Madrid Likes Us After All

Today has been wonderful. The clouds parted from time to time and the sunshine warmed us and brightened up the city.

We booked a reservation at the Royal Palace and skipped the long line to enter. It was quite the sight, so ornate and beautiful and huge. It was also an easy self-guided tour. Usually we opt for audio tours and we love those, but today we didn’t feel the need to know all the details. There were plenty of plaques in English explaining what we were seeing.

After seeing every room, we caught a taxi for lunch at Gato, excited about following Elizabeth Dallas Gobeil’s advice. The problem was me. After a quick glance at my phone, I mistakenly told the cab driver to take us to Gato Gato. Turns out Las Gato and Gato Gato are, of course, are not interchangeable. Gato Gato was sweet, less than 10 tables and such a nice young woman taking care of everyone. Betsy and I both kept looking around thinking it couldn’t be the place Elizabeth described. It had no vibe. Well, it a very local feel, to be fair. We might have eaten there but we really didn’t find anything on the limited menu, except for eggplant chips. We ordered those. They were paper thin rounds of eggplant, deep-fried I’m sure, though with not a lot of batter. Perhaps just a light coating of flour and then a sprinkle of salt and a few drops of honey just before serving. A whipped goat cheese dip came alongside. This is how you make an eggplant taste fantastic while also robbing it of any nutritional value and amping up the calories by the thousands. Yumbola, as Betsy would say. We had to make ourselves stop eating them.

We already have discussed using the mandolin to cut our own paper thin slices of eggplant, salt them a bit to reduce the moisture and then lightly coat with oil and perhaps panko breadcrumbs and see if the air fryer can come close to what we had today. If it works, expect to be served a platter when next we dine together.

Then we walked to the real Las Gato. Totally different. Lively and popular, the first floor level had a few bar top tables, but was mostly a room where people stood at counters, chatted and munched on their specialty – toast. Not just any toast. The menu makes avocado toast look bland. There were toasts with crab, prawn, Iberian ham, eggs, tomatoes and many more. They had a popular regional dish of shrimp in garlic, basically shrimp scampi but with a lot more butter and garlic. Betsy ordered that and it was delicious. I chose “tuna taco.” Well, that was misleading to be sure. This was no taco. It was a can of very good tuna with a roasted red pepper, some hot peppers, olives, winter tomatoes, red onion and an excellent Spanish olive oil. On a hot summer day, it would have been wonderful. But it’s not hot here. In fact it’s really cold and so was the dish. But that tuna was really good, the best I’ve ever had from a tin.

The vibe in there was so fun. The one server was an older man and he walked up and down the stairs from the bar to the dining room a thousand times. The bar area was packed with young people and when we left, there were more outside hoping to get in. We are glad found the real Gato.

Then back to the hotel for a rest.

After the bar last night with a cat theme, and then all the Gatos today, we were curious. Why so many cats and places named gato? We learned gato literally translates into “cat” in Spanish. In Madrid, gato serves as a proud nickname for someone who is truly from the city. The legend dates back to the 11th century during the Christian reconquest of Madrid – then a fortified Moorish citadel. Legend has it that King Alfonso VI’s troops approached the city’s high defensive walls, a nimble soldier began climbing the sheer stone face using only a dagger. He moved with such speed and agility, the King supposedly exclaimed that he looked like a cat. The solder reached the top and replaced the Moorish flag with the Christian one and he and his descendants took the name Gato, which over time became a badge of honor for the city’s bravest residents. In the modern sense, to be a Gato, you must be born in Madrid along with your parents and all four of your grandparents. As a result, the cat has become the unofficial mascot of the city.

Interestingly, unlike Rome or Lisbon or most other European cities we’ve visited, we’ve seen no live cats. No dead cats either, thankfully.

I still really wanted to see the Basilica de San Francisco. Betsy needed some rest, so I took off on my own in an Uber. Information online indicated it was open from 10 a.m. to noon and then again from 4 to 6 p.m. It was about 4:30. We are leaving tomorrow, so I didn’t want to risk not making it by 10. Ah, but me entering that church is not to be. When I arrived, the gates were locked shut. There was a sign saying it was closed at the beginning of December for renovations. Dang, as our late dear friend Bonnie would say. I thought worse words, and asked for forgiveness, as I grabbed the bars of the gate.

Tonight, we tried to recreate the experience at the Palace Hotel and walked to an even fancier hotel about 100 yards away. The bar area was nice, but not like the Palace Hotel. There may have been four customers and it was 7 p.m. As we have learned, these Europeans eat much later. Well, in truth, almost everyone eats later than us. We considered 7 p.m. late, but we were full from lunch. We ordered two cocktails and both were both very good. But, after that, no one ever came to our table. We were not offered water. We were not asked if we wanted to order, even though we had said we wanted to have dinner. We were outnumbered by wait stuff at least 5 to 1. After about 30 minutes, I caught someone’s eye and asked for the check. We weren’t upset because it just wasn’t fun to sit in an empty place. Plus, we had a really nice visit with just each other.

We decided to go back to that bar/restaurant from last night, right next to the hotel. The same guy was there and he recognized us and greeted us like friends. That felt so good. We sat at a nice table by the window and split a hamburger – an odd choice, but it was delicious. Then we ordered a chocolate dessert that was too heavy for us, so just a few bites.

Three people came in while we were there and sat at a table near us. One of the women was having a difficult time moving a chair and I tried to get up to help, but my chair was blocked. I said, “I’m trying to help you,” as I moved my chair. By that time, she had it sorted, but she said to me: “Are you from Georgia?” I had only spoken a few words and was so surprised that she guessed that. I think of myself as not having much of a southern accent, having grown up in West Virginia and then moving to Georgia. Apparently, I am so wrong. They were from Athens. So Betsy said the appropriate thing: Jacket Racket.

Now we are back in the hotel and going to sleep soon and planning on a relaxing morning. We’ll pack, maybe go to breakfast. We haven’t had breakfast since we’ve been here and the hotel breakfast is supposed to be quite nice. Then off to the airport and to Sicily.

Here are some more random photos from our day: