After a few hours on foot, casually meandering in and out of tapas bar after tapas bar -- having no idea tapas are uniquely Spanish and tapas hopping is a Spanish tradition -- it dawned on me that in Spain, in Zaragoza, in El Tubo (or the Tube), tapas thrive.
The first El Tubo tapas bar I encountered offered chorizo, a spicy salami, with cheese. That’s it. Well, there were various breads. Aha -- here, each place has a specialty. Sure enough, the next one offered a selection of seafood. Calamari, oysters on the half shell, fried shrimp. Some were fried, breaded or not, others boiled. The next stop exposed a counter loaded with hard Spanish ham skewered to chunks of melon -- boiled eggs, pickled eggs -- and small slices of an omelet baked with chunks of embedded fried potatoes. And so it went. Exploring, questioning, sampling -- onward.
Several locals were kind enough to fill me in on the history of tapas. The original tapas were slices of bread or meat which sherry drinkers used to cover their glasses from annoying fruit flies. From an etymological perspective, the noun tapa may have actually evolved from the verb tapar, "to cover." And since the meat typically used, ham or chorizo, is salty, thirst is encouraged. Legend has it that proprietors of public houses created various snacks to expand this phenomenon, increasing beverage sales. Spain’s climate and countless kitchens consummated the mix of olives, brought by the Romans. The Moors contributed fruits, almonds, spices. New World explorers retrieved and introduced beans, potatoes, tomatoes, corn, chili and sweet peppers. Eventually, the tapa became as important as drink itself.
Perhaps it is the physical dimensions of El Tubo which encourages conversation and movement. Each tapas bar had limited seating, if any at all. Mostly, it was standing room, inside and sometimes outside. Or maybe it is quality, variety and size of the cuisine -- sample, imbibe, mingle. Inside each tapa stop, patrons consumed, buzzed, hummed, as if participating in some obscure ritual of social pollination. Outside, the alley was vibrant, fluid -- alive with a steady current of laughing, talking pedestrians, some eating on the walk between stops. As I strolled, I was handed a glass. Apparently someone assumed it was my turn.
Stumbling onto a place like El Tubo comes at a price, for one loses yesterday and tomorrow -- there is only now.
The first El Tubo tapas bar I encountered offered chorizo, a spicy salami, with cheese. That’s it. Well, there were various breads. Aha -- here, each place has a specialty. Sure enough, the next one offered a selection of seafood. Calamari, oysters on the half shell, fried shrimp. Some were fried, breaded or not, others boiled. The next stop exposed a counter loaded with hard Spanish ham skewered to chunks of melon -- boiled eggs, pickled eggs -- and small slices of an omelet baked with chunks of embedded fried potatoes. And so it went. Exploring, questioning, sampling -- onward.Several locals were kind enough to fill me in on the history of tapas. The original tapas were slices of bread or meat which sherry drinkers used to cover their glasses from annoying fruit flies. From an etymological perspective, the noun tapa may have actually evolved from the verb tapar, "to cover." And since the meat typically used, ham or chorizo, is salty, thirst is encouraged. Legend has it that proprietors of public houses created various snacks to expand this phenomenon, increasing beverage sales. Spain’s climate and countless kitchens consummated the mix of olives, brought by the Romans. The Moors contributed fruits, almonds, spices. New World explorers retrieved and introduced beans, potatoes, tomatoes, corn, chili and sweet peppers. Eventually, the tapa became as important as drink itself.
Perhaps it is the physical dimensions of El Tubo which encourages conversation and movement. Each tapas bar had limited seating, if any at all. Mostly, it was standing room, inside and sometimes outside. Or maybe it is quality, variety and size of the cuisine -- sample, imbibe, mingle. Inside each tapa stop, patrons consumed, buzzed, hummed, as if participating in some obscure ritual of social pollination. Outside, the alley was vibrant, fluid -- alive with a steady current of laughing, talking pedestrians, some eating on the walk between stops. As I strolled, I was handed a glass. Apparently someone assumed it was my turn.Stumbling onto a place like El Tubo comes at a price, for one loses yesterday and tomorrow -- there is only now.
