Sevilla by Noches

Flamenco; having opted for the non-dinner, non-tapas, just watch the show cheap seat that had me sat in the balcony looking down on the heel-worn stage, I ended up with what I thought was the perfect view.

What a performance, made all the better by a very enthusiastic crowd. 

As this was my first true flamenco experience, it was for me an extravaganza of foot-tapping exhilaration. The last time I felt this way was at the Hammersmith Apollo, London while revelling in Michael Flatley's Riverdance. Boom! The stage lit with rose garnished, tight-haired, high cheek-boned ladies, all very striking in their dark-eyed makeup, oozing passion in that slightly stern 'Don't fuck with me'  look, accompanied by dominantly proud,  high-elbowed postures of matadorian men that even with neck-high waistbanded trousers, still managed to look undeniably masculine.

The industrial work-rate of their feet was staggering; at one point, the lead man's Cuban-heels, with toes off the floor, vibrated a sound that would have left a military drum roll asking. The clapping, double-clapping, off-beat clapping, thigh slapping, slapping-slapping, galloping castanets, fan swirling and fingertip-wearing guitar playing, all combined into such mesmerising magnetism that the only drink I had was the first one that came free with the ticket. The hour and a half went that fast! I could wax on lyrical, but I'll bore you, however, I found the whole performance incredibly strong, deeply passionate and immensely uplifting.

I left El Patio Sevillano with my feet above the pavement in a Bobby Darin, "Beyond The Sea" kinda way and headed for El Rinconcillo. Full of dance and song as I walked, I realised that I had an internal void that only Jamon Serrano Iberico could neatly fill given that my previous intake had been grateful party left-overs of Activia and a banana at 9am.

El R (well I have been there twice now) was buzzing, matching my still twitching feet, and I didn't waste time launching into Gambas and Vino Blanco de la Casa ... nice! The rest of my menu was created by generally pointed at other customers dishes for my relay of tapas, as my Spanish is all ish and no Span.

I am actually writing this as I eat so please excuse any errors as the Vino de la Casa has been flowing for three hours and has since been replace with a 'tipico' Spanish compliment to cafe; a herbal based digestive that is exactly that, although quite obviously not alcohol-free.

Also worth noting is that my 'cuenta' is bugger all; I know this because, as fore mentioned, it's written in chalk on the bar, although Miguel (see pic) did do that wavy-hand thing a couple of times when serving the odd tapa. Maybe he thinks I'm a restaurant critic.

Anyway, one more for the road and I'll head back to the hotel. I'll publish the post now and add pictures later. 

Sevilla, te amo ... Buenos noches lovely people (that means you too) xc