Discover the stories others have shared about Botín: memories, inventions, curious characters, and literary tributes.
It has always been the same.
At quarter past two, the sun slips through the same angle, grazes the corner of table six, and leaves a
A shimmering gold spot on the tablecloth. Every day. Every year. Every century.
Not even the waiters notice it anymore. But that light has seen everything.
He saw the young soldier shaking his mother's hand before leaving. He saw the poet writing down a
between courses, convinced that he would not forget it. He saw a child spill his soup and
She cried as if it were the end of the world, while her father—tough, clumsy, nervous—offered her bread for
first time.
He saw toasts with foreign accents, whispered promises, sweet betrayals.
He also saw how she stopped coming.
It was always at a quarter past two. She arrived punctually, sat alone, and smiled like someone who keeps secrets.
a secret. One day he didn't come back. But the light kept coming, just like before, as if he were still waiting for her.
Botín has changed. The walls, the names, the price of wine.
Only light is faithful.
And every noon, when he crosses table six, it seems that something—a laugh, an absence, a
I remember—it shines for a few seconds and then disappears.
We were walking along Cuchilleros when, suddenly, you stopped in front of Botín. You put
that chastened expression of an explorer without a compass to which I've become accustomed
and fixed your gaze on the door.
-Are you hungry? - I asked.
You entered without answering. I followed you. The aroma that greeted us, a soft veil of wines and meats, transported me immediately to a time
of wines and meats, transported me immediately to a time without stains on the skin or hints of farewell
skin and no hint of farewell in every gesture in which the future did not concern us.
we did not worry about the future. For years we were regular customers of that restaurant and I tried to recall, with no luck, our last
to remember, with no luck, our last meal.
We were seated by a window. I wanted to order something easy to chew, but you refused.
you refused.
-A little dinner for two," you said.
While we waited, we kept silence. This silence of thorns that enveloped us
that has enveloped us since your diagnosis, and that was only broken by the clinking of the plates and glasses that filled our table.
and the glasses that filled our table. We began to eat and immediately your
your face relaxed. You smiled and I knew you had returned for a few minutes to this part of existence.
this part of existence.
-You wore a white dress the first time we came here. I was so
I was so nervous that I stained it with my drink. That day I was thinking of asking you to marry me, but I didn't dare.
to marry me, but I didn't dare.
You caressed my hand with your confession, and I had to bite my cheeks to keep from crying.
not to cry.
As soon as we hit the street your bubble caught up with you again. Since then,
whenever I feel the threat of oblivion, we return to our Booty table,
ask for anything and you instantly reclaim for both of us parts of our marriage that we thought were lost.
marriage that we thought were lost. I don't know how long this gastronomic prodigy will last.
gastronomic prodigy that awakens you, nor what will be your final loss, but I know that as long as we keep our teeth we will have in the
as long as we keep our teeth, we will have an ally in the oldest restaurant in the world.
an ally in the oldest restaurant in the world.
The staircase greeted his arrival on the second floor of the restaurant with the pleasant creak of veteran wood. For a moment he hesitated and that moment of hesitation made him realize that in his pocket still rested the intriguing invitation to dine at Botín, with no more details than that laconic signature: La Duquesa.
Instinctively, she fixed her clothes and tied up her black hair, barely broken by that eternally silver lock. Her mother-of-pearl eyes scanned the room with its immaculate black and white checkerboard floor. At the only occupied table there was a smiling, wavy-haired old lady, who was happily attacking a succulent plate of suckling pig.
-Sit down, young man," said the grandmother without losing her smile, "I can imagine your doubts, but please join me in giving an account of this dinner and I promise to clear them all up.
The young man obeyed, bewitched by the kindly presence of the old woman. Immediately, a diligent waiter served him a glass of bright red wine and a portion of the aromatic suckling pig, standing discreetly behind him.
-I am the one who has invited you to this little celebration. Specifically, we are celebrating my recent widowhood," the woman commented, surprisingly amused. I know it is little information, but I assure you that I will give you all the information you need during dinner. Don't worry, but right now I'm more interested in getting to know you.
-That's simple," the young man replied, a little dazed. I'm thirty years old, I'm single and I work as a teacher.
-And are your parents alive? -She continued without time to rest.
-I grew up in an orphanage, I never knew my parents.
That can be arranged," said the smiling old woman, narrowing her mother-of-pearl-colored eyes, while she exchanged knowing glances with the smiling waiter, who tied up his black hair, barely broken by that eternally silver lock.
That television series was not a figment of some scriptwriters' imagination. He always suspected that it was based on real events and devoted time and effort to find out. He interviewed experts, consulted documents and finally set out to explore some of the subway labyrinths that intertwine in the Madrid of the Austrias.
-Rediós...! -he said with deep surprise. He let out such a rude expression when he discovered that his search was over. Although he could only see a narrow passageway and some steps going upwards, he knew, as soon as he opened it, that this was the door. And when he crossed it to find himself in front of the wines stored there, he entered a new dimension.
He was in the cellar of a venerable establishment. Possibly the oldest restaurant in the world. He confirmed the impression when he recognized a pendulum clock and knew what was happening when he saw an unmistakable customer sitting at the table he had occupied a hundred years before. He was sharing it with Lady Brett Ashley, the protagonist of the novel Fiesta. In it Hemingway would write that his companion "did not drink much" and that they opened three bottles of La Rioja Alta. The same amount he used to drink in Pamplona when he enjoyed lunch at the end of the running of the bulls.
This new time traveler began to retrace the steps he had taken, thinking of successive returns. In this way he would get to know many of the protagonists of the literary, political, artistic and social life of the last centuries. However, none of this would be necessary. As he crossed paths in his hasty flight with a character he could not quite identify, he thought he heard the last revelation:
-You only have to come back one more time -he told him-. We will all meet when Casa Botín turns three hundred years old.
"...from Portillo to Arganzuela..."
