I never thought I would say this:

No more food! (For the time being). (Til the crise de foie subsides). Don't you think for a moment that as soon as I get to Barcelona I won't be following the gastronomical recommendations of friends.
It's my great fortune I don't live in Spain, because if I did I would gain 20 pounds a day.


Breakfast every day of porras con chocolate at Casa Aranda in Malaga, where the fabulous waiters scream their orders as if they were urging the troops to battle.

Berenjenas con miel. Eggplant with dark honey.
Then pescaitos fritos all day long and cañas (the best little glasses of beer ever) and more food.


Montaitos and salmorejo at Bar El Pimpi, Málaga.
I am about to explode. What's going to happen to moi in Paris?