Last night I saw something that sent a shiver of excitement down my spine and brought a tingle to my tastebuds; something that seductively whispered ‘carnaval is here’ in my ears and had me licking my lips in anticipation of the maelstrom that was about to assault the senses of anyone who had the courage to plunge into its all-consuming madness.
I’m not talking about seeing the carnaval stage taking shape or the mini taster parade to announce this year’s carnaval queen candidates…no, I’m talking about a force that was responsible for pulling me out of a decade of being a pescatarian and back, grunting with desire, into the world of the carnivores again.
I’m talking about a food stall extraordinaire…Mesón California.
Forget the wussy bite-sized montaditos of the Madrids and the Barcelonas of this world; at Mesón California you get Desperate Dan-sized, jaw testing versions. Check out the picture if you think I’m exaggerating. These are montaditos for real men – and women of course – and being carnival, also for ghouls, vampires and slutty nuns and nurses etc.
Its erection is the sign for me that carnaval has arrived and I’m positively salivating at the thought of my annual pilgrimage to worship at this exquisite shrine to Spanish street cuisine.