A whole week in Madrid, Spain. (I have to add 'Spain' as many Americans will assume I meant Madrid, Texas, or somewhere 7,000 miles from Espana).
This was a business trip, so I spent most of the week enclosed in a dreary Airport hotel, only venturing out into the cold each evening. Each adventure required a twenty minute cab-ride into the city, so what with the vagaries of an unknown city plus and equally unknown driver, we experimented by pointing to one of the numerous big plazas on the map and said "there" in broken Spanish (i.e loud, belligerent English).
This restaurant was a lucky find, as Reggie and I were looking for somewhere near the Supermercado San Miguel (more of that later).
Kitchen Stories is an all-white place, which at first looked a little stark for us, but it soon warmed up as we downed a bottle of Mar de Frade.
Our spicy tuna, berenjenas (egg-plant, or aubergine), guacamole and hummus wouldn't necessarily tax the average host, but proved an ideal base for the gastronomic festivities we had planned for later that night. Everything happens "later that night" restaurant-wise in Madrid, as each evening most restaurants are empty until 10:00pm, when everyone seems to descend en masse to the city's eating places.
We were determined to catch them out by trying to talk business early each morning, but we seemed to be less able to do the "dine 'til midnight, rise at dawn" thing than the average Spaniard.
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