They don't speak English in the Texas Lone Star Saloon

I never, ever thought I would want to eat in an American-style restaurant while traveling in Europe. I've always looked askance at the McDonald's and Burger Kings which are, sadly, ubiquitous around the world.

I should have known better.

Every time I make a silent judgment about others ... "Why would ANYONE eat in a McDonald's in Paris??" ... I end up humbled.

So here is a confession: this evening in Sevilla, I absolutely had to have a hamburger.

Dr. Francis had (goodnaturedly) forbidden us to eat in the Irish bar or the Tex-Mex place which is ... right down the street from our apartment. He doesn't want us to cheat on our commitment to learning or improving our Spanish language skills. I thought I could eat there with Bill and just quietly not mention it. But now that I have, I find it's definitely blogging fodder, so:

I swear they don't speak English in the Texas Lone Star Saloon, Dr. Francis.

I've mentioned before that I'm not really loving Spanish food, although the tapas last night at Tapas Viapol were my favorite so far. I especially liked the Berenjenas a la Crema con Queso (mashed eggplant with cheese) and Piquillos relleno de Merluza y Rape con salsa de espárragos trigueros (peppers stuffed with fish and covered with asparagus and sauce). But we've been gone for 25 days and I've just been craving a big, juicy hamburger. So tonight we went to the Texas Lone Star Saloon.

The Saloon is a sports bar with a bunch of TVs mounted on the wall which were all playing fútbol ... not football, but soccer. The waitress approached us and spoke in Spanish using phrases we had never heard before. For example, she asked Bill if he wanted his cerveza (beer) "pinto o media pinto" (pint or half pint). I actually had to break out my apology phrase ("Lo siento pero no puedo hablar muy bien") for the first time in a day or two.

The waitress left us with menus, one of which ... I also confess ... I swiped. I just had to. It was too precious not to have for my scrapbook. I even took a photograph of it so you could see what a Tex-Mex restaurant in Spain serves. So I spoke Spanish to the waitress when she returned to take our order: "Me pone una hamburguesa Waco sin cebolla (no onion)."

Not surprisingly, our hamburgers were absolutely dreadful (that definitely was NOT barbeque sauce ... it resembled chili, and the hamburger patty, much smaller than the bun, was pre-formed, reheated, and overcooked).

Nevertheless, I thought it was ... ummm ... simply delicious!

Bill had a Fort Worth hamburger, which he ate with a knife and fork. I cut mine into quarters and picked it up like I do at home, lickin' my fingers and smackin' my lips. It was perfectly satisfying.

My hamburger at the Texas Lone Star Saloon was a fun end to a domestic day (laundry and apartment cleaning). Tomorrow I'll be up at 6:30 and off to the archivo for the start of my second week.