So they sang in "Las Leandras" about a Madrid of the "chotis" and the "verbenas", which were re
The name was given by those plants collected in the early morning between dances, around San Juan, who coined the saying "irse de verbena" (going to the verbena). Aromatic plants, whose smell and fragrance similar to lemon, could not, "or did not want to", prevent other smells from prevailing at the end of the century of modistillas or organ grinders. Churros, entresijos, gallinejas, or the omnipresent stew of "Sota, Caballo y Rey": soup, vegetables and "sacramentos". A stew that Galdós frequented, in that Posada-figón "Sobrino de Botín", for which Valle-Inclán, with acid criticism, called him "Benito el Garbancero" (Benito the Garbancero).
And if, to elaborate recipes is like painting pictures, it is said that, when it is said that a young Francisco, born in Fuendetodos, recently arrived from Zaragoza, appears in his kitchens, to wash dishes and impregnate himself, like his brush, with colors and smells with his stews, in his uninterrupted wood-fired oven, he must have had some use for those recipes.
A 17 year old Goya, looking for his life among casseroles, in that initial Botín? Reality? Story? It could have been.
That Portillo of "Las Leandras", closed the "fence" of Felipe IV, by Embajadores and Peñuelas. Its drains in the general sewer, still not free of odors, poured into the meager current of the Manzanares ("apprentice river" sentence Quevedo).
In addition to those, there was the smell of soaps from the washing places and the smell of the cattle "casonas", destined for the nearby slaughterhouse.
As Baroja narrates in "La Busca", neighborhoods with the smell of gizzard and bleach, also masterfully described in "Fortunata y Jacinta" by Galdós.
Smells of a nineteenth-century Madrid. Smells of that black and white Madrid of Don Pío or Don Benito. Smells of traditional cuisine, that today, in Cuchilleros street, we still taste... 300 years later!
The light at a quarter past two - Doménico Camus
It has always been the same.
At a quarter past two, the sun slips through the same angle, grazes the corner of table six and leaves a trembling golden stain on the tablecloth. Every day. Every year. Every century. Even the waiters don't notice it anymore. But that light has seen it all. It saw the young soldier squeezing his mother's hand before leaving. It saw the poet jotting down a verse between courses, convinced he would not forget it. He saw a child spill soup and cry as if it were the end of the world, while his father - hard, awkward, nervous - offered him bread for the first time. He saw toasts with foreign accents, whispered promises, sweet betrayals. He also saw how she stopped coming. It was always at a quarter past two. She would arrive punctually, sit alone, and smile like someone keeping a secret. One day she didn't come back. But the light kept coming, just as before, as if she was still waiting for her. Booty has changed. The walls, the names, the price of the wine. Only the light is faithful. And every noon, when he crosses table six, it seems that something - a laugh, an absence, a memory - shines for a few seconds and then it's gone.
-Your Majesty, let's escape! Let's go and have some wine! Life in the palace is rigid, distant, not very pleasant. Come on, sir, a day is a day!
These were the words of Antonio, the King's faithful valet, when it was beginning to get dark, on November 24, 1725.
-Sir, I know a recently opened tavern, five minutes from the palace, near the Plaza Mayor, where they make the most appetizing food you can imagine. The farthest thing from the protocol lunches that bore you so much.
After thinking about it several times, the King agreed and said to him:
-Antonio, I hope that this place you are telling me about will not disappoint me. You know that I have tasted the best dishes of our beloved Spain and of so many other countries through which I have traveled and, although I would like to get out of the palace routine, neither my palate nor my stomach allow me certain licenses, but we will give that new tavern a chance.
Without royal guards, or halberdiers, or custodians of any other kind, they went out trying not to be seen in this Madrid of chandeliers and oil lamps. The street in November is half-empty, so they arrived quickly and without being recognized.
The atmosphere in Botín was special. The contrast between the cold and lonely street and the almost full, noisy and above all warm tavern made them feel like two friends who went there every day. Antonio couldn't believe it, he was in Botín with the King without anyone noticing!
The food did not disappoint anyone. Vegetables, roasts and wine filled their stomachs as rarely before.
On the way back to the palace, the King, who was not very talkative, stopped for a moment. Antonio feared the worst, and so the King said to him:
-Antonio, we will have to repeat.
Whether they repeated or not, Antonio always kept the secret.
My wife and I arrived in Madrid almost at noon. The perfect time, on the other hand, to go to the Botín restaurant and enjoy a succulent meal. We had a table reserved. We arrived, sat down and mingled with the smells: it was another place, another world, streets where Galdós had walked and now they were with us. The traditional Madrid, the most forgotten corners, which now came back to our memory. As children, my wife and I played near the restaurant and we were intoxicated by the aromas. I promised myself that, if she ever became my wife, the first meal would be here. And we delivered. Afterwards, we found the restaurant again in the pages of Galdós and smiled. We kept coming back. Today, the Botín sirloin with mushroom melts in my mouth. The first meal, a soup, tasted like glory, like this one. Nieves, my wife, looks at me and smiles. She knows that, right now, we are in the same place, a Botín that has been over and over again our days.
From the other side of the world, where the stoves crackle with exotic aromas and the tables are covered with street stories, my soul sits waiting for a light that is no longer just a fire: the Botín restaurant. It is said that the oldest in the world, with its burnt brick walls and wooden ceiling creaking under the weight of time, holds memories of kings and rumors of lovers.
I, chef of the nouvelle cuisine, carry in my chest the passion for ingredients that dance between fire and water. Every day in my kitchen is a battle against the ordinary; every dish is a poem waiting to be read. But there is one verse I have not been able to complete: the authentic taste of lamb roasted in the Botin wood-fired oven, the one that is said to have been cooked since 1725.
Desire turns to drama when I remember the first time I heard the story: an old master who told me how his grandmother had taught him to use the volcanic stone to cook the most tender lamb under the stars of Madrid. His eyes glowed like embers; his voice was an echo of the past. I said to myself, "This is my destiny." And so, with each ingredient imported and each recipe experienced, I prepare to cross seas and mountains.
