Back in Álora at last. Everyone here is talking about the unusually hot summer. Málaga province had temperatures of 42 degrees in July. (El mes más cálido de su historia). It was still very hot when we arrived and La Plaza De La Fuente Arriba is still shaded by a gigantic red and blue canopy. Calle Carmona is shaded by multi-coloured umbrellas.
Thunderstorms are forecast for tomorrow so everyone is in high spirits.
The bad news is that two of the bars in the square have closed their doors. Cafe Central, usually called 'Salvador' by the local Perotes is going to reopen as a bank! and 'Los Dos Fuentes', nicknamed 'El Bulgaro' by those same wags has moved to the other side of town and is already nicknamed 'La Última Copa´ (The Last Drink) because the building used to be la funeraria (an undertaker's). You'll find it next door to the massage parlour. At least one of the casualties is going to reopen as a bar. Nearly all the bars in town are in leased property and some landlords jump at the chance to raise the rent when they can get away with it.
Regulars followers of this organ may have noticed a change of style in the last blog. One reader descibed it as 'whimsical'. The other hasn't commented. 'Whimsical' is probably about right but it was the 100th. Man in Álora Blog and I was stuck for something to write about.
Do you remember 'Whimsies'?
Worth a few bob these days (a shilling in old money).
It was in a pioneering spirit that I set foot in 'Alora (la bien Cercada)' this time. I came with a mission, much in the same way that Sir Walter Raleigh returned to Britain from the Americas with a potato in one hand and a pipeful of tobacco in the other. My self imposed mission was to introduce pies to Spain.
Walter indirectly introduced the Great British Chip to fair Albion too; that work being completed by J.C.Hegginbotham in 1860 when he opened the first British chipshop at Tommyfield in Oldham, Lancashire.
Walter's less celebrated brother, Montague Charles, made a fortune by inventing the bicycle and moved to the South of France where he became known as Monty Carlo Raleigh.
Like Sir Walter I, too, had sailed the Atlantic Ocean to complete my quest.(from Plymouth to Santander in my case). Deep in our luggage was a coolbox containing four British Pork Pies. My mission - to introduce a new tapa to the bars of Álora.
I can sense that all vegetrarians and other eccentrics are a bit fed up with me banging on about pies and pasties all the time so you can skip the next bit if you like (but you'll be missing a treat). Those of you still with me may recall that I have never seen a proper pie anywhere in Spain with the possible exception of Mallorca and Iceland (in Fuengirola) and Mallorca is campaigning for independence.
Mallorcan Pies (Panades) (often filled with lamb and bacon).
The Spanish are big pork eaters (3.3 million tonnes produced every year) and so pork pies should be right up their calle (street). A usually reliable scource informed me that 'pies don't travel well' so the transportation over 1587 miles (2554 km) of an Asda Melton Mowbray, a Sainsbury's Lattice Gala (with egg) and a brace of Sainsbury's mini pies with pickle was undertaken with the utmost care and with a particular eye on the challenges posed by reported temperatures of 40 degrees Celsius in Andalucía. Frequent stops at Gasolineras for bags of ice did the trick and the day after our arrival my beautiful assistant (Mrs. Sánchez) and I headed up Calle Algorrobo to Cafe-Bar Alegría to try out our tasty pastry pork products.
We displayed the pies on the bar, neatly sliced into tapas-sized portions and invited Paco to sample them.
Clearly, from the picture, Paco likes his grub but he politely declined the offer to try the pies. 'I'm feeling a bit full,' he explained, 'I've just eaten a pineapple'. (Hmm) He agreed to put some in his fridge and try them later. 'I'll be back tomorrow for your verdict,' I threatened. 'Scale of 1 to 10'.
Next stop Cafe -Bar Azahar where Candelaria dispenses larger than average cañas and tapas of Jamón Serrano.
Candelaria adding 'pork pie' to her list of tapas.
'Care to try a typically English dish?' I offered, noting that some of the other customers were eyeing the door. She reached gingerly for the Lattice Gala. 'Scale of 1 to 10?'. 'Ocho y media' (8.5), she replied diplomatically. I offered the plate to Pepe Rojas but called him Paco by accident (I was getting very nervous by this time about how these porky pleasure pots were going down). Pepe quickly scoffed half a mini pie with pickle and shot out of the door. I think I heard him mutter 'Bueno' as he passed. Back in the bag went the pies and off we went two doors down to Cafe-Bar Madrugón for the hardest sell of all - Manolo, master of the snarl and his son, Javier, 'Alora's answer to Oscar Wilde', master of the untranslatable witty remark.
Manolo demonstrates his interest in a new addition to his bar top.
Manolo refused to risk his gnashers on these 'extra terrestial' interlopers. A dash of Waitrose English Mustard made no difference. Javier, for once, was speechless. Nil points there, I think.
Javier can't even bring himself to look at the pies
That was it, then. I'd eaten about half of the pies by this time in an effort to disguise my disappointment. Incidentally, I scored the Melton Mowbray at 9, the Lattice Gala at 8 and the mIni pies with pickle a low 2. It's a pity that Pepe had gone for the worst example. I won't be asking him for a score when I see him again.
It was with heavy hearts that we made our way down Calle Atrás to the sanctuary of Casa Sánchez, I with a carrier bag hanging from my fingers like a bag of dog poo. Tommy was happy to see us and ate the lot with relish (not literally) Ten out of ten.
On a happier note, Man in Álora fans may remember Juan the Scounger. He has a hard life, roaming far and wide with his rucksack in search saleable forage.
Well, he seems to have been doing well recently. I spotted him relaxing at a streetside cafe on Saturday.
He's bringing me some lemons tomorrow.
Juanito Sánchez September 6th. 2015
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