At 7.45pm on a Wednesday, every table in Bar San Juan on Chorlton’s Beech Road is taken. The tiny kitchen behind the bar is slammed, the order checks stretching the length of it, and flames licking up from the grill.
Spanish is the only language being spoken, and loudly, while the telly plays Spanish TV - there are some dancing ponies, the Spanish answer to QVC and the weather.
It’s 39 degrees in Cordoba this weekend. There’s nothing much to suggest you’re not in a neighbourhood bar in Seville. Even down to the square napkin dispensers on every table and the little paprika tins filled with small forks for your tapas. Try MEN Premium for FREE by clicking here for no ads, fun puzzles and brilliant new features. There are two spaces left at the shelf along the side wall, opposite the bar, so I grab them, beneath a picture of a hugely handsome bearded man from the 80s.
The two gents who follow 60 seconds later are told it’ll be 40 minutes. Phew. You didn’t used to be able to book at all here, but now there is a loose reservation situation in place.