The longing grows when I think of Botín's kitchen: the long beams supporting the ceiling, the smell of burnt wood mixed with the night breeze, the murmur of the Manzanares River that seems to whisper ancient secrets. I want to feel that air in my lungs, to bake under that dim light and listen to the creaking of the oven as if it were an ancestral symphony.
The story drives me on. I have sent letters to the restaurant, sent photos of my cooking to the whole world and waited for a response as if it were a beacon in the distance. Every day I get closer to that goal with the certainty that my desire is not only mine; it is a bridge between two culinary worlds.
And now, as I write this micro-story in my notebook, I feel my inner fire burning stronger than ever. The dream is still alive: to cross borders to meet Botín and bring home the spark of the ancient fire with my own modern touch. Because in every dish a story is written and I want to write mine with the legacy of the oldest restaurant ever built.
My grandfather, a worker at Random House, left me upon his death a folder with writings and mementos, among them a yellowed sheet with a sonnet he had received from James Michener in 1968, when he delivered the manuscript of Iberia to be published. It read:
Between knives and partying, the countess
She took off her shoes without sanity
Hemingway refused pure water
She of Alba forgot to be a duchess
Neither Truman nor Graham thought of
To share with Galdós their great Fortune
Drinking the grapes one at a time
Among the rich delicacies they roasted there
There people and royalty came together
Look not under door or window
Between shelves, the cupboard and your head
The secret slowly unravels
For the date will become certainty
If you meet the Baron at a party
In June 2025, preparing my trip to Spain to perfect the language, I remembered the old enigma and wanted to solve it. I discovered grandfather's annotations that read "Truman Capote", "Graham Greene", "Duchess of Alba?", "Galdós", "Hemingway" and "Barefoot Countess Ava Gardner?". I entered those names in the AI adding "manjares" and "asados", and Eureka, the answer popped up: "Restaurante Botín, Madrid". At 22 years old I couldn't understand it, but I searched and I understood. Those characters, also Michener, had made Botín their home. Once in Madrid, I went to the restaurant and showed my discovery. We looked in the cupboards and in one of them, which was at the height of the head, when I touched it with force, it revealed a secret hidden with an original charcoal. It was a gentleman in the caves of Botín with several women and a legend: "1725, Ripperdá, banquet for peace". The Baron of Ripperdá had celebrated the signing of the Treaty of Vienna in Botín. In 1725, Botín was already a witness to history.
My father, Ignacio (Nacho), always had a special smile on his face if he went to eat at Botín. His admired Benito Pérez Galdós (don Benito) and Ernest Hemingway passed through there.
He, also a writer, liked to sit at the table and take a deep breath. In addition to the incomparable smell of freshly roasted toast, he thought that something would remain in the air from the passing of such illustrious diners.
He took out his little notebook and in his tiny handwriting took notes of what would later become a beautiful text dedicated to such a great moment. And there was no lunch that did not close with the exquisite Botín cake. After a good wine and a toast to the health of those who, like him, fell in love with the best restaurant in Madrid, Chin, chin!
Then he smiled again, picked up his cane, and said goodbye at the door with the desire to come back a hundred times more. Emboldened and happy, he dared to climb all the stairs that lead to the Plaza Mayor to have a 'copichuela' that preceded a well-deserved and comforting nap to finish his particular 'Fiesta'. For you, Dad! Let's raise our glasses once again.
After sixty years, Amparo walks along Cuchilleros Street, witness of her first five years of life; then she had to emigrate. She does not know the number where her house was located, so her steps take time waiting for something to awaken her memory. A name catches her attention: "Botín's nephew".
Curiosity leads her to immediately search for information on the internet. What she reads excites and surprises her in equal parts: "open uninterruptedly since 1725"; but that's not all, a paragraph further down she discovers that her favorite writer, María Dueñas, is a regular at this place, she has even mentioned it in several of her novels. She does not hesitate and enters such a distinguished establishment. Suddenly, her vision blurs and she feels a certain dizziness. He takes a deep breath until he regains his composure. However, the image captured by her pupils bewilders her: it looks like a painting by Toulouse Lautrec. In the same scene she glimpses different periods. A corner in the background shelters the imposing figure of Hemingway, who, glass of rioja in hand, converses with the barman, and then prepares to capture the last scene of his novel "Fiesta". Suddenly, two women, oblivious to such an ostentatious space, carry a small pitcher to the last table. Amparo is forced to stop the scream that struggles to come out; she has no doubt, they are Fortunata and Jacinta. The desire to recognize the diner causes an increase in visual acuity, and she distinguishes, nothing more and nothing less, than the creator of such an extraordinary work.
This walk through history injects him with the courage he needs to return to the street and locate the starting point of his existence.
My name is Elisa Carter, and I arrived in Spain from the USA with my father William, Guillermo, and my family in 1954. We lived in a small boarding house downtown and it was there that we met Don Antonio, owner of Casa Botin, where we often went to eat.
My mother wanted to prepare the traditional Thanksgiving turkey in November, but unfortunately it didn't fit in our small oven. Because of his friendship, Don Antonio generously offered the famous Botin oven for its preparation, and that is how we were able to celebrate our traditional holiday in a special way.
In 1975 my parents finally left Madrid and retired to the USA but the friendship between the two of them remained. Don Antonio continued to communicate with my father through the Christmas pictures he drew in pen and ink of the various corners of Casa Botin.
Two decades later, I returned to Madrid for a visit and went to greet Don Antonio on my father's behalf. He remembered me, as the little girl, and asked me if I was coming for dinner. The restaurant was packed and I told him that I had no reservation and that I had come just to say hello, but he insisted that I had dinner, inviting me to a glass of sherry with tapas of ham, while I waited for a table. I told him that I was a Spanish teacher in the USA and that I shared with my students the Christmases I sent to my father, which also had the letter upside down. Then, Don Antonio insisted that I should have some of my own, bringing me 12 different rolled up drawings as a gift.
