Writers’ restaurants, coffee shops

In Spain, there are in some cities, a series of restaurants, which is a tradition that every writer who has existed in this society, went through one of them.

I don’t know in other societies or cultures, but as far as I know, the coffee gatherings, which could be political or sociopolitical or literary or cultural, have germinated in Europe, in almost all of this peninsular terroir for several centuries. Perhaps, it was the copy of the commoner and the people and the middle classes, of the gatherings of the nobility, in their salons, half cultural events, half social events, half political, half economic, half weddings and coming-outs…

In Madrid, there are at least two or three restaurants, that with fried or boiled eggs, every writer or almost every scribe or polygraph or editor, who has existed under these clouds has visited or, they say, should step on. She has gone, tried to go or march through those tables and those forks and plates. It is true that there also exist or have existed coffee gatherings, we would say, was a cheaper way to spend an afternoon and get together. All together and together, to try to occupy a place in the culture. easier too to control and be controlled by the powers of the moment, when the Internet did not exist, the different views and ideological palates, the alleged sociopolitical changes. Because everything is mixed. In some ways and forms, in other cities, with more or less mouths, it has also been copied or plagiarized or tried to make a few pairs of legs sit down, around a table, to taste a black liquid or a meal of a regiment of chickpeas with some islets of meat or round yellow circles with/in a white hat…

Many are called, few are chosen. The reality is that only a few percent, small, perhaps between one and five percent of the population, – let the social sciences inform us of these figures, because it is important. They are dedicated, they want to live or exist in a cultural trade or profession. maybe more, but the majority think with rationality and prudence that it is better to have a job or profession that allows you to be with dignity and honesty in this world – unfortunately, not lying in a corner.. And, later, dedicate the rest of the time to the family, to living, and to the profession, with or without dividends, of creation or cultural research…

Modestly, I have crossed the cellar or cave of some coffee gathering, perhaps, already in times, which had declined a lot. I have been several times, in these decades, one, which is in the axis of the great Madrid, the famous coffee GijonThere, accompanied by relatives, I have tasted the dishes several times. There, I have tasted coffee or some liquid in a bottle of thirty-three centiliters – I think that is what it is called, the Physics of the Baccalaureate is very far away. I’ve only been there a few times, because that place was always passing through.

There, I have looked many times. But I, a small cultural being from the provinces, although large in size and biology, have never spoken with any writer, thinker, philosopher, artist, actor. I have never belonged to any table-gathering of poets or actors or writers or filmmakers… In others, perhaps I have passed without knowing what they had been, in others only on the sidewalks. I don’t know, at present, how that reality is, all remembering the dream of Threshold, all feeling the dream of all the polygraphs or similar trades

I don’t know, at least I, because you and so many othersa percentage of the population, from young or less young, from adolescents or before, because they want to dedicate themselves to dance or theater or music or mathematical or physical research or invent technologies or devices, or write verses or perhaps, write this contraption or instrument that we call an article. I do not know. I suppose that at the end of this century, the discovery of the brain, they will give the explanations, to those who live and exist, to those who are and are in this world, breathing and rejoicing and suffering. Because that/this is the history of man, laugh and cry, the sapiential books of the Old Testament would tell us. Rejoice and be sad. At least do it with moderation and prudence and rationality, both.

But I still have, as a pending thing, to go one day to the capital of the Court and of Letters. Y, cross the walls, of some of those two restaurants, and feel, perhaps with nostalgia and grief and sadness, that I am a writer, even if I am a failure, let’s not kid ourselves, this is reality. That I, I, modestly had dreams that my words would have a link, even if it is small in society. But they haven’t! To pass by, one of those gatherings, and, to be able to sit at a table…! Those dreams have only stayed on the sidewalks…! Coffee gatherings or coffee gatherings…!

But Even if you don’t believe it, I’m not talking about myself, if I were to talk about myself, I can do it alone and in solitude. I’m talking about you. I speak to you, who also belongs to this group or gang, who carry a brush or a pen or a voice. I speak to you, that although you have never wanted to be of this gang and pack, know that there are people, who have dedicated their whole lives to plow the world with words, concepts, ideas and images. And, that the vast majority, have entered a coffee shop or a restaurant of writers, or, or have not done so. Most of them their words and their colors and their sounds will be lost in time. Praise/memory/homage to those who fail in their cultural production activity…

© jmm caminero (07-14 sept. 2022 cr).

Writers’ restaurants, coffee shops