Exploring the Food Culture on Spanish Tables

Tapas broadly refers to small, varied bar snacks, nibbles, appetizers and finger foods. Seville, the capital of Andalusia, is the birthplace of Tapas.

I asked my local friend F whether there was a cookbook I could buy, and F said: "There are, but those are publications aimed at tourists. Nobody cooks Tapas at home! Eating a big plate all by yourself is so lonely!" Then he led me into alleys where absolutely no tourists set foot, and we feasted to our heart's content.

It sounds a bit like how Taiwanese people usually don't make salt-and-pepper chicken, meatballs, quick-fried seafood or a mixed plate of braised offal at home.

The moment you push open the door, you're met with a roar of voices, Latin music that makes you want to relax and dance, the aromas of all kinds of food rushing straight to your head, and dim yellow lighting that makes the dishes look vividly mouthwatering. A shout goes up from one side of the bar, an answer comes back from the other, and the food arrives at once, filling the table in no time. There's no need for pretense; everyone eats heartily, drinks heartily, and talks and laughs loudly.

You don't really use knives and forks, and you don't even need to sit down much. A few people stand around the table eating, and in the blink of an eye the plates are empty. Then comes another round of sherry or beer, and then chatter about where to go next.

F said: "We eat Tapas like chickens, pecking a bit here and a bit there. At each place we just order one or two plates for everyone to share. We won't call it a night until we've been to three or five places."

Spaniards don't pour their whole budget and all their time into just one place. After finishing at this one, they move on to that one, hopping endlessly from bar to bar and spreading the love around.

Everyone sharing a small plate leaves you wanting more than eating a big plate alone. Only with a small portion does the deliciousness really show. That's why Taiwanese people find eating Tapas so satisfyingly liberating, with a familiar feeling rather like strolling through night-market stalls.

This casual way of eating was born in the humble bars where all walks of life gathered, and the word means "lid." In the old days, bar hygiene was poor, with flies everywhere, constant foot traffic and dust all around, so the owners had no choice but to hand every drinker, high and low alike, a piece of bread to cover their glass, lest they drink something with an extra ingredient.

But how shabby a bare, empty piece of dry bread is. So the earliest bar snacks the owners served were probably the simplest ready-made nibbles, like pickled olives and salted almonds. Even a slice of raw ham or cheese would still count as too luxurious.

Bar snacks are rich in salt, making you thirstier the more you eat, so inevitably you order a few more drinks, the owners earn that much more from liquor, and they work all the harder at perfecting Tapas.

Over time, the "lid" developed into a rich bar-snack culture, with both hot dishes and cold platters, both savory and sweet.

It began as a nibble or snack to fill the stomach in the gap between lunch and dinner, but now people eat it from morning to night, and the later it gets, the more customers come, a swarming crowd of heads.

Tapas bars are extremely diverse. Some offer the most avant-garde molecular cuisine, playing wildly with conceptual swaps and chemical experiments. Some stubbornly insist on the most nostalgic potato omelet, making old-school flavors with an old-school heart, like a master banquet chef. Some dishes can even be traced back to the Islamic flavors of the Moors before the 15th century.

In the eyes of Taiwanese people, who are used to sharing food and love snacks, it all just seems familiar and welcoming. But to other Europeans, Tapas is undoubtedly an exotic custom worthy of lengthy writing, letting you taste with your mouth the fiery, passionate temperament of the Spanish people.

I had never eaten snails, and I worked up the courage to try something new. But that very cool, beer-bellied, slick-haired owner shook his head, every bit the grand old man, and snorted through his nose: "Today, here, we don't mention these long-(antennae) horned things. My wife would never cheat on me behind my back."

"Oh……..?" I was shocked.

It turns out that in Spanish, long (antennae) horns mean being cuckolded. Since the owner's wife wouldn't have an affair, we had no choice but to order a plate of fried octopus and a plate of mini croquettes, and wash them down with ice-cold beer.

F held back his laughter and told me: "That's because the snails that came in today aren't fresh enough, so he's not selling them." Before changing careers, F had been a bar waiter, knew the ropes well, and was especially particular about Tapas.

Now he's a plumber and electrician, but the construction industry is lifeless and every trade is in recession, so naturally there's no need for plumbing and electrical work either, and he has no choice but to go back to his old employer now and then to fill in and pick up odd jobs. F spread his hands, his face full of helplessness: "I'm on unpaid leave right now. I hope the company doesn't go under."

He wiped his mouth, tossed the napkin under the bar without changing expression, and earnestly instructed me: "In Spain, everyone knows that a bar that's too clean is not a good bar. It means the Tapas aren't well made, not many customers come in, there's no need to rush around serving people, and the waiter is idle enough to clean all the time."

"Where the crowds are, that's where the good Tapas are!" F said with relish. "So the more crowded the place, the more we have to go."

No wonder, when everyone in the housing market was chasing prices higher and higher, he stretched his credit, gritted his teeth and took out a loan to buy a big house, because men and women, young and old, were all buying, everyone caught up in a frenzy, refusing to fall behind and determined to crowd in where the crowds were.

Hot money poured into real estate, and whether in the city or the countryside, prices doubled twice over. The housing bubble trapped the wealth of the whole country, and when the bubble finally burst, everyone woke as if from a dream and lifted their heads from a mess of bad debts. The banks were dragged down by mortgages, and everyone was up to their ears in debt.

F's savings from years of work all went into the down payment, but tonight we won't talk about the depressing economy. He wants to take me to a place to eat what is said to be the best snails in the whole world. As Tapas evolved, each shop specialized, focusing on just a few specific Tapas and perfecting its signature dishes to the utmost.

He said: "Over time everyone has a map in their head. This shop's cold ham platter is good, that shop's fried potato balls are authentic, whose marinated seafood is the freshest, whose complimentary olives are the biggest. Each has its strong point. Following the Tapas they love to eat, customers naturally picture a nighttime route in their heads."

(To be continued)