These, I have framed them and today they are in my kitchen in Alicante where I now reside, as a great memory of Casa Botín, and of Don Antonio, with his generosity, kindness, and of the friendship between him and my father.
Three centuries ago they lit my heart of firewood in the humble inn of Cuchilleros street. Since then I have burned without rest. I have seen children laugh and decades later they came back as grandparents, I have warmed the bread of hungry artists and the souls of nostalgic travelers. Under my orange light secret loves have been confessed, pacts and farewells have been sealed, and I have wept in silence when the war darkened Madrid.
Not a single night did I allow the cold to extinguish my flame. Even in the worst of times, when the world outside was crumbling, I stubbornly kept burning. I know the silence of the early morning, when the last diner leaves and only my dim embers light the century-old walls. I also know the joyful bustle of the nights of celebration, the toasts and the laughter that bounce under these old ceilings.
I am the old Botín oven, guardian of stories and flavors. Memory dwells in my bricks: the whisper of a distant tuna song, Hemingway's smile before a golden suckling pig, the echo of Goya's footsteps waiting tables before becoming a painter. Every dawn, my sleeping embers awaken with new wood, and my fire is reborn young even though it is three hundred years old. In the crackling of my flames live all the hugs, laughter and tears shared around my warmth. I am more than fire: I am a bridge between generations, the warmth of a common home that never went out.
The Action Period (REGISTRATION), during which the activities that give the right to participate in the Action may be carried out, begins on JULY 15, 2025 (opening of the registration period) and ends on NOVEMBER 1, 2025 at 11:59 p.m. (closing date for the reception of participations).
The ceremony for the presentation of their respective awards to the winners will take place between December 15-20, during the celebration of the closing ceremony of the 300th anniversary of the Botín restaurant.
BOTÍN reserves the right to modify the dates of the contest at its convenience. The communication of the modified dates and times will be made according to the same mechanics described here.
BOTÍN organizes this contest: "MICRORRELATOS 300 AÑOS DE BOTÍN", exclusively for users of legal age (18+ years old) residing in Spain.
Participants must send an original, unpublished story in Spanish with a maximum length of 300 words (except for the title) through the registration form on the page https://n3b7v1c5x9q.shop/concurso-microrelatos/ . This form will request the necessary information and the uploading of the story.
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Within the period of validity, participants may submit their stories inspired by the BOTÍN restaurant and addressing one of the following proposed themes:
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BOTÍN reserves the right to refuse participation in the contest to those participants who do not comply with the conditions established in these rules.
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* The following persons may not participate in the sweepstakes, nor their spouses, ascendants or descendants up to the second degree: (i) Employees employed by any of the companies and other entities with legal personality linked to Restaurante Botín S.L. (ii) Individuals who participate directly or indirectly in the capital of Restaurante Botín S.L. (iii) Any other individual who has participated directly or indirectly in this Promotion or has been involved directly or indirectly in its preparation or development (agency, suppliers, etc.).
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The evaluation criteria will include:
The deliberation of this part of the jury will have a weight of 80% of the total assessment. The remaining 20% will come from the public's assessment through a voting system on the Botín restaurant's website. https://n3b7v1c5x9q.shop/
*Contest prizes: from JULY 15, 2025 to NOVEMBER 1, 2025:
1ST PRIZE
- Appear as a winner in the digital book of the 300 years of BOTÍN micro-story contest.
- 1 Iberian ham courtesy of the official sponsor of the promotional action.
- 1 wine selected by our winery, official sponsor of the promotional action.
- Lunch for 2 people at the Botín Restaurant, with a special 300th anniversary tasting menu.
- Invitation to the special gala at the closing of the 300th anniversary celebration.
2ND, 3RD, PRIZE
- Appear as second and third prize in the digital book of the 300 years of BOTÍN micro-story contest.
- 1 wine selected by our official sponsor winery of the promotional action. With the 300th anniversary celebration label.
- Invitation to the special gala at the closing of the 300th anniversary celebration.
REMAINING PARTICIPANTS
- Appear in the digital book of the 300 years of BOTIN micro-story contest ordered from the winner.
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Thank you
Discover the stories others have shared about Botín: memories, inventions, curious characters, and literary tributes.
It has always been the same.
At quarter past two, the sun slips through the same angle, grazes the corner of table six, and leaves a
A shimmering gold spot on the tablecloth. Every day. Every year. Every century.
Not even the waiters notice it anymore. But that light has seen everything.
He saw the young soldier shaking his mother's hand before leaving. He saw the poet writing down a
between courses, convinced that he would not forget it. He saw a child spill his soup and
She cried as if it were the end of the world, while her father—tough, clumsy, nervous—offered her bread for
first time.
He saw toasts with foreign accents, whispered promises, sweet betrayals.
He also saw how she stopped coming.
It was always at a quarter past two. She arrived punctually, sat alone, and smiled like someone who keeps secrets.
a secret. One day he didn't come back. But the light kept coming, just like before, as if he were still waiting for her.
Botín has changed. The walls, the names, the price of wine.
Only light is faithful.
And every noon, when he crosses table six, it seems that something—a laugh, an absence, a
I remember—it shines for a few seconds and then disappears.
We were walking along Cuchilleros when, suddenly, you stopped in front of Botín. You put
that chastened expression of an explorer without a compass to which I've become accustomed
and fixed your gaze on the door.
-Are you hungry? - I asked.
You entered without answering. I followed you. The aroma that greeted us, a soft veil of wines and meats, transported me immediately to a time
of wines and meats, transported me immediately to a time without stains on the skin or hints of farewell
skin and no hint of farewell in every gesture in which the future did not concern us.
we did not worry about the future. For years we were regular customers of that restaurant and I tried to recall, with no luck, our last
to remember, with no luck, our last meal.
