It’s Christmas Eve in a sunny Córdovan square and locals bustle across the plaza with purpose, clutching white plastic bags. Others relax, shopping complete, spreading out on café terraces to drink hot coffee or a well-chilled beer. A mother scolds her child with a crescendo of anger that thrums off the elegant buildings all around. … More Meeting Miguel at the Market
It turns out to be yet another beautifully frozen morning, but with a change. Mild pockets of air peel away my layers as I run. It’s something of a surprise – like when swimming in the open sea and suddenly slipping into a shaft of soft warm water from cold – or the tell-tale heat of a … More Pockets of Warmth
The chef-owner of De Locos Tapas looks at each of my children, one by one, until his intent gaze forces their eyes to meet his. He advises them to banish their phones. If they don’t, he will – because they are here to engage in conversation with their parents, and share and enjoy the food that he will bring us. Half-laughing … More Crazy Ronda Tapas
My heart sinks when the café’s not-quite-open look suggests that we might be too early for the Andalucían breakfast we were too late for the other day. But the door swings open, and we find a man crouched over the bar, stirring endless sachets of sugar into his black coffee. He has the comfortably sleepy look of an early morning … More Tostada por favor (just like his)
I am not indulging in a Dry January, but an attempt at Austerity January has almost amounted to the same thing. Feeding ourselves from the contents of the freezer and cupboards, with as few forays to the shops as possible, is fast depleting our stocks of everything. Including wine. Imagine the unbridled delight when my youngest son finally unpacked his … More Barbadillo Boy
Have Paprika, Will Travel 