Tapping tapas and plastic Paddy pubs

NEWSFLASH: Irish Journalist In Tapas Bar Bill-Dodging Scandal.

Word of warning for Munster supporters travelling to San Sebastián with intentions of trying the tapas - you have to pay for the bloody things.

Christina, our guide from the Basque Tourist Board, had promised to take us on a crawl of the tapas bars, and she didn’t disappoint. There is a beautiful old square in the heart of San Seb which was used as a venue for the Spaniards to indulge their passion for tormenting bulls.

Around this square is a warren of streets, home to at least 60 bars, the majority of them tapas bars.

Tapas are basically Spanish bar food, but at a much higher level than the hot nuts and Taytos we are used to in Ireland. This is top notch nosh.

Shrimps with egg and potato, crab meat with mayonnaise and, tastiest of all, croissant stuffed with sausage.

I admit that when I entered the first bar and saw this array of food, I may have lost the run of myself. It was Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonka stuff; once I started, I couldn’t stop.

Consequently, after quarter of an hour of incessant gorging, I needed some fresh air.

I waddled out into the night and as I left, I became aware of excited Spanish babbling behind me. Nothing unusual in that, I thought, but then Christina pegs it out after me.

“No, no. you must tell them what you have eaten and then pay for it. Come back, he is very angry.”

The shame of it. Not only did I have to confront the irate Spanish proprietor, I then had to verbalise the extent of my gluttony.

I had consumed 17 tapas in total, and listing them out reminded me of childhood trips to the sweet shop.

“I had one of them, four of them, two of those ones ...” (and the rest in jellies).

I tried to lighten the humour, “and a Diet Coke”. He didn’t get it. After he had been paid, he went off muttering what I can only assume was Spanish for “fat bast**d”.

We hit a few more tapas bars afterwards but my heart wasn’t in it.

However, the tapas experience is tailor-made for Munster fans. Fill yourselves with food and fine wine and then repair to the bullring for a chorus of ‘There is an Isle.’

Just bring your wallet.

The fans are starting to drift into the town now, although because the game is a still a few days away, they tend to be of the more well-to-do variety, over with the family on an extended holiday or cardigan-over- the-shoulder types on golfing trips.

San Sebastián, like everywhere in the world, has a couple of Irish bars but the one we checked out, Molly Malones, was Irish in name only.

Spanish-owned, it was your typical just-add-water Paddy pub, complete with old Guinness ads and signposts for Killarney (it’s always Killarney).

Speaking of Guinness, in the interests of research I gave the black stuff a try. The bar man poured it in the time it took me to register that Kerry’s top tourist town was just 17 miles away, and it wasn’t the Mae West.

However, if you’re the type who can’t travel abroad without a packet of Denny rashers and a box of Barry’s tea, it’s drinkable, although be warned, the prices are considerably saucier than your local hostelries.

As kick-off nears, the locals are becoming more aware of the event. There was a bloke called Michel from Bilbao in Molly’s for a quiet drink with his missus, and when he heard our accents he came over.

“You Irish, you here for the game yes? Ah, rugby is good game, very bish bash but I think Munster will lose to Biarritz. I am sorry.”

In spite of this, Michel was a sound geezer and I was enjoying our natter.

And then he goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like, “You like San Sebastián? You must try the tapas ... ”