Almost impossible to find, the only thing that this discrete tiny Spanish bar is missing is Morpheus on the door: take the red pill, enter and wake up feeling like you've been on a poteen drip for a couple of months; or take the blue pill and walk one hundred yards to Bradley's Bar where, incidentally, Morpheus should also be employed.

You will find all sorts hiding out in this basement ghetto, drinking the night away sipping red wine and eating tapas to the occasional live flamenco.