Boca-idiot.

We got off the bus in the town of Sarriá for a snack. We stumble on a little place where a quick bite looks possible, and when led to the back dining area, I’m immediately in love. The walls are covered with old, antiquing newspapers and sayings such as “cheers!” and other (generally in Spanish) phrases written in big, bold, loopy cursive.

I get really excited. See, I’ve always wanted to order bocadillos, which really are nothing more than small sandwiches. I’d just never checked them off my Spanish cuisine list. I tell my dad I know what to get – it’ll be good.

I’ve been priding myself on being able to get around using my limited Spanish skills. I even did on this blog last night.

So, psyched for my croquetas and little sandwiches, imagine Dad’s eyes widen and my mortification when the plate comes out and I realize I’d messed up. 

I’d ordered boquerones, not bocadillos. 

A plate of four anchovies in vinegar.

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