We were seated by a window. I wanted to order something easy to chew, but you refused.
you refused.
-A little dinner for two," you said.
While we waited, we kept silence. This silence of thorns that enveloped us
that has enveloped us since your diagnosis, and that was only broken by the clinking of the plates and glasses that filled our table.
and the glasses that filled our table. We began to eat and immediately your
your face relaxed. You smiled and I knew you had returned for a few minutes to this part of existence.
this part of existence.
-You wore a white dress the first time we came here. I was so
I was so nervous that I stained it with my drink. That day I was thinking of asking you to marry me, but I didn't dare.
to marry me, but I didn't dare.
You caressed my hand with your confession, and I had to bite my cheeks to keep from crying.
not to cry.
As soon as we hit the street your bubble caught up with you again. Since then,
whenever I feel the threat of oblivion, we return to our Booty table,
ask for anything and you instantly reclaim for both of us parts of our marriage that we thought were lost.
marriage that we thought were lost. I don't know how long this gastronomic prodigy will last.
gastronomic prodigy that awakens you, nor what will be your final loss, but I know that as long as we keep our teeth we will have in the
as long as we keep our teeth, we will have an ally in the oldest restaurant in the world.
an ally in the oldest restaurant in the world.
The staircase greeted his arrival on the second floor of the restaurant with the pleasant creak of veteran wood. For a moment he hesitated and that moment of hesitation made him realize that in his pocket still rested the intriguing invitation to dine at Botín, with no more details than that laconic signature: La Duquesa.
Instinctively, she fixed her clothes and tied up her black hair, barely broken by that eternally silver lock. Her mother-of-pearl eyes scanned the room with its immaculate black and white checkerboard floor. At the only occupied table there was a smiling, wavy-haired old lady, who was happily attacking a succulent plate of suckling pig.
-Sit down, young man," said the grandmother without losing her smile, "I can imagine your doubts, but please join me in giving an account of this dinner and I promise to clear them all up.
The young man obeyed, bewitched by the kindly presence of the old woman. Immediately, a diligent waiter served him a glass of bright red wine and a portion of the aromatic suckling pig, standing discreetly behind him.
-I am the one who has invited you to this little celebration. Specifically, we are celebrating my recent widowhood," the woman commented, surprisingly amused. I know it is little information, but I assure you that I will give you all the information you need during dinner. Don't worry, but right now I'm more interested in getting to know you.
-That's simple," the young man replied, a little dazed. I'm thirty years old, I'm single and I work as a teacher.
-And are your parents alive? -She continued without time to rest.
-I grew up in an orphanage, I never knew my parents.
That can be arranged," said the smiling old woman, narrowing her mother-of-pearl-colored eyes, while she exchanged knowing glances with the smiling waiter, who tied up his black hair, barely broken by that eternally silver lock.
That television series was not a figment of some scriptwriters' imagination. He always suspected that it was based on real events and devoted time and effort to find out. He interviewed experts, consulted documents and finally set out to explore some of the subway labyrinths that intertwine in the Madrid of the Austrias.
-Rediós...! -he said with deep surprise. He let out such a rude expression when he discovered that his search was over. Although he could only see a narrow passageway and some steps going upwards, he knew, as soon as he opened it, that this was the door. And when he crossed it to find himself in front of the wines stored there, he entered a new dimension.
He was in the cellar of a venerable establishment. Possibly the oldest restaurant in the world. He confirmed the impression when he recognized a pendulum clock and knew what was happening when he saw an unmistakable customer sitting at the table he had occupied a hundred years before. He was sharing it with Lady Brett Ashley, the protagonist of the novel Fiesta. In it Hemingway would write that his companion "did not drink much" and that they opened three bottles of La Rioja Alta. The same amount he used to drink in Pamplona when he enjoyed lunch at the end of the running of the bulls.
This new time traveler began to retrace the steps he had taken, thinking of successive returns. In this way he would get to know many of the protagonists of the literary, political, artistic and social life of the last centuries. However, none of this would be necessary. As he crossed paths in his hasty flight with a character he could not quite identify, he thought he heard the last revelation:
-You only have to come back one more time -he told him-. We will all meet when Casa Botín turns three hundred years old.
"...from Portillo to Arganzuela..."
So they sang in "Las Leandras" about a Madrid of the "chotis" and the "verbenas", which were re
The name was given by those plants collected in the early morning between dances, around San Juan, who coined the saying "irse de verbena" (going to the verbena). Aromatic plants, whose smell and fragrance similar to lemon, could not, "or did not want to", prevent other smells from prevailing at the end of the century of modistillas or organ grinders. Churros, entresijos, gallinejas, or the omnipresent stew of "Sota, Caballo y Rey": soup, vegetables and "sacramentos". A stew that Galdós frequented, in that Posada-figón "Sobrino de Botín", for which Valle-Inclán, with acid criticism, called him "Benito el Garbancero" (Benito the Garbancero).
And if, to elaborate recipes is like painting pictures, it is said that, when it is said that a young Francisco, born in Fuendetodos, recently arrived from Zaragoza, appears in his kitchens, to wash dishes and impregnate himself, like his brush, with colors and smells with his stews, in his uninterrupted wood-fired oven, he must have had some use for those recipes.
A 17 year old Goya, looking for his life among casseroles, in that initial Botín? Reality? Story? It could have been.
That Portillo of "Las Leandras", closed the "fence" of Felipe IV, by Embajadores and Peñuelas. Its drains in the general sewer, still not free of odors, poured into the meager current of the Manzanares ("apprentice river" sentence Quevedo).
In addition to those, there was the smell of soaps from the washing places and the smell of the cattle "casonas", destined for the nearby slaughterhouse.
As Baroja narrates in "La Busca", neighborhoods with the smell of gizzard and bleach, also masterfully described in "Fortunata y Jacinta" by Galdós.
