As we were leaving Chiringuito Bahía Beach, the English-speaking person at the table in front of us hissed at her dining companion as they stood up to leave: "That was the worst food..."
Well, what we had wasn't "the worst food", but it was not one of the more-satisfying meals I've had in Spain. My tuna was just kind of dumped in a plate with a cut onion and some tomatoes. I mean: unsurprisingly great tuna, but I could've purchased and opened the tuna jar and cut the onion myself for about €7 less. DJ Potato's gambas pil-pil wasn't as good as the one from Bodega San Francisco two nights ago and was twice as expensive. It's kind of bad when you're at a seafood restaurant and the best thing at the table is the vegetarian person's not-on-the-menu pasta with cream sauce.
But hey I'm not moaning! Really: the wine was crisp and dry, the company was predictably incomparable, and we were still at the beach. In Spain.
Not a single good picture because we were outside at night, but: delicious masita de chorizo, tortilla de bacalao, gambas pil-pil, croquetas de setas, serranito, and pincho de camaron. Oh and flan (above). It all looked exactly like it did last March. Plus a nice bottle of wine, all for €30 or something.
Airport arrival. Beers? Of course. And a fucking uitsmijter. And a tosti kaas. And some klaverjas. And nausea bracelets. Then a flight.
Then waiting for luggage. And waiting for the shuttle to faraway parking. Then putting Fleetwood Mac's Rumours in the Renault Kangoo's CD player, where it would remain, unejectable, for the next 7 days (it's still there now as far as I know). Then driving into the mountains in the dark being impressed by rural strip club design. Making it to Ronda to find tiny bottles of beer from Málaga; a bottle of the same Rioja that I'd brought from Amsterdam; and frozen grocery store pizza waiting for us. Kind of just like home.
Then making a fire in the wood stove. Building a shopping list for the morning's grocery store run. Getting into to our perfectly cold beds.
This is an often-NSFW, mostly gluten-free kitchen notebook that also occasionally threatens to turn into something else and fails, thus remaining its same old cryptic and superficial self. These posts begin to fail to explain (start at the bottom).