Tres: Cruzcampo

A cold, rainy day in Sevilla. Mostly I stayed in and worked on my alzapua, a vaguely comical-looking technique that requires players to have at least five joints in their thumbs, probably:

I did take a 15-minute walk to the Alfalfa district to check out the Museo del Baile, dedicated to visual art inspired by Flamenco. Along the way I tried to count Cruzcampo signs, and lost track somewhere after 20.

When I was in London, I fell in love with the signage for the Underground. So simple, so iconic, and so welcoming after braving English November gales for miles on foot. The Cruzcampo sign is similar: a big, red beacon of relief enticing you into one of Sevilla’s hundreds of bars (Sevilla allegedly has more bars per resident than any other European city. Based on initial experience, I believe it).

Cruzcampo is Andalucia’s native brew, although it has since been bought by Heineken. It’s … OK. A pretty standard pale lager, similar to Amstel. But it’s so goddamned omnipresent that I’ve found myself drinking one or two every day. I suppose it’s a nice change from the hoppy craft IPAs I usually go for. As far as I can tell, the craft beer movement hasn’t caught on yet in Spain. Eh, nobody’s perfect.

Anyway, almost every ceverceria in the city has one of these things hanging outside it. Look at that dude’s face, and his silly little hat! Don’t you want to have what he’s having?

Surely there’s something primal about it, the color and the shape. Like the shiny red button you can’t help but push.