One of the things I love about living in "Sanchoville" is coffee breaks at Bar Alcázar. Bar Alcázar is easy to love. It is everything that Starbucks® is not and doesn’t want to be. I make the five-minute pilgrimage nearly every day...

Bar Alcázar is easy to love.  It is everything that Starbucks® is not and doesn’t want to be.  I make the five-minute pilgrimage nearly every day.   

But why do I love it?  There are three main reasons.

Reason #1:  The atmosphere. 

You enter Bar Alcázar through a curtain of plastic beads, and then through a second curtain of cigarette smoke. 

The main bar area is done in colors reminiscent of Darren and Samantha’s living room on "Bewitched",  as the upper half of its walls are covered with dark green fabric wallpaper.  Green fabric wallpaper!  Doesn’t that make you want to pop a Leo Sayer CD into the stereo? 

The ceiling is covered with textured, tan-colored ceramic tiles.  I’m not sure if the tiles came in this color, or simply evolved to it after exposure to decades of cigarette smoke. 

 The floor is difficult to discern, because it is usually covered with an ankle-deep blanket of litter.  I’ve been told by a Spanish Civil War veteran that the floor is tastefully done in earth-tone ceramic tiles, but have no independent confirmation of this.  

Reason #2:  The clientele. 

Bar Alcázar patrons come in three flavors: (a) construction workers; (b) politicians and priests; and (c) drunks without borders. 

Group (a) floods the bar each morning before 7:30 and again from 10:00 to 10:30.   Most members of this group chase their coffees with a glass of anís, orujo or brandy.  At 10:00am!  Then they pay their tab and return to their power tools and heavy machinery.

Group (b) appears at 11:00am.  Much like at the White House, there is no separation of church and state at Bar Alcázar.  Most members of this group drink only coffee—but then light up a cheap cigar as self-reward for foregoing alcohol at such a tender hour.

Group (c) can hardly be called a group, because it is comprised of only one man.   I’ll refer to him as "Skeletor". 

Skeletor is in his late 60’s/early 70’s, has pasty skin, poor posture and tips the scales at a whopping 110 lbs.  He drinks a brand of red wine that comes in a clear glass bottle with a metal, pop-off cap.  Skeletor talks a lot, although not necessarily to anyone within hearing distance.  For the last couple days, he has been drinking alcohol-free beer.   I don’t know if I should be impressed or concerned about this.

Reason #3:  The coffee. 

Bar Alcázar makes a great café con leche.  ‘Nuff said!

* * * * *

Now, I know what you’re thinking:  "A dirty, smoky, poorly-decorated bar that serves good coffee to strange people who aren’t interested in coffee?  You must be mad!”

But I’m not mad!  And I am not the only one who has fallen under Bar Alcázar’s spell. 

Indeed, Bar Alcázar would be embodiment of perfection, were it not for one shortcoming... the afternoon bartender.  I’ll refer to him as "The Grimace".  Why do I call him The Grimace?  Because he looks like The Grimace from those old McDonalds® television commercials except that he is neither purple nor jolly.  

Not that I am especially bothered by The Grimace.  It’s just that Bar Alcázar loses a bit of its charm when drinks are being served to you with a scowl. 

But I think The Grimace is finally warming up to me.  Just last week, he barked "Gracias" as I paid my tab and left. 

At least, I think he said "Gracias".  Maybe it was just, "Grrrrr".