We had a lovely day in Nottingham yesterday. Following a quick, emergency Toms purchase after Mr P’s flip flops snapped, we descended into the depths of Iberico which is a modern tapas restaurant underground. It doesn’t feel at all dank though; on the contrary, the white walls and minimalist interior feel super summery and contemporary. As it’s quite a casual place, we chose to eat at the bar. After persuading the barman to knock us up a Moscow mule and an Americano (the cocktail, not the coffee), we perused the menu and chose a selection of Spanish cheese with some posh, garlicky and delicious tomatoes on toast followed by four fish dishes comprising spicy miso salmon, salt and pepper squid, some tasty prawns in their shells (with necessary finger bowl to accompany) and roasted octopus served on an earthy squid ink risotto. We then ordered a portion of churros with chocolate dipping sauce to share. I’m not a fan of deep fried things (to the extent that I painstaking pick all of the batter from my fish when we get a chippy tea) but I ate one to try it and Mr P wasted no time in finishing the rest. After another cocktail each, we emerged into the bright, Nottingham afternoon. We headed for drinks at the Bodega where we were serenaded by a pissed Jamaican man whose elastic in his trackie bottoms seemed to have perished but was surprisingly talented and from there found the secret Lost Property bar which is, again, in the caves beneath the city and just lovely: a dark, intimate place with a variety of curios, such as old briefcases, adoring the walls and old-fashioned keys dangling from the ceiling. The alcoves home varying sized tables, most of which were reserved for later that night, I would imagine that it’s mandatory to book if you wanted to go at night-time as it’s a tiny little place and could easily feel claustrophobic. The bartender was a bit of a snooty bitch though. When Mr P asked for an Americano (a cocktail he discovered in Italy made with vermouth, Campari and soda), she pointed out that they didn’t have a coffee machine, When Mr P, politely, told her that it was the cocktail he meant, she said “oh, you mean an Americana.” He could’ve argued that in Italy, it was called an Americano but chose not to. We went for another quick one in one of Mr P’s old favourite pubs, The Cock and Hoop, which has been unfortunately brightened up and modernised and hence lost its old-school charm on our way to the train station.
Back in the village, we picked up the whippet and went from there to the F-I-L’s as the B-I-L and family are visiting from Cornwall. We ended the night cooling off with bottles of Bud in the garden.
A lovely day all in all.
Mr P is working away for the entire week which is a bummer but I do have Mrs W visiting on Tuesday and I’m popping to see The Blonde Sister on Thursday which should break things up somewhat. Friday will herald the return of Mr P and the start of the Premier League which will likely dominate our weekends again for the foreseeable future.