Few people know this city like the bike messengers do. Take note of that. Find one. Feed him or her (they tend to appear to be borderline starving) and reap the rewards. Our props to the mensajero that led us to Bar Laura because, quite honestly, holy shit! Caña plus tapa for one euro, people. Yup. Rewind. Read it again: one puto euro. And – wait for it – it’s Estrella Galicia. SHAZAM! Plus, it must be mentioned that this is not a cañita the size of your thumbnail, but an actual beer. Are the tapas gourmet? No. Don’t be an asshole. Go somewhere else for your espumas, you pansy. The fried artichokes and the tortilla de calabacín are scrumptious.
When we went up to ask for our second round we were offered our pick of the litter, tapas-wise. Todo menos los callos y el bacalao. The wooden window frames are a shade of dark brown that only comes with years of varnish on top of years of grease, and don’t even think about the table in the corner. It’s reserved for the birds, literally.
Where: C/ Independència, 334
Web: When hell freezes over, we bet.