The Tres Reyes is run by Emilio, a man of about 60 or 70, who serves beer and fino and makes excellent fried fish and caracoles. Today we saw a few acquaintances there, young Ruben, talking with an old man who seemed less drunk today than he was last weekend in the little bar in the alley. Ruben was there with a guitarist and a cajon player, before they went off to another bar to perform. There was an old man at the bar having the special racion of the day - habas (broad beans). We asked for some and then later some fish - pijotas from the north. The bar is small and has a grungy feeling. You can usually find guys singing there on a Saturday afternoon, hitting the bar and clapping loudly. There are some pictures of a very formal horse parade tacked onto the wall below an archway, and two little plants in plastic pots (one of them a cut off container painted black) hung above the pictures. Some fake flowers are stuck behind framed pictures above the arched entryway, and above the bar hang sketches of the Three Kings: Juan Carlos of Spain, Camaron, of flamenco, and a Semana Santa statue of Jesus, of San Telmo (a neighbourhood which houses this Jesus statue).

A 50-ish man and wife tell Emilio to make them beans but to put an egg in it. He argues back but eventually makes it. The guy asks about his umbrella. Emilio tells him that Uncle Juan took it with him when they were all last there. They ask him for the recipe and he explains, yes, of course there is a little pepper, there is cumin but only a mijita... so it sings bulerias. The beans were frozen, which the woman chastises him for, and says it is the edad (the era). He says, come on! The fields are not right here! She says, the market is (which it truly is, right across the street). Anyways, testimony to Emilio's cooking skill that frozen beans taste that good.

The short and very stocky old man eating his beans on the other side of us has complained, looking very annoyed, at one of the young men with his guitar on his back, that kept knocking him as he moved around. Everyone laughs, presumably due to the way the old man demonstrated his complaint. He goes to stand on the other side of the couple and when the young men leave they go over and purposely bump him, as a joke, to which the old man responds loudly, but tongue in cheek, and everyone laughs. When we leave we thank Emilio, who thanks us instead and does a slight bow. It is a dramatic gesture but at the same time he means it. He chats in a totally down to earth way with his customers about everyday life stuff and answers their questions that are not really appropriate but that is a moot point here because this is not a contrived place like most restaurants are, that I've ever known in my life. Emilio is very gracious and genuine, though there is a sort of joking around that has a certain degree of bullshitting to it, and is like playing a game.

When we leave, the couple, who we haven't really spoken to, also say Buenos Dias and Adios. The atmosphere is such that pretty much anyone can talk to anyone, it would just happen naturally and easily.

There are two more details I almost forget to mention because I don't even notice them any more: we are all standing, and the doors are open even though it is March and raining out.

This place summarizes why I live in Spain.