contentment is a small, cosy room with jamon hanging from the rafters
Winter travelling around late February was perfect; outside seating was the kind of cold that would settle in your bones, which was great if you smoked (I don’t) and wanted your beer to go a long way (I do). If not, the bar inside was warm and inviting, as much as it could anyway, when it was five degrees outside. Four layers of clothing and Cruzcampo, the lager of choice around Andalusia, helped otherwise. Spain’s cafés are small spaces, but Tersesas’ was cosy by any standard.
Thank you for keeping us quite warm, Teresas’.
Printed A4 sheets with food names lined the walls invitingly. Buey Kobe (Kobe beef), the paper read. It was as good as it sounded. Teresas’ menu was written in Spanish, so one guy hopped over from the counter, something I felt they didn’t do in Spain too often, and explained to us in halting English, “This, veal. This, calamares; you know?” Yes, my partner orders it all the time. And his nieces too; I’m starting to suspect it runs in the family.
Thank you, guy at Teresas’, for making sure we didn’t eat weird stuff, though I wouldn’t have mind.
Being on holiday meant that we found ourselves at Teresas’ at 4pm in the afternoon, grabbing vantage points from where we could see all the beautiful people trickle in and drape their beautiful frames against the bar whilst they drank and talked throughout the evening. Amounts owed for food and drinks were scribbled on the bar’s counter top in chalk.
Thank you, beautiful Spanish people, for not realising we ogled you in a non-creepy way while you rattled on in a language we didn’t understand.
One bar man was young and friendly, the other in his forties and gruff, but with kindness, making them an odd but charming pair. They made small talk. We played the tourist part. Stools were pulled out as tables when food arrived. It was simple, but out of such simplicity I felt… can’t seem to put my finger on the feeling. I guess you can call it bliss, contentment, a really emo scene from (insert TV drama of choice), whatever.
Some things I write to remember, quickly, in case I forget and that moment can only be felt in the energy and speed with which I get it out into the world. But Teresa’s is one of those places I kept close to my heart and which over time sweetened in my memory, so forgive me, I felt too selfish to share. Now that it’s here, I guess I’m ready to leave my heart some place else in the world and let this live on here in its own way.
Cafe-Bar las Teresas
Calle Santa Teresa, 2, 41004 Seville, Spain