Maracas 3: Food Review (inglés)

This is part three of my triptych on Maracas café-bar on Playa Bil-Bil: here I review the food offerings. Part one consists of a photographic homage and a humorous vignette. Part two is a paean to all waiters everywhere by way of portraying my regular.

I have been frequenting Maracas for thirteen years now - my, how time flies! I have many, many happy memories, including of the meals I have eaten here. I am a foodie after all! I have brought all my friends (who visit me in Benalmádena) to sample the simple joys of sun, sand and the calming susurrus of the sea in the comfort of one of Maracas’ rattan lounge-chairs, whilst sipping on a cooling beverage and, more often than not, indulging in a snack or even full meal.

As I have been visiting Maracas for so many years, I am unlikely in this article to be castigating the food; quite the opposite, for the price and quality, eating here is to be recommended. Of course, we are not talking haute cuisine. However, having eaten at several of the sea-front restaurants on the popular Playa Santa Ana, I have felt completely short-changed by expensive, and, from my perspective of knowing better, poor quality cuisine. As an example, last year I paid €6 just for a green salad of some roughly chopped lettuce and sliced cucumber. Pretty outrageous in my opinion. I know businesses have to make a living: Maracas, therefore, should serve as an exemplar. Last year Maracas’ house salad of green lettuce, sweetcorn, tomato, onion, white asparagus, boiled egg and tuna was priced at €7. It says it all, does it not? Of course, with inflation etc., prices have to go up from time to time. At the beginning of this month, prices did indeed rise. So the house salad (along with their others) now costs €8. And anyone thinking, salad will not sate one, I ought to point out that the salads are served in large bowls and come with a small basket of fresh bread.

For those just wanting a quick snack, I recommend the sandwich mixto, boiled ham, sliced cheese on buttered and toasted bread. At €3 this has not become more expensive. With a glass of chilled red wine (if you have not tried this, it is quite refreshing - even the French do it!) the total cost is €5. One cannot complain at that!

If the diner is especially hungry, the campero is for you; but better to order it to share. That is, after all, the Spanish way.

Due to the price increases, the menus have been reprinted. The chef at Maracas has taken the opportunity to add new dishes. Always willing to sample something new, I opted for the ensalada pasta tricolor (tricolour pasta salad - bet you worked that one out for yourself!). The photograph below gives an impression of the bowl, but does not quite show the full 3-D mound of comestibles. As can be seen, a glass of rosé (copa de rosado frío) accompanied the repast.

[Image description: ensalada pasta tricolor in situ at table]

Commencing at seven o’clock, finely diced cubes of a lightly smoked, firm ham (a tastier version of luncheon meat!) awoke the palate. At twelve, roughly sliced, juicy, tangy, with a strong-tea-taste black olives quite happily challenged the ham. I am no fan of black olives; but if I could obtain a ready supply of these, I would be a convert. At three o’clock dice-sized cubes of firm, creamy (both in taste and texture), ever so slightly salted “queso fresco” cheese with the tang of goats cheese. There was also a sweetness to the cheese, which contrasted superbly against the saltiness of the olives. At five o’clock sweetcorn shone forth all its brilliant, perfect yellowness. It was so very juicy and, although it was not barbecued it had that selfsame concentrated, intense sweetness and flavour. In the clock’s centre were chicken pieces - morsels really - with the appearance of crumbled white-yellow cheese or white-bread breadcrumbs. Incredibly moist and with actual chicken flavour (how much chicken does one encounter that is completely flavourless, after all?). And behind the clock-face, the pasta, cooked and served al dente so did not collapse or go all soggy. Colours of green (sage) and red (peach) reminiscent of sepia tones. A stunning palette for the palate.

There is a choice of salad dressings, including: rosa/marie rose; francesa/French; cesa/cæsar; yogur/yoghourt; I opted for salsa de albahaca/basil sauce. Even in so-called ‘good’ restaurants salad can be over-dressed; this salsa however had a very light touch and thus perfectly pulled together all the other ingredients.

My only negative criticisms of the dish are in respect to the pasta: the texture was slightly too starchy; and, there were no discernible flavours of tomato or basil in their respective pastas. This may be accounted for by it having been chilled; but in a hot climate, this is rather a necessity. Nonetheless, over all, the salad is a definite success and I shall be ordering it again. It is also suitable for sharing - the Spanish way is for everyone to just tuck in. Enjoy!

[Image description: sandwich beach club in situ at table]

I could not end my review without referencing my favourite Maracas plate (see image above), their sandwich beach club, consisting of salad, ham, cheese, egg, chicken and bacon. At €7 it represents a filling meal for one. And it is de-lic-ious!!! %P


[¡Una versión española hará pronto!]

Maracas 1: Photographic Homage & Vignette / Homenaje fotográfico y viñeta (bilingüe)

For thirteen (unlucky for some, but not for the writer) years I have been frequenting Maracas café-bar on the Playa Bil-Bil in Benalmádena, my winter refuge. It is my favourite bar of anywhere I have ever travelled, so much so that it is the one referenced on my GAYDAR profile. This year I am celebrating their thirteenth year in its current format. This is the first of three blog-posts and includes a photographic homage and one of the many vignettes I have written over the years. The two further postings will be a review of the food and a poem about one specific waiter. I hope the reader enjoys and might perhaps be tempted to pay a visit oneself.

