Salpicón de Marisco

THE LAST TIME I ATE SALPICÓN WAS IN A BAR IN CÁDIZ, A CITY ON THE PERIPHERY OF THE SHERRY TRIANGLE. I HAD BEEN WATCHING A BRASS BAND PRACTISING FOR THE NEXT DAY’S BULLFIGHT IN THE COURTYARD OF A BLOCK OF FLATS. WHEN THE LAST TRUMPET FINISHED ECHOING OFF THE CONCRETE WALLS, THE BAND’S MUSIC WAS REPLACED BY THE SHRILL CALL OF A FLOCK OF GULLS CHASING A SCHOOL OF FISH IN THE BAY. THE SUN HOVERED OVER THE BAY OF CÁDIZ, ITS RAYS FLARING IN THE CLOUDS IN THE UPPER ATMOSPHERE, FLOODING THE