101 YEARS OLD AND STILL AWAITING TEA AND A TRIM...

BEFORE last weekend, I had never visited Seville. This was an odd omission as so many excellent operas are set in or around that Spanish city: Beethoven’s Fidelio, Bizet’s Carmen, Mozart’s Marriage Of Figaro, and Rossini’s great prequel, The Barber Of Seville, to name only a few. However my young offspring Minimus is now doing something or other with sheep, chickens and goats in Seville and invited me to pop over.

I had long thought that Seville would be ideal for a haircut, given by a singing barber with orchestral accompaniment, so I accepted Minimus’s invitation even though I did not really need a trim. I soon found that Seville has much more to offer than the barbers and oranges, with which it is commonly associated.

The layout of the city, the glorious Moorish architecture, the tapas bars, the weather and the bonus of flamenco buskers all made it a great place to wander around. With one exception, it is a perfect model of civilisation, the exception being their complete lack of understanding of a decent cup of tea.

Poor Mrs Beachcomber had a terrible time trying to acquire such a beverage. At her first try, she was offered herbal and fruit teas. When she explained that she just wanted an ordinary cup of tea, they didn’t seem to understand, so she had coffee instead.

The next time, she ordered black tea with milk (“con leche”) and was brought a cup of tea and a small jug of hot milk. Her third attempt, on which she specified that the “leche” should be “frio” (cold), she received, from an evidently bewildered waitress, a glass of cold milk with a tea bag dunked in it.

That however was all made up for on a glorious Saturday, when Minimus and I cooked a delicious seafood paella while Mrs B and Minimus’s delectable young lady friend watched football on the television. Gender reversal is so useful on such occasions, I find.

Our appetites whetted by the paella, and the ladies, for some inexplicable reason, excited by the footie, Minimus took us all to dinner that evening at an extraordinarily delicious restaurant called Az-Zait, which apparently is Arabic for olive oil.

First of all, the attentive waiter had a strong Glaswegian accent, which was surprising enough, but he then served us all with perfume sprays that had been filled with a gin-martini cocktail. A cocktail goes a long way when sprayed through a perfume atomiser and these served as splendid palate cleansers throughout the meal.

Mrs B and I had a tasting menu which began with a brilliant gazpacho (cold tomato soup) with olive oil ice cream and popping candy. This was followed by perfect filo pastry tortellini, filled with prawn and cheese and expertly tied at the top with strands of leek.

Scallops with asparagus, frothy foam and a tomato-based sauce, then paved the way for pork cheek cannelloni, followed by the most deliciously light chocolate brownie I have ever eaten. And the piña colada ice lollies that rounded off the meal were a delight.

For a country that can’t make a decent cup of tea, this was a stunningly delicious meal of which chef Antonio Conejero can be proud.