Taberna Los Berengueles, Cordoba

2009

I just have to get out, notwithstanding the daunting prospect of going into the unknown, on one’s own, and not speaking the language – not much anyway. So far a lot of gesticulation, a smattering of Latin, some French, less Spanish and a few grunts have got me through.

Jean-Bernard recommended a restaurant called Taberna Les Berengueles in the old part of Cordoba, owned and run by Charo and her sister Paqui. Miguel was the maitre’d and waiter.

I asked for a taxi and was given its number 455 to ensure that an interloper didn’t get my fare. A taxi arrived, its number on the roof was 123, so I waited until the impatient taxista said a number in Spanish which meant nothing until I saw 455 written in small type on the lower door. 123 was the name of the taxi company

Nothing opens here before 8.30 at night so at this hour I was carried by the cab through the labyrinth of narrow one-way streets that is old Cordoba and deposited outside the Taberna. If you did not know about it you would never find it.

Through intricate cast iron gates and solid oak door I entered the restaurant. A central ornately tiled atrium rose to a balcony enclosed with beautifully carved wooden panels. Around this atrium with bare tables, where the tapas was served, were several alcoves which comprised the restaurant with white clothed tables.

On the walls were pictures of mounted bulls heads and magnificent matadors. Large colourful posters announced the next bullfight. Incongruously, amongst all this were mounted reindeer and moose horns. A parrot chattered away in the background, with light orchestral piped music in accompaniment.

As I had phoned to find out if they were open, Miguel informed Charo that the Australian had arrived and from then on I was treated like an honoured guest. My sense of adventure made me say to Charo, when she proffered the menu, ‘bring me your Spanish specialities – I hear your fish is famous’.

While I waited in anticipation, warm salted almonds were served to build up the thirst, quickly quenched with a draught of the local brew, Cruzcampo.

The first platter arrived with cold sliced tomatoes garnished with Picual olive oil which is typical of these parts, and warm lightly battered sardine-like fish, Boquerones, and whole baby calamari, Fontvella. The combination was fresh and delicious. The dapper Miguel made sure my glass was full of local red wine, Tinto de Casa (solo).  

The bread was so fresh that it smelled of the oven.

An idea grew of gourmet tours of friends who are also aspiring writers. A week of touring Spanish cities with a selected restaurant each night and a write up the next morning, to be presented to everyone in the afternoon. Then off to another restaurant! And lots of play in between.

I started to rue my adventurous spirit when the next dish arrived. Brought by Charo who said ‘this is the most typical Spanish dish’. It was bull’s tail! There are many bulls slain in Spain, some by matadors in glittering suits of light, others in the slaughterhouse. And I had got one of their tails to eat – or part of it anyway.

So I thanked Charo and, with my glass of red wine as my cape, I tasted the bovine morsel. It was very rich and in a tasty jus the meat was cooked to perfection and fell off the bone. Peppercorns added some spice and lightly spiced sliced potato, patatas bravas, provided brief respite from the richness of the Rabos de Toro.

Leaving the marrow, gristle and gelatinous connective tissue, and given my aversion to eating the fifth quarter of any beast, I think I did the poor bull justice.

On reflection I should be grateful that I wasn’t treated with Testiculos de Toros, an even greater delicacy I’m told!

Looking for something lighter to finish, I said to Charo, ‘perhaps some dessert’ and she brought the Tarta de Casa, a lemon tart, and the most delicious raspberry sorbet.

Replete – over replete – I settled for a glass of Pedro Ximenez Muscatel and café solo.    

And while the orchestral background quietly played the melody ‘The rain in Spain’ I thanked Charo, Paqui and Miguel, genuflected to the ever watchful ‘Redota Budizmo’, now my culinary archangels, and retired to the hotel for a night disturbed by considerable alimentary disruption.

Taberna Los Berengueles
Calle Conde de Torres Cabrera, 7, 14001 Cordoba, Spain