The Cava hits the bottom of the glass for the third time and I know I’m in trouble. I can’t say no though.
‘In Spain, with this, there’s no such thing as no,’ says my happy host, putting the bottle back in the ice bucket. It’s 11:30 and I’m sat on a bar stool in the middle of an underground fish market, surrounded by bonitos, sardines, tuna and, well, fish guts. [Read more…] about Drunk at the Morning Fish Market