Smells of a nineteenth-century Madrid. Smells of that black and white Madrid of Don Pío or Don Benito. Smells of traditional cuisine, that today, in Cuchilleros street, we still taste... 300 years later!
The light at a quarter past two - Doménico Camus
It has always been the same.
At a quarter past two, the sun slips through the same angle, grazes the corner of table six and leaves a trembling golden stain on the tablecloth. Every day. Every year. Every century. Even the waiters don't notice it anymore. But that light has seen it all. It saw the young soldier squeezing his mother's hand before leaving. It saw the poet jotting down a verse between courses, convinced he would not forget it. He saw a child spill soup and cry as if it were the end of the world, while his father - hard, awkward, nervous - offered him bread for the first time. He saw toasts with foreign accents, whispered promises, sweet betrayals. He also saw how she stopped coming. It was always at a quarter past two. She would arrive punctually, sit alone, and smile like someone keeping a secret. One day she didn't come back. But the light kept coming, just as before, as if she was still waiting for her. Booty has changed. The walls, the names, the price of the wine. Only the light is faithful. And every noon, when he crosses table six, it seems that something - a laugh, an absence, a memory - shines for a few seconds and then it's gone.
-Your Majesty, let's escape! Let's go and have some wine! Life in the palace is rigid, distant, not very pleasant. Come on, sir, a day is a day!
These were the words of Antonio, the King's faithful valet, when it was beginning to get dark, on November 24, 1725.
-Sir, I know a recently opened tavern, five minutes from the palace, near the Plaza Mayor, where they make the most appetizing food you can imagine. The farthest thing from the protocol lunches that bore you so much.
After thinking about it several times, the King agreed and said to him:
-Antonio, I hope that this place you are telling me about will not disappoint me. You know that I have tasted the best dishes of our beloved Spain and of so many other countries through which I have traveled and, although I would like to get out of the palace routine, neither my palate nor my stomach allow me certain licenses, but we will give that new tavern a chance.
Without royal guards, or halberdiers, or custodians of any other kind, they went out trying not to be seen in this Madrid of chandeliers and oil lamps. The street in November is half-empty, so they arrived quickly and without being recognized.
The atmosphere in Botín was special. The contrast between the cold and lonely street and the almost full, noisy and above all warm tavern made them feel like two friends who went there every day. Antonio couldn't believe it, he was in Botín with the King without anyone noticing!
The food did not disappoint anyone. Vegetables, roasts and wine filled their stomachs as rarely before.
On the way back to the palace, the King, who was not very talkative, stopped for a moment. Antonio feared the worst, and so the King said to him:
-Antonio, we will have to repeat.
Whether they repeated or not, Antonio always kept the secret.
My wife and I arrived in Madrid almost at noon. The perfect time, on the other hand, to go to the Botín restaurant and enjoy a succulent meal. We had a table reserved. We arrived, sat down and mingled with the smells: it was another place, another world, streets where Galdós had walked and now they were with us. The traditional Madrid, the most forgotten corners, which now came back to our memory. As children, my wife and I played near the restaurant and we were intoxicated by the aromas. I promised myself that, if she ever became my wife, the first meal would be here. And we delivered. Afterwards, we found the restaurant again in the pages of Galdós and smiled. We kept coming back. Today, the Botín sirloin with mushroom melts in my mouth. The first meal, a soup, tasted like glory, like this one. Nieves, my wife, looks at me and smiles. She knows that, right now, we are in the same place, a Botín that has been over and over again our days.
From the other side of the world, where the stoves crackle with exotic aromas and the tables are covered with street stories, my soul sits waiting for a light that is no longer just a fire: the Botín restaurant. It is said that the oldest in the world, with its burnt brick walls and wooden ceiling creaking under the weight of time, holds memories of kings and rumors of lovers.
I, chef of the nouvelle cuisine, carry in my chest the passion for ingredients that dance between fire and water. Every day in my kitchen is a battle against the ordinary; every dish is a poem waiting to be read. But there is one verse I have not been able to complete: the authentic taste of lamb roasted in the Botin wood-fired oven, the one that is said to have been cooked since 1725.
Desire turns to drama when I remember the first time I heard the story: an old master who told me how his grandmother had taught him to use the volcanic stone to cook the most tender lamb under the stars of Madrid. His eyes glowed like embers; his voice was an echo of the past. I said to myself, "This is my destiny." And so, with each ingredient imported and each recipe experienced, I prepare to cross seas and mountains.
The longing grows when I think of Botín's kitchen: the long beams supporting the ceiling, the smell of burnt wood mixed with the night breeze, the murmur of the Manzanares River that seems to whisper ancient secrets. I want to feel that air in my lungs, to bake under that dim light and listen to the creaking of the oven as if it were an ancestral symphony.
The story drives me on. I have sent letters to the restaurant, sent photos of my cooking to the whole world and waited for a response as if it were a beacon in the distance. Every day I get closer to that goal with the certainty that my desire is not only mine; it is a bridge between two culinary worlds.
And now, as I write this micro-story in my notebook, I feel my inner fire burning stronger than ever. The dream is still alive: to cross borders to meet Botín and bring home the spark of the ancient fire with my own modern touch. Because in every dish a story is written and I want to write mine with the legacy of the oldest restaurant ever built.
