Cafe Ole: Bar Gansa, Camden

"Café Ole" is my favourite joke ever. I first saw the phrase on a children’s television programme and, probably overcome by pre-pubescent smugness in getting a bi-lingual joke (ok, so Café au lait / Café Ole), it has stayed with me ever since.

This is a circuitous (oh, you noticed?) way of saying I ate tapas in the midst of a live flamenco performance the other day. See what I did there?

I have previous knowledge of Bar Gansa as a kick-ass if a bit basic Spanish restaurant, the scene of a particularly pleasant evening in which my friend Sacha sent back uneaten food with the immortal words “I’m so sorry, we’re just too drunk”. Happy times. However, it also appears to be a hotbed of the London flamenco scene.

The little tapa shack is a colourful place, wooden floored and open to Inverness St restaurant strip on one side. Serving staff are young and Camdenite, but competent and cheery and prompt in offering drinks. The thing to get is sangria, which is offered in three colours – although the rose had run out, the red was exactly as it should be. Light, refreshing and enough to make you a little tiddly without falling over. A leaflet tucked under the placemat told me what I had hitherto forgotten: that Monday nights host a performance of flamenco dancing. The programme scheduled from 9 till 10 gave us a cool hour for eating before bailar.

The tapas menu is unusual for being priced realistically. Which is to say, no need to take out a second mortgage to get a decent meal. Which is to say, £4-7 each. We catered for 3 dishes pp, plus bread, which was perfect. Of our dishes, the seafood stew was perhaps the least successful; despite being lip-smackingly bisquey, it was deficient in sauce and full of giant mussel shell. However, it was perfectly edible. The calamari were in rings, where I prefer whole baby squid, but they declared themselves accurately on the menu and were fair to middling. Mini lamb and pepper kebabs were yakitori-small and patatas bravas not fried quite far enough beyond the pale.

Clockwise from bottom left: boquerones, green beans, chorizo/bean stew, seafood stew, potato/cheese. Centre: lamb kebabs

More resounding successes came with the boquerones (smoked anchovies) on salad and a large dish of green beans in a flavourful tomato sauce. The croquetas of jamon were crunchy and creamy and a significant improvement on a similar version I had outside the Plaza de Toros in Granada, although the latter were, admittedly, free. The real stunner of the show for me was the chorizo and bean stew, like my beloved flavourful fabada asturiana but with an outrageously smoky depth, as if half a bottle of liquid smoke (it does exist) had been tipped in. The thick, succulent slices of chorizo had leached orange fat into the bottom of the dish, exactly as they should, and made me deeply regret I had eaten all the bread before we started.

Puddings of chocolate mousse and tarte tatin were, yeah, ok, like most Spanish desserts.

I know very little about flamenco. Oh sure, I’ve been to a lecture on it, and recently attended the ever-popular Sadler’s Wells flamenco festival. But I couldn’t tell a class act if I saw one. However, I can at least bear witness that the single female singer/dancer performed with panache, her heels a blur as she stamped the rhythms on the wooden floor. With her accompanying drummer and guitarist, they were a smooth outfit.

So the dancer was good. But the real enchantment cam from the other guests. I know, I was surprised. When the dancer said she would pick people to perform with her, my heart sank. I don’t want to see club-footed English capering mawkishly. That came out more contemptuous than it should. But I’m sure we share a mental picture. Anyhow. There were clearly many flamenco fans and echt Spanish folk in the house, and the dancer knew who to pick. First, a diminutive, middle-aged woman took the floor and danced with such flair and bravado that everyone applauded. After her, two further women were coaxed into the centre of the room and did similarly well, wrists twisting, skirts swirling, feet stamping. Proper exciting. Wonderful.

Note: Photos blurry. Believe me, it's bad enough acting like a gauche tourist 200m from your front door, but using a flash in such circs would tip me over the edge. Call them arty, why don't we?

Comments

[Terentia]

Went here on a Monday in all innocence. If I'd been told beforehand I'd be stuck with a whirling flamenco dancer between me and escape I would not have been persuaded to give it a try. Just too English.... However, it works. Perhaps it was the sangria and more than acceptable food but I actually enjoyed watching the flamenco once I realised that I was not going to be dragged onto the dance floor. Those dancing were having great fun and no attention was drawn to non-dancers. Debbie was right not to use flash though....

[bar pos]

I really enjoyed reading your article. I'm glad people having great time with this place. I would like to visit this place soon. Thank you for providing very informative information.

[assubsemows]

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