While the local paper plastered the front page with a photo of the big bold red 44 (yes, as in 111 Fahrenheit) that passed, momentarily, across the digital time and temperature doo-dad on Salamanca's Gran Vía, I innocently wandered into one of my favorite bars for my favorite pincho.
Two sips into my beer, the girl behind the bar broke the news.
Seems morcilla keeps summer hours. It was too early to grill morcilla. Too hot.
I've since made it there late enough to get my fix of Zamora picante, but I'm still less than happy about this.
I'd be okay with some rain on the plains in Spain. Or a morcilla cold wave every 3rd day?
Labels: on living in Spain