Café

(I should have posted this a few weeks ago, sorry!)

I’m officially a “regular” at my favorite café. It’s called Cáscares and after several weeks of loyal patronage, my (endearingly grumpy) waiter finally paused, smiled, and said: “Hola, ¿qué tal?”

This place is great – it’s got a long bar, always stocked with croissants, donuts and various tapas. Bookshelves packed with colorful books separate the bar area from the restaurant. It’s well-lit with warm, friendly light and feels spacious despite a consistent crowd of regulars who have stopped in for lunch with friends, a drink on the way home from work, a caña and tapas with co-workers around three, or perhaps a quick café on the way from one place to another. I nearly always see a group of 40-something men in suits, often accompanied by one or two fabulously-dressed women, standing at the bar sipping on cervezas and gesticulating animatedly with their cigarettes or the toothpicks they’ve just used to spear a yummy golden wedge of tortilla española, and laughing in that easy irresistible way that can only arise as the organic overflow of satisfaction with life.

Cáscares provides the perfect ratio of laid-back to cheerfully busy, with good food and interesting clientele, and despite its chic décor it is a firmly traditional Spanish cafetería that gracefully merges the modern with the classic without missing a beat. The mercifully high ceilings welcome the upward drift of cigarette smoke and persistent café chatter so that their presence merely flavors one’s sensory experience, rather than overwhelming it.

All of these things converge to form the perfect background atmosphere for my musings and, fuelled by the fantastic café con leche and the occasional delicious slice of chocolate cake, I always find myself pulling out my notebook to make note of the various rich details of Spanish life that I have spent so long observing and trying to absorb.

From what I can tell, “cáscares” comes from “cáscara,” which means shell or peel, although personally I like to think that it means “cocoon,” because that’s what it feels like: a warm safe space that, insulated with good vibes and nourished by good coffee, allows me to do some linguistic and cultural growth before reemerging into the real world again.

Part of this growth, I think, is to just sit for a while and enjoy. That is the most Spanish thing to do, after all. And when I finally pack up my stuff to leave, my waiter says “hasta luego” with a wave, because, needless to say, I will be back.