could sit on it. Hidden behind the sink as an afterthought.

Food turned up. Nice salad, but who can muck up a salad? Scratch that question, I’ve had bad salads before. But this was fresh and crisp. The bread was a spot stale.

The main course turned up, and, frankly, ’twas crap. The ribs were 90% fat, and the rest mutton. Nor was it fresh mutton. I have never, ever, anywhere, had so much fat on a rack of lamb. The chips were badly cooked from frozen. I shall say no more, as there was no more on the plate.

The bill, which was 3 lamb, 1 fish, salad, 4 Mahou, 2 7Up and a glass of red wine, came to €55.

Feeling underfed and ripped off, we went back up to the fiesta where a somewhat drunken Mexican was singing away. We ordered a beer at the only bar in town. 2€ each, for a small tubo, more of a cana. After some investigations, we discovered that the chiringuito was run by… wait for it…. Cafe Bar El Paso. Well I never. Double the price of Los Gallardos.

To add insult to injury, the Mexican was lead away by kindly people, and a “trio” (one was missing for a while, eventually tracked down at the bar) came on. I suspect they were miming. This was confirmed when the guitar player stopped moving his hands to readjust the guitar around his neck, but the guitar kept playing.

Eventually, we left. I shall not repeat what the Spaniards in the car said about the place, the evening, and our hosts. There weren’t even any churros.

Cafe Bar El Paso
Restaurant Bedar, on the left as you enter on the main road.
950 469 409

You know, it’s trips like this that make me wonder why I don’t just jack it all in and live in a Spanish city, instead of on the hectic coast. They’re wonderful. They all have the “old towns”, full of interesting bars and restaurants and museums and nooks and crannies; the hotels are almost always new, the transport system immaculate and the people nice.

For instance, the hotel I’m in now (Vincci) is clean and modern. A bus stops just outside, and I took a bus without anyone from the lower classes muttering to me, which has always stopped me from taking a bus before. In fact, last time I was on a bus was in 2003. The people here are lovely, and the weather (on the 16th August) is just right, about 22 – 25 C. Lovely. Taxi drivers are insane and agressive, but at least they are cheap.

Sure, the toilet sticks and the bloke in reception (Ruben, lovely fellow, very informative) forgot to put on the piped music in the rooms, but apart from that – very nice. Free internet, too.

Valladolid has some wonderful wines, all local, none of which I’ve heard of before. Going down very nicely. Cheap too. And strangely enough, everybody seems intrigued by the fact I’m English and not a student. They don’t get many of those around here. Ls’ Almerian accent is going down well, too.

We went to a restaurant in the old town called “Zamora” to eat. It has a very busy bar, called Ceyjo, with wonderful tapas, which is what enticed us in. Just behind the main square. Full of people ordering “Chupitos” of beer, which are about the same as an Almerian Cana. A Cana here is a tercio back home. Confusing.

Again, the food is good, if you know Spanish food. We had a salad to start, L had the roast leg of lamb, I had lamb chops. Ls was a whacking big leg of lamb, done in the oven, with no veg. €17.

Valladolid leg of lamb

Mine were a bunch of chops, with some very thin chips and a cherry tomato. €15.

Lamb chops Valladolid restaurant

Don’t expect veg with the meat, the Spanish don’t do it that way. I have to say though, the way they served the bread was unusual: it was just placed, a hunk of it, on the tablecloth. By a waiter wearing gloves and using tongs. “But that’s how it’s served!” he exclaimed when I asked if he had a side plate. In fact, he seemed annoyed.

Valladolid restaurant bread on table Valladolid food

If you’re ever in Valladolid, ignore the Archaeological museum. It was free, but I still felt ripped off. The only good stuff in it seemed to be from Jaen, heavens knows why. Go to the “Real Iglesia Parroquial de San Miguel y San Julian” instead. It’s in front, it’s free, and the frescoes, relics, and paintings are better then the museums and fascinating. Make sure you gain access to the back room. The elderly lasy guarding it was a font of information, although no photos allowed. Wandering around, I spotted a model of Jesus on the cross, under a glass coffin, with a box saying “Insert 20c here”. In a fit of madness, thinking I was in Mini Hollywood where you can get the models to start dancing around when you money in the box, I stuck 20c in. Got a huge spotlight on me, supposed to illuminate the fresco in front but all it did was attract attention. Never mind. I suppose the feeling came upon me because Valladolid is full of half restored buildings with just the front still up supported by a few metal bars, same as film stages.

Valladolid? Lovely place, I could easily spend 6 or 12 months here, but at the end of the day there just wasn’t a small voice inside of me saying “please….. just one day more!”. So, onwards we go.