Drink: an unexpected match for BBQ Spanish pork
AS I write I’m up a large mountain in Andalucia on holiday. It’s 45C, I’ve got zero wi-fi or phone reception and there's no air conditioning. My complaints lasted three seconds before I realised this was the perfect excuse to live like a local in the rural village by drinking ice-cold beer and visiting food stalls. The food was as magnetically attractive as the shade. My father-in-law calls me Nosferatu due to my tendency to hug walls and anything which casts a shadow to hide me from the sun.