My grandfather, a worker at Random House, left me upon his death a folder with writings and mementos, among them a yellowed sheet with a sonnet he had received from James Michener in 1968, when he delivered the manuscript of Iberia to be published. It read:
Between knives and partying, the countess
She took off her shoes without sanity
Hemingway refused pure water
She of Alba forgot to be a duchess
Neither Truman nor Graham thought of
To share with Galdós their great Fortune
Drinking the grapes one at a time
Among the rich delicacies they roasted there
There people and royalty came together
Look not under door or window
Between shelves, the cupboard and your head
The secret slowly unravels
For the date will become certainty
If you meet the Baron at a party
In June 2025, preparing my trip to Spain to perfect the language, I remembered the old enigma and wanted to solve it. I discovered grandfather's annotations that read "Truman Capote", "Graham Greene", "Duchess of Alba?", "Galdós", "Hemingway" and "Barefoot Countess Ava Gardner?". I entered those names in the AI adding "manjares" and "asados", and Eureka, the answer popped up: "Restaurante Botín, Madrid". At 22 years old I couldn't understand it, but I searched and I understood. Those characters, also Michener, had made Botín their home. Once in Madrid, I went to the restaurant and showed my discovery. We looked in the cupboards and in one of them, which was at the height of the head, when I touched it with force, it revealed a secret hidden with an original charcoal. It was a gentleman in the caves of Botín with several women and a legend: "1725, Ripperdá, banquet for peace". The Baron of Ripperdá had celebrated the signing of the Treaty of Vienna in Botín. In 1725, Botín was already a witness to history.
My father, Ignacio (Nacho), always had a special smile on his face if he went to eat at Botín. His admired Benito Pérez Galdós (don Benito) and Ernest Hemingway passed through there.
He, also a writer, liked to sit at the table and take a deep breath. In addition to the incomparable smell of freshly roasted toast, he thought that something would remain in the air from the passing of such illustrious diners.
He took out his little notebook and in his tiny handwriting took notes of what would later become a beautiful text dedicated to such a great moment. And there was no lunch that did not close with the exquisite Botín cake. After a good wine and a toast to the health of those who, like him, fell in love with the best restaurant in Madrid, Chin, chin!
Then he smiled again, picked up his cane, and said goodbye at the door with the desire to come back a hundred times more. Emboldened and happy, he dared to climb all the stairs that lead to the Plaza Mayor to have a 'copichuela' that preceded a well-deserved and comforting nap to finish his particular 'Fiesta'. For you, Dad! Let's raise our glasses once again.
After sixty years, Amparo walks along Cuchilleros Street, witness of her first five years of life; then she had to emigrate. She does not know the number where her house was located, so her steps take time waiting for something to awaken her memory. A name catches her attention: "Botín's nephew".
Curiosity leads her to immediately search for information on the internet. What she reads excites and surprises her in equal parts: "open uninterruptedly since 1725"; but that's not all, a paragraph further down she discovers that her favorite writer, María Dueñas, is a regular at this place, she has even mentioned it in several of her novels. She does not hesitate and enters such a distinguished establishment. Suddenly, her vision blurs and she feels a certain dizziness. He takes a deep breath until he regains his composure. However, the image captured by her pupils bewilders her: it looks like a painting by Toulouse Lautrec. In the same scene she glimpses different periods. A corner in the background shelters the imposing figure of Hemingway, who, glass of rioja in hand, converses with the barman, and then prepares to capture the last scene of his novel "Fiesta". Suddenly, two women, oblivious to such an ostentatious space, carry a small pitcher to the last table. Amparo is forced to stop the scream that struggles to come out; she has no doubt, they are Fortunata and Jacinta. The desire to recognize the diner causes an increase in visual acuity, and she distinguishes, nothing more and nothing less, than the creator of such an extraordinary work.
This walk through history injects him with the courage he needs to return to the street and locate the starting point of his existence.
My name is Elisa Carter, and I arrived in Spain from the USA with my father William, Guillermo, and my family in 1954. We lived in a small boarding house downtown and it was there that we met Don Antonio, owner of Casa Botin, where we often went to eat.
My mother wanted to prepare the traditional Thanksgiving turkey in November, but unfortunately it didn't fit in our small oven. Because of his friendship, Don Antonio generously offered the famous Botin oven for its preparation, and that is how we were able to celebrate our traditional holiday in a special way.
In 1975 my parents finally left Madrid and retired to the USA but the friendship between the two of them remained. Don Antonio continued to communicate with my father through the Christmas pictures he drew in pen and ink of the various corners of Casa Botin.
Two decades later, I returned to Madrid for a visit and went to greet Don Antonio on my father's behalf. He remembered me, as the little girl, and asked me if I was coming for dinner. The restaurant was packed and I told him that I had no reservation and that I had come just to say hello, but he insisted that I had dinner, inviting me to a glass of sherry with tapas of ham, while I waited for a table. I told him that I was a Spanish teacher in the USA and that I shared with my students the Christmases I sent to my father, which also had the letter upside down. Then, Don Antonio insisted that I should have some of my own, bringing me 12 different rolled up drawings as a gift.
These, I have framed them and today they are in my kitchen in Alicante where I now reside, as a great memory of Casa Botín, and of Don Antonio, with his generosity, kindness, and of the friendship between him and my father.
Three centuries ago they lit my heart of firewood in the humble inn of Cuchilleros street. Since then I have burned without rest. I have seen children laugh and decades later they came back as grandparents, I have warmed the bread of hungry artists and the souls of nostalgic travelers. Under my orange light secret loves have been confessed, pacts and farewells have been sealed, and I have wept in silence when the war darkened Madrid.
Not a single night did I allow the cold to extinguish my flame. Even in the worst of times, when the world outside was crumbling, I stubbornly kept burning. I know the silence of the early morning, when the last diner leaves and only my dim embers light the century-old walls. I also know the joyful bustle of the nights of celebration, the toasts and the laughter that bounce under these old ceilings.
I am the old Botín oven, guardian of stories and flavors. Memory dwells in my bricks: the whisper of a distant tuna song, Hemingway's smile before a golden suckling pig, the echo of Goya's footsteps waiting tables before becoming a painter. Every dawn, my sleeping embers awaken with new wood, and my fire is reborn young even though it is three hundred years old. In the crackling of my flames live all the hugs, laughter and tears shared around my warmth. I am more than fire: I am a bridge between generations, the warmth of a common home that never went out.
The Action Period (REGISTRATION), during which the activities that give the right to participate in the Action may be carried out, begins on JULY 15, 2025 (opening of the registration period) and ends on NOVEMBER 1, 2025 at 11:59 p.m. (closing date for the reception of participations).
