A souvenir from Segovia

When I return from a trip my Mom asks me the same question: “Don’t you get lonely eating alone?”

It’s true, eating can be a social activity. That is the essence of going out for tapas, or tapeo, in Spain. It’s a communal experience. You share plates with your friends and family. Thankfully a tapas tour allows a solo traveller to get a taste of this tradition with borrowed friends for an evening. The photos below are from my fun tapas and flamenco tour in Madrid with Isabel from Devour Tours.

Tapas aside, my Mom’s question is not about sharing food, but sharing a table at a restaurant.

In truth, that is the moment in my day when I sometimes wish for company.

Flying solo however invites a different experience at a restaurant. Alone, I tend to pay more attention to my environment. I am immersed in my surroundings rather than a conversation. In Spain these surroundings are full of ambience. Whether it’s a historic tavern , a well worn restaurant, a lively terrace or a cosy comedor, there is always something for me to watch. It’s new. It’s different. It’s why I hop a plane.

Ambience is only part of the experience. It’s also the hospitality. With a welcoming and friendly host it feels like you have company.

This brings me to my dinner in Segovia. It was the last night on my recent trip touring (a small part of) the region of Castilla y Léon.

While Ávila has a well preserved medieval wall, Segovia has a 1st century Roman aqueduct. It’s massive. The two sets of stacked arches are almost 30 metres at the highest point. It’s confounding. The precisely cut stones are held together by gravity, not mortar. It’s certainly sturdy. The 800 metre section that remains is 2000 years old. It’s not budging.

There’s also fairytale Alcázar in Segovia, a lovely Plaza Mayor and an impressive gothic style cathedral with sparkling stain glass (including a colourful depiction of the timeless aqueduct).

Alas, I want to get to the dinner so I am going to skip ahead. To dusk.

My hotel recommended a traditional Segovian restaurant, Mesón José María. As I approached I could see the place was very busy. People spilled onto the street. As I entered the doorway it felt like someone was handing me a beer. Belatedly I realized he was passing it to his friend behind me on the street. The bar area was noisy, people standing around in groups, enjoying a drink, a tapa. I shuffled through the crowds to the dining room. The servers, dressed in formal attire of black pant, white shirt and black vest, were rushing from table to table. I looked hopefully in the room.

“Tiene una mesa?” I asked once I caught the eye of one of the servers, a dapper gentleman with grey hair. “Cuantos?” he asked.

“Solo yo.”

He glanced at the full room and gave me a sympathetic smile. “Venga,” he said lightly touching my shoulder to guide me to a staircase off the busy bar area. We walked downstairs. To my surprise there was another dining room. He removed a reserved sign from a table and pulled out a chair. “Para ti,” he said.

It was like I had my own private dining room. It was cosy with dark wood beams, a red brick wall and another wall decorated with a mishmash of ceramic plates and framed pictures. There were about 6-7 tables, all empty.

I was grateful to have a seat at this clearly popular Segovian restaurant. I glanced at the menu. A typical dish in Segovia is Cochinillo (roasted baby pig). I did not have the appetite for a big meal but still wanted to try a regional dish: Judiones del Real Sitio con todo su acompañamiento. Judiones are fat white beans from the area. I was less certain about “todo su acompañamiento” so I inquired. My server, with some gusto, listed off a myriad of porky products: chorizo, morcilla and various pig parts. I placed my order.

A few moments later a plate seamlessly arrived in front of me. Toasted baguette with 2 different spreads mounded perfectly on the plate (cream cheese and roasted carrots) and garnished with watercress. “Apéritivo,” he announced. I am always pleasantly surprised when a free tapa appears. In this case, it was quite elaborate. I was happily enjoying my apéritivo when another server, a younger man dressed in the same formal attire, came to my table with a large ceramic jug. It was stamped with the name of the restaurant, José María. I was momentarily concerned the entire jug was for me. “Calma,” he reassured me as he scooped out a portion of Judiones into a shallow bowl.

The beans were tinged chorizo colour. I started eating while inspecting (not too closely) the porky bits that were undoubtedly the source of flavour. Both servers were now present, standing at attention. I started to feel a little self conscious and asked the older man “Ustedes estan aquí solo para mi?” They were here only for me?

“Ya estamos!” he replied with enthusiasm.

I didn’t quite understand. He explained, all the while smiling, his eyes bright. The term essentially means “We’re here.” He went on to say whether it’s 2 pm or 8 pm, whether you are one person or four, the first or last patron of the day, we are ready for you. No importa. No matter. We are always here for you.

I felt the pride and professionalism in his response. All this, for me. Me alone.

I wasn’t alone much longer. As he also explained to me, tables can fill quickly in a matter of minutes.

An older couple came down the staircase. Then a group of 4 people. My server was soon occupied with other customers. He scooped fresh crushed tomato onto chunks of bread from another ceramic jug. He whizzed by with plates of croquetas, jamón and queso. Bottles of wine, water, beer. He served bread from a wicker basket. Placed apéritivo plates on the other tables.

Dinner rush was now in full force in my lower level comedor. Instead of any self consciousness I became a bit nostalgic for my one-on-one time with my affable server. The personal service was also great for practicing my Spanish.

Soon enough it was time to go. I paid my bill and got ready to leave. As I headed for the staircase, I heard him shout out “Espera!” Wait! He opened the large hutch at the base of the staircase and pulled out a little clay pig. A piggybank. The name of the restaurant was stamped on, the eyes and snout painted with quick brushstrokes. “A souvenir,” he said presenting the clay pig to me. Un recuerdo. I was touched.

I tell my Mom about my attentive server at Mesón José María in response to her question. I show her the little clay pig with its smiley snout. I do not profess to receive this level of exclusive service, or a souvenir, every time I dine out (though I did depart a restaurant once with a bottle of their house vermouth). However it’s certainly not my only encounter with a server that took the extra time to talk with me, offer suggestions and share their traditions. I learned something. And they elevated my dining experience to something special.

That last night in Segovia, I may have been alone at my restaurant table, but not lonely.