Durante trece (mala suerte para algunos, pero no para el escritor) años he estado frecuentando Maracas café-bar en la Playa de Bil-Bil, en Benalmádena, mi refugio de invierno. Es mi bar favorito de cualquier lugar a que he viajado, tanto es así que es la que se hace referencia en mi perfil GAYDAR. Este año estoy celebrando su decimotercer año en su formato actual. Este es el primero de las tres entradas en mi blog e incluye un homenaje fotográfico y una de las muchas viñetas que he escrito en los últimos años. Las dos nuevas publicaciones serán una revisión de la comida y un poema sobre un camarero específico. Espero que el lector disfruta y tal vez podría tener la tentación de hacer una visita a uno mismo.

The photographs below only represent moments from 2011 to 2015, as prior to then I did not use a digital camera. They are in no particular order. Simply random happy memories. %D

Las fotografías a continuación sólo representan momentos 2011-2015, ya que antes de entonces no utilizaron una cámara digital. Ellos están en ningún orden en particular. Simplemente al azar, Recuerdos felices. %D

 

The following vignette is from January this year. I have chosen this particular one, as I believe it has a comedic element, but also does give some little insight into typical Spanish (or Andalusian?) behaviours. I hope it raises a laugh, a chortle or a smile.

La siguiente viñeta es de enero de este año. He elegido este en particular, como creo que tiene un elemento de comedia, pero también da un poco de poca penetración en comportamientos españoles típicos (¿o andaluces?). Espero que plantea una risa, una carcajada o una sonrisa.

In a quarter of an hour the elderly couple switched and swapped so many times that each of the four chairs around the table barely had time to cool before the next seat was squished on to it, fleshly folds oozing out of any aperture and cascading over their respective front lip. Chain-smoking as a descriptor would be an understatement: of course, waiting to commence their foul habit once the writer’s luncheon arrived at table. The wife has one volume: the top of her voice and screeching her bastardised Spanish - I am assuming a corrupted Andaluz dialect; but who can tell. Oh wait up, she’s lighting yet another cigarette! How can she have attained such an age, without her lungs collapsing? And her poor husband: he has to listen day in day out, every second of every day to that harridan-harpy. Poor chap! She stands and wanders whilst barking orders, questions, exclamations into her mobile-telephone, lapping the table repeatedly and punctiliously, as if her very life depended upon sourcing companions for her luncheon party. Not in the least surprising to the writer that almost all have some pre-prepared excuse to put her off. One unwitting couple accept the invitation to join the elderly pair. I say couple, but it was not until a full five minutes after the male of the pair had settled into his chair that I realised his spouse had, mouse-like, slunk into the fourth place. As the alcohol flowed and was imbibed this church-mouse transmogrified into another battle-axe to skirmish with the prima dona. The volume unbelievably augmenting in the most unfavourable manner. My salad and second glass of chilled rosé consumed, it is definitely the time for my exit from the stage.

Durante un cuarto de hora la pareja de ancianos cambió y cambió tantas veces que cada una de las cuatro sillas alrededor de la mesa apenas tuvo tiempo para enfriarse antes del próximo trasero fue aplastado a ella, carnal pliegues que rezuma de cualquier abertura y en cascada sobre su respectivo labio delantero. Cadena fumadores como descriptor sería un eufemismo poco bueno: por supuesto, a la espera de iniciar su hábito repugnante una vez el almuerzo del escritor llegó a la mesa. La mujer tiene un solo volumen: la parte superior de su voz y chillando su español  bastardeado - estoy asumiendo un dialecto Andaluz corrompido; pero ¿quién puede decir? ¡O, espera!, ella está encendiendo otro cigarrillo! ¿Cómo puede haber alcanzado una edad tal, sin que sus pulmones colapsan? Y su pobre marido: él tiene que escuchar día tras día, cada segundo de cada día para que bruja-arpía. ¡Pobre hombre! Ella se pone de pie y camina mientras ladrando órdenes, preguntas, exclamaciones en su móvil-teléfono, rompiendo la mesa en varias ocasiones y puntillosamente, como si su vida dependiera del abastecimiento  de compañeros para su fiesta de almuerzo. No, en absoluto sorprendente el escritor que casi todos tienen alguna excusa pre-dispuestos a poner su despegue. Una pareja sin saberlo aceptar la invitación para unirse a la pareja de ancianos. Digo pareja, pero no fue hasta un total de cinco minutos después de que el macho de la pareja se había instalado en la silla que me di cuenta de su esposo tenía, tipo ratón, se escabulló en el cuarto lugar. Como el alcohol fluía y se embebe esta iglesia-ratón metamorfoseado en otra tarasca para escaramuza con la prima dona. El volumen increíblemente aumentar de la manera más desfavorable. Mi ensalada y segunda copa de vino rosado frío consumido, es definitivamente el momento de mi salida de la etapa. 

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Maracas 2 and Maracas 3 will follow in the coming next few days.

Maracas 2 y Maracas 3 lo harán en los próximos días próximos.

;)