Cuarte Ríos

Tapas are a thing to marvel at in Spain; for the cynical, a small overpriced serving of some type of meat or fish in oil, for the optimistic, a chance to whet one's lips with the unique flavors of Iberia. Here in Huelva, there are approximately 1,000 places by which to procure tapas throughout the day; the siesta is to be respected and revered to the point that one must consider 15:00 the "hora de comer"(hour of eating) as all local restaurants adhere to this principle like garlic on a pincho de pollo. The prices vary from 1.20 to 3.00 euros for a tapita, in most cases 2.00 euro is about standard. Often times you find the pricier tapas have a tad more quality; this is no surprise when you consider that the most highly valued commodity a foreigner can bring is cash. The additional baggage of looking so obviously foreign is the vacant stares that a proprietor of the bar will often produce upon your entrance, order and payment for services rendered.

Neil Young has been playing in my head ever since I got off the train from Madrid 5 (!) months ago; there's no two ways about it, everybody knows this is nowhere.



So, like the rarest of rare birds winging on by with a blood-red rose in it's beak (also you're drunk), it is a true pleasure to come across a tapas bar that offers the friendliest service, the cheapest tapas and the chillest atmosphere. Cuarte Ríos does all that and more; it's also the only bar whose outdoor seating doubles as a "botellón" every Thursday evening; for those not in the know, a botellón is a street drinking festival that students/unemployed/the young and stupid engage in at least once weekly, the standard botellón is 2 liters of rum per 3 people. Kind of brings it back to the days of "Mountain Rum" in Adrian's garage, but that's another story for another day.

The tapas are fucking delicious here; ensaladilla and it's fair skinned cousin patatas ali-oli are usually closer to ipecac syrup than savory splendor for yours truly, but at cuarte ríos there is no better companion for a cruzcampo or a DIY tinto de verano (another truly great feature of the place is the three soda bottles juxtaposed to some dirt cheap vino tinto where the customer can make as full a glass of wine as she/he wants). The montaditos, small sandwiches, feature warmed, crispy bread as the base for juicy lomo or a warm, filling slab of tortilla de patata.

The guys who work here are just trying to make working at a tapas bar as fun as possible for themselves. They joke around constantly, they do their best to speak up to 5 or 6 different languages in any given moment and they HATE on British people's accents (oh, cuarte ríos you had me at "Qué pasa tío")

The place also manages to be one of the few magnets for extremely attractive people. There is always some fine pieces of ass, on both sides lest you ladies think I've gone the way of Charlie Bukowski (slowly, but surely one tends to anyway), on display chatting it up and moving their eyes all over the room.

To sum it all up, Huelva is low on providing one with any form of fulfilling entertainment, but Cuarte Ríos is like the roughest gem amongst the thicket of landmines in some southeast asian jungle. BOOOM! Better hope you make it there without losing too many limbs in the process.