17 JUL 2019: Never mind the French diet paradox. How about the Spanish paradox? How can they eat and drink so much, so often, so late, and stay svelte? And awake? I might be exaggerating slightly, but a typical day in the life of a Madrilno goes something like this:
9:00: Strong espresso.
10:00: Another coffee and a roll.
Noon: Small beer and a cured ham sandwich.
15:00: Huge lunch with wine and brandy.
20:00: Tapas with sherry and/or beer.
23:00: Big dinner with wine and brandy.
1:00: Drinks at flamenco bar or nightclub.
3:00: To bed.
9:00: Repeat.
“Nobody goes to bed in Madrid until they have killed the night,” remarked Ernest Hemingway in his book, Death in the Afternoon. Indeed, those Madrileño nighthawks proudly call themselves los gatos (cats).
Just because you haven’t won the lottery doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a prowl from dawn to dawn through what must be Europe’s liveliest city. Here’s how to make the most of your Euros.
THE “CHEAP THRILLS” SAVE LIST
Ham it Up
For a cheap snack, Museo del Jamon (with several locations) is not a museum but a vast emporium and shrine to the pig. Hundreds of hocks hung on hooks from the ceiling give the place a pungent aroma. We sallied up to a long counter where the locals stood while munching sandwiches accompanied by small mugs of beer. The best ham, we were informed, is jamon Iberico. These little pigs are fed acorns before they go to market resulting in an intensely delicious flavour.
“Americans worship (rock star) Madonna; for us it’s ham,” teased the waiter.
Go Artsy
For art aficionados Madrid’s “Golden Triangle”—three magnificent museums within strolling distance along the Paseo del Prado—is a treasure. All three complement each other.
We could have spent hours at the Museo del Prado alone. It houses more than 8,000 paintings by el Greco, Goya, Rubens, Titian, Raphael, Botticelli, Velázques and more. It’s fascinating to view the transition of Goya’s work from bright and joyful cartoons, court paintings and country life to his Black Paintings—horrific scenes of dark fantasy and terror—produced in the painter’s later years following a mysterious illness.
The Centro de Arte Reina Sofía is home to Picasso’s equally depressing masterwork, Guernica, plus contemporary pieces by Miro and Dali. The Thyssen Museum fills in the Prado’s gaps with works from the 13th through 20th centuries by Caravaggio, Rembrandt and Kandinsky.
If you start to suffer from museum fatigue, take a refreshing stroll through El Retiro Park just behind the Prado. Once reserved for royals, the 350-acre oasis is full of statues, fountains, more museums, including a Crystal Palace exhibition hall and a lovely lake where you can rent a rowboat and work up an appetite.
Nothing Succeeds Like Excess
You’ll be relieved to know that not all of the 2,800 rooms of the Palace Real are open to the public. But in the few dozen rooms that are open, you’ll be overwhelmed by the opulence. The entire palace is chock-a-block with Charles IV’s collection of intricate gold clocks. The silk-walled dining room seats 145. A glass case holds among other treasures, Napoleon’s gold chamber pot. Adjoining the palace, an impressive armour collection includes tailor-made pieces for royal dogs and kids.
Tapas Crawl
Don’t head out until after 9 p.m. unless you want to eat and drink alone. Start at Plaza Santa Ana, another old haunt of Hemingway who purportedly mooched his way from bar to bar.
The whole point of a tapas crawl is to stop in at various taverns snacking, sipping and socializing en route. Start with a dry Tio Pepe sherry and a saucer of sizzling garlic shrimp. Don’t try to keep up with the Madrileño marathoners; for them tapas are just the appetizers before dinner around midnight.
Sweet Dreams
When it’s time to crash, consider La Macarena Hostel. It’s centrally located just off the Plaza Mayor and charges about 80€ for a double room with bath.
THE “YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE” SPLURGE LIST
World’s Oldest Eatery
Botin, established in 1725, holds the distinction of being the World’s Oldest Restaurant in the Guinness Book of Records. We arrived unfashionably early at 9:30 p.m. and were escorted past the ancient wood burning oven where a perspiring chef was roasting the house specialty—milk-fed piglets.
We climbed a rickety wooden staircase to the second floor, a room with beamed ceilings and tiled walls that reeked with atmosphere and cigar smoke. A young struggling Goya washed dishes here. Ernest Hemingway also liked to dine here, the waiter informed us as he set down platters of croquettes and blood pudding. Next came garlic soup with an egg in it. By the time the massive clay casserole holding a whole suckling piglet with crispy crackling skin arrived, we vowed to pace ourselves on future meals.
Nouvelle cuisine, we were to discover, plays no part in the Madrileño diet. Dessert was out of the question but our waiter brought complimentary little shot glasses filled with Pacharan, an anise-flavoured fruit liquor, supposedly an effective digestif. We pried ourselves away from the table about midnight, just when the locals began to arrive.
Shopping Spree
Madrid may not be the fashion capital of Europe but it seems like every second shop sells sexy shoes. The ultimate leather store is Loewe, with everything from handbags to crocodile dresses at dizzying prices.
Stars and Scotch
Hesperia Madrid Hotel is conveniently located at Paseo de la Castellana, 57. The five-star property boasts two superb restaurants, including the Michelin two-starred Santceloni, and a rooftop fitness centre with a panoramic view. Trust me, after trying to keep up with the Madrileños, you’ll need a bit of a workout. And to counteract that, The Scotch Bar offers a selection of over 70 single malts. www.hesperia-madrid.com
Flamenco Finale
The night was young by Madrileño standards when we wandered into Corral de la Moreria, reputedly the best flamenco club north of Andalusia. More locals than tourists packed a cozy room, its white stucco walls hung with paintings of flamenco and bull fights. The small wooden stage trembled as various dancers of gypsy descent strutted and stomped, clapping hands, clicking castanets, flying ponytails, twirling frilled skirts, flaunting their toned bodies. It was all at once sexy, defiant, provocative and volatile. The guitarists sang passionately as though they had raging hormones in their throaty voices. It was exhilarating.
Sometime after 2 a.m., many encores later, the sweaty dancers left the stage. The folks next to our table suggested we do as the Madrileños do. Join them for a nightcap of churros (fried batter) dipped in thick hot chocolate. Why not? Hemingway would probably agree that this would be a fitting way to “kill the night.”