Clams in Tomato and Lots of White Wine

We were staying at a parador in a scruffy little Galician town that smelt and was full of half-finished breeze-block buildings. And although it was fiesta-time, there didn’t seem to be a lot going on and, quite honestly, I didn’t like the place, nor was the parador quite what I had been led to believe it might be.

So, feeling slightly disgrunted, Anne (my sort-of assistant-type person, who helps me write these books and accompanies me on my travels) and I set off into town looking f