The other day, we went out to have lunch in the local town of Agramunt. We found a bar which seemed very popular. In fact it was so popular, that we couldn’t sit inside in the lovely air-conditioning, so we were very English and sat outside under a canopy. There was a pleasant wind and we had already looked at where the sun was going to be, to see who was going to play “I’ve got the burny neck” first.

The waiter came out with placemats and cutlery, and very, very slowly placed them around the table. He looked to be about 16 and had a look of abject terror on his face at all times. I don’t know if this was his first day on the job, or if he was on a final warning, but he always looked absolutely terrified every time we spoke to him.

The bar offered a “menu del dia, (a set menu to you and me) which had quite an extensive choice. These are staples over here in Spain and we have dined on them a great number of times, and usually they are excellent food and great value for money. So a win-win situation.

The slight issue we had here was the language. Yes, we’ve come to Spain with two fluent Spanish speakers, however, we are in Catalonia. And Catalan is definitely the dominant language. Catalan seems to be a hybrid of Spanish and French, so at best it looks like either Spanish or French, and at worst it looks like neither.

If we were in a big seaside resort or a popular tourist destination, then it would be very simple to ask for the English menu. However, I don’t think this place would even supply a Spanish menu, never mind in English menu, so we had to do with the Catalan one. As I said some words are very straightforward. Others are not. The surefire way of spotting a Brit abroad these days is when you see them holding their phones up to the menus and going “ah, that’s what it is”. Google Translate is a wonderful tool, but it still has its limitations.

The first one which befuddled me was something called secret sausage.

Apparently I got this wrong and it wasn’t secret sausage, it was secret, and the next item on the menu was sausage. But still, what was secret? I only remember it as being a lattice chocolate bar with a cream filling made by Cadbury in the 1980s. I’ve never seen it on a menu. Was it a surprise dish of the day? Rach explained to me that it’s a cut of pork which is called secret because it is sort of in between two of the more popular cuts, and is often forgotten about so not used. Nikki said it’s a bit like when you go to the butchers and you have the Butcher’s cut. I.e. a bit of the body which people don’t know about that is a fraction of the price. Again we win.

There was on this menu something called Garró. We then had the usual conversation between Rachel and Tibu:

“What is Garró?”

“Well, it’s Garró.”

“I know what I’ll do. I’ll translate it from Catalan into Spanish”. A pause. Moments later.

“So according to Google translate, Garró in Spanish is …Garró”.

Now with me being king of the languages, I said “Well, let’s try translating it into French then. Perhaps the word originates from there”.

A pause. Moments later. “So according to Google translate, Garró in French is …Garró”

As we were sat there, a party of 20 people began walking up the road towards us. We couldn’t quite make out what was going on there. They were all different ages with different walking abilities. So we figured it wasn’t a walking group. We were guessing they’d not just been turned out from church, even though it was a Sunday lunchtime. And as I say, judging by the makeup of the ages, we figured it must be a family meal out.

They all began walking into the restaurant, which we knew was completely full. They obviously had seen the five English idiots sat outside and just assumed that we had chosen to be there. A minute later, they all walked back out of the restaurant again. Then they happily hung around for a good half an hour, as tables cleared inside and they could go in one by one, until eventually all of them managed to get in.

When myself and Tibu went in to settle the bill at the end of the meal, the restaurant now consisted of one table of 21 people. There were literally no more tables within the restaurant. Not sure if they just forgot to book, if they booked and got there a bit early, or on the spur the moment they thought “I know, let’s go to the tiny pokey bar, they’ll manage to accommodate 21 people really easily, and if they can’t, then we can sit outside like the English idiots”.

A great meal was had all round, and we managed to move away just before the sun came round to start burning Nikki’s neck. But we still have no idea what Garró is.