California Wine: A Sip of Spain
I miss Spain. Every time I pass by a water cooler, seeing the cone-shaped cups reminds me of those used to catch the dripping fat from the legs of jamon that hang in tapas bars. Whenever I go out to get an espresso, my mind flashes back to a small cafe in San Sebastian where an octogenarian Spaniard pulled a double shot while a cigarette with two inches of ash hung precariously from his mouth just inches above my cup. I miss walking through the Boqueria in Barcelona, staring mesmerized by sea creatures that look to have crawled straight out of a National Geographic special. And then there is the wine.
