Where? Peru 895 y Estados Unidos
Menu (English) / Website (English) / Everyday: Noon – 4am / Mapa interactivo
During the day, this is the closest you will get to a proper English pub in South America. Wood-paneled walls, dark leather sofas, a TV playing Premier League football, a pool table, fish and chips, a Full English Breakfast, and even ale. At night the music is generally too loud and there are too many people, like Wetherspoons.
Whenever Arsenal were playing on a Sunday I would drag along an American companion to The Gibraltar and try to teach them how to talk about football.
American friend: “Oh, man, the EPL is so great.”
Me: “Err, what?”
AF: “You know, the EPL, the soccer league. But Arsenal isn’t doing so great, right?”
“No, not this season.”
“But they’re still a great franchise with a great roster.”
“They’ve still got a great chance to get into the playoffs.”
“There are no playoffs.”
“Oh, yeah, right, sure.”
Our conversation would run on like this for some time, with his earnest enthusiasm gradually worn down by the dull acronym-less language of football.
Me: “It’s just called the Premier League.”
AF: “Oh, ok. So the Arsenal Gunners is a franchise in the Premier League?”
Me: “No. It’s Arsenal Football Club. And they’re a team, or a club; not a franchise.”
He casts his eyes down sadly, like a child who’s just been told that the annual school trip is to a pottery factory, not Alton Towers.
AF: “Ok. So it’s just Arsenal Football Club.”
Me: “That’s right. Just Arsenal.”
AF: “Man. You gotta get some better names for your franchises.”
Me: Sharp intake of breath. Bite my tongue. Decide not to get upset about the word franchise.
We negotiated these lessons about football with the help of a slightly-too-expensive pint and either the Full English Breakfast or the Fish and Chips. Both were large enough to be considered ‘hearty’ and the Full English was normally sufficient to bring on a mild food coma. The baked beans were not like baked beans in Britain, but then apparently even the baked beans in the States are not like baked beans in Britain (more barbecue sauce over there), so I couldn’t begrudge The Gibraltar that inauthenticity.
Behind the bar worked a pleasingly rotund Englishman who cracked jokes about Chelsea that only long-time Chelsea supporters would understand, and there was always a grey-haired Englishman sipping a pint at the bar who seemed to have been stolen from the days of the British Raj. Along with the paintings of old warships in battle and maps of the Falklands, there was an understated sense of a defiant national pride, which is probably why the place is named after a small British-owned island hundreds of miles from Britain but extremely close to a large Spanish-speaking country…