Madrid and some notes about us and El Mollette.

---

it is 10:25 and we are just back from dinner at El Mollette, the restaurant just down the street that we have made our regular place. The food is good basic stuff, tasty and an honest value. On a day when we have been in strange places, confused or tired or upset, it is a place of comfort, Oh, the tables are small and the loft where we get dinner is overheated and cramped.

But on our first day, Tomas the owner stopped my fumbling with Spanish by sticking out his hand and shaking mine. Hola, he says solemnly. He turns and does the same to Susan. He gets us to admit that we want food, drafts the young woman who works for him (and who speaks some English) to help us out and sees that we are taken care of. As we pay downstairs he shakes our hands again and says something pleasant sounding in Spanish as we depart.

It is now our refuge. On the night that Ursula, his wife who is the cook, shows us the pictures of the two of them with Coppola, I cannot resist. As we are on our way out, I stop Tomas, apologise (in Spanish), gesture to him with both hands and say, "Robert de Niro!" He actually does look like the actor. He bursts out laughing and pats me on the shoulder.

Every time we go in, Tomas greets us with Hola, mi amigo and a handshake each.

The next time we are down at the register paying the bill and I see articles up on the wall talking about "Tomas and Ursula": our hosts. Tomas is standing right there, so - clever little lad I am - I point to his picture and say his name. I introduce myself and Susan. More handshakes.

Since then we have been in for our late morning coffees whenever they are open for such things and lunch or dinner pretty much every day except Sunday. They close then.

Tonight we show up shortly after eight. The older waiter who has served us several times, Antonio, a nice man is setting up. We are tired from a long day in museums and the rain and just want to kill some time while the after work crowd clears out of the grocery store. (We need some breakfast stuff but the lineup in the cramped little store is just too long to stand in to get some milk and some yogurt - so we figure we will have wine and then come back). When we tell him we just want some vino and don't mean to interrupt his work, he is happy to oblige us. As we sit, people passing by see us and ask if they can come in. He says no to them. Finally he closes the door so he - and by extension, we) will not be disturbed. We finish our wine, explain we have to get food and ask if we can come back. Nine o'clock he says. Come back then for food.

At nine we're back. There are others waiting, but Ursula and Antonio see that we are seated first.

Tomas shows up later. We are really jammed in the back corner and there are 14 people Ina space where 8 might fit comfortably. If anyone wants to leave, everyone has to jam up against their own table or there isn't room to get through. He spots in the back corner. He can barely reach me at all, and Susan he couldn't get to with an umbrella. We can't shake hands easily, so he settles for patting me on the back of the head. Hola, amigo, he says.

The go up behind me is very loud and very happy. Very loud indeed, so we get out as soon as we can after we finish eating and go downstairs to get the bill. As Antonio writes it up, he wants to talk some more about Canada. He knows of Montreal and Vancouver and is having trouble remembering another one. Name some places inCanada he says. Toronto? Yes! That's it.

He hands us the bill. Tomas appears at our elbows. No dessert? No liqueur? Liqueur, he says definitely. He says something to Antonio who produces a couple of shot glasses and several bottles of local liqueur. Tomas makes it clear it is his treat. He pours a shot of coffee something for Susan and I try an herbal concoction. It's not half bad.

I draw Antonio a rough map of Canada, put in Montreal and Toronto and Vancouver. Where is Niagara, he wants to know. I put in a dot for Niagara. Where you come from, he asks. I put in a dot for Edmonton and write down the name. I don't know that one, he says, looking slightly distressed. It's small, I assure him, holding up thumb and finger measuring a tiny space. Pequeno. Ah, he says, reassured now. "Okay!" Clearly he feels better. Good. Edmonton can take it. I leave an excellent tip by Madrid standards.

We shake hands with Tomas on our way out. A manana, he says. A prediction. A manana, I agree.

Where else would we go? We're regulars, after all.

It is now 11:15 and that is enough rambling for one evening. Good night from Madrid.

---