Sevilla Does Bars Even Better Than Australia

I have a plan – a plan that I will absolutely, 100 per cent not go through with because I’m too lazy – to open a bar in Australia. My bar will be called Sevilla, and it will be amazing.

It will be called Sevilla, obviously, in homage to the Spanish city of the same name, and the bar itself will be similarly reflective of everything that’s great about the Andalusian capital.

Spanish bars don’t have themes, they have ham.

The reason I’d so love to open Sevilla is that there’s nothing of the sort in Australia right now. We do big, shiny, pokie-filled pubs, we do dancy nightclubs and we do trendy small bars – but we don’t do bars like they do in Spain. If no one else is going to open one, I will (although obviously I won’t).

Because that’s what I miss about Sevilla, the city. After a few months of living there in 2012, it’s not the charming narrow alleys I dream of now, nor the churches, nor the art galleries, nor the local football matches. It’s the bar culture.

Let me take you through a day in the life of a Sevilla bar, and you try telling me it’s not the greatest.

The day begins unashamedly early. We’re talking about 8 a.m. That’s not for booze though, it’s for breakfast. Sevillanos ease themselves out of bed and down to the local bar for a “cafe con leche” – coffee with milk – and a “tostada completa”. These tostadas are toasted bread rolls filled with sliced tomato and local jamon iberico, and drizzled with olive oil. They’re simple and amazing.

Breakfast in Spain isn’t a quick bowl of cereal at home, it’s a social occasion – old men stand at the bar and chat as bartenders wipe over benches and prep their tapas offerings for the day ahead. Then it’s time to head to the office.

There’s no such thing as “small bar” culture in Spain – every bar is a small bar. Most could barely fit 30 people inside. Some have no space at all, merely a window from which to dispense drinks to punters who stand in the square outside.

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