Cordoniz a la Barbacoa

I can never barbecue a quail without being reminded of the day dad took mum and me on the back of the scooter to eat in the mountains above Córdoba. Wedged between my parents, none of us wearing helmets, we climbed the hills until dad found a suitable place. I remember making the fire with mum and dad, then cleaning the birds and placing them on a greenwood skewer, which was balanced between two forked branches sunk either side of the fire. Dad sat by the fire with a glass of wine and twidd