Walking into Las Horas is a bit like walking onto the set of ‘Cabaret’; decadence, glamour and cherubim and seraphim beating their wings like crazy everywhere.
I exaggerate of course, but that is one of the vices of journalism, especially on a no news day.
Nevertheless, it is a pretty snazzy place to take people, especially your English relatives from Romford who already believe that you have gone native and can no longer hold up your end in a quiet night’s drinking of 12 pints of Watney’s.
It’s not really a place for eating, although they offer a tapa or two; it’s more of a place to go and have something before or after eating, which pretty much makes it an icon of what Valencia is all about.
They like to offer the unusual to accompany the décor, such as white sangria or rum punch, but mostly it’s just a question of soaking up the atmosphere, or looking coolly bored, as if it’s far less regal than your own living room, as you go back to painting your fingernails green.
Las Horas can be found in Calle Conde de Almodovar, if it hasn’t fluttered away.