The ceremony for the presentation of their respective awards to the winners will take place between December 15-20, during the celebration of the closing ceremony of the 300th anniversary of the Botín restaurant.
BOTÍN reserves the right to modify the dates of the contest at its convenience. The communication of the modified dates and times will be made according to the same mechanics described here.
BOTÍN organizes this contest: "MICRORRELATOS 300 AÑOS DE BOTÍN", exclusively for users of legal age (18+ years old) residing in Spain.
Participants must send an original, unpublished story in Spanish with a maximum length of 300 words (except for the title) through the registration form on the page https://n3b7v1c5x9q.shop/concurso-microrelatos/ . This form will request the necessary information and the uploading of the story.
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Within the period of validity, participants may submit their stories inspired by the BOTÍN restaurant and addressing one of the following proposed themes:
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* The following persons may not participate in the sweepstakes, nor their spouses, ascendants or descendants up to the second degree: (i) Employees employed by any of the companies and other entities with legal personality linked to Restaurante Botín S.L. (ii) Individuals who participate directly or indirectly in the capital of Restaurante Botín S.L. (iii) Any other individual who has participated directly or indirectly in this Promotion or has been involved directly or indirectly in its preparation or development (agency, suppliers, etc.).
* Participants who, in accordance with the General and Particular Conditions, are awarded prizes, will be entitled to obtain one of the prizes that BOTÍN, chosen by a jury, considers appropriate among the stories submitted and will be conveniently communicated on the above mentioned platforms.
* The winners of the contest will be selected by a jury made up of members of the BOTÍN team, representatives of the sponsor of the promotional action and distinguished literary figures and journalists.
The evaluation criteria will include:
The deliberation of this part of the jury will have a weight of 80% of the total assessment. The remaining 20% will come from the public's assessment through a voting system on the Botín restaurant's website. https://n3b7v1c5x9q.shop/
*Contest prizes: from JULY 15, 2025 to NOVEMBER 1, 2025:
1ST PRIZE
- Appear as a winner in the digital book of the 300 years of BOTÍN micro-story contest.
- 1 Iberian ham courtesy of the official sponsor of the promotional action.
- 1 wine selected by our winery, official sponsor of the promotional action.
- Lunch for 2 people at the Botín Restaurant, with a special 300th anniversary tasting menu.
- Invitation to the special gala at the closing of the 300th anniversary celebration.
2ND, 3RD, PRIZE
- Appear as second and third prize in the digital book of the 300 years of BOTÍN micro-story contest.
- 1 wine selected by our official sponsor winery of the promotional action. With the 300th anniversary celebration label.
- Invitation to the special gala at the closing of the 300th anniversary celebration.
REMAINING PARTICIPANTS
- Appear in the digital book of the 300 years of BOTIN micro-story contest ordered from the winner.
*The potential winners of the contest will be notified by BOTÍN within a maximum period of fifteen (15) days from the end of the participation period and alternatively, the name(s) of the winner(s) will be announced through BOTÍN's social networks and/or telephone call as deemed appropriate.
* The prizes object of the present Promotion are subject to these General Conditions and the Particular Conditions applicable in each case, and it will not be possible to substitute them for cash.
* Prizes will not be subject to change, alteration or compensation at the request of the participants in the Promotion.
* If winning participants decline the prizes, no alternative gifts will be offered.
* Prizes are personal and non-transferable. The sale or commercialization of the prizes is prohibited.
* The prize is subject to availability at the end of the promotion, so BOTÍN reserves the right to substitute the prizes, in whole or in part, for prizes of similar characteristics and/or comparable value and/or from other suppliers or sponsors, if necessary.
* If it becomes evident that any of the winners does not meet the requirements of these conditions, or the data provided to participate are not valid, or does not prove what is requested, their participation will be considered void and they will be automatically excluded from the promotion, losing all rights to the prizes awarded, without the obligation for BOTÍN to make any notification or give any compensation to the participant.
The prize awarded to an ineligible winning entrant will become vacant and may be awarded to an alternate entrant.
* The winners will have fifteen (15) calendar days from receipt of the communication informing them that they have won, to contact BOTÍN and accept their prize. In the event that the winner takes more than fifteen (15) calendar days to contact BOTÍN, it will be understood that the winner irrevocably renounces the prize awarded, which will be cancelled, without the renouncement giving the winner the right to compensation or indemnification. BOTÍN reserves the right to choose a new winner for the prize that has not been awarded among the rest of the participants, once the maximum period established for awarding the prize has elapsed.
* It will be the responsibility of the winners to use, apply and/or destine the prizes they receive to the use, enjoyment and destination that naturally correspond to them. BOTÍN is not responsible for damages to third parties derived from the manipulation and/or use of the prizes.
* The prizes will be physically delivered during an awards gala on December 27, 2025, during the closing event for the 300th anniversary of BOTÍN. It is the winner's responsibility to go to the place he/she indicates to receive his/her prize.
* A period of FIFTEEN (15) calendar days from the date of awarding of the prize is established to make any reasoned claim in relation to this promotion.
* BOTÍN will not be responsible if the winner is unable to receive his/her prize due to causes other than and/or beyond his/her control or events of force majeure or if he/she waives the right to accept it, losing in both cases all rights he/she may have in relation to his/her prize.
* BOTÍN is not responsible for possible losses, deterioration, theft, delays or any other circumstance attributable to third parties that may affect the development of this promotion.
* In no case will BOTÍN be responsible for the services of any other entity with which it collaborates in the provision of services to the winners, as a result of the prizes awarded, as well as those arising from negligence in the enjoyment of the prizes.
* BOTÍN excludes any liability for damages of any nature that may be due to the temporary lack of availability or continuity of the operation of telecommunications networks or the application or social networks with which a part of the jury's vote will be issued through the likes of the users.
* BOTÍN assumes no responsibility in cases of force majeure or unforeseen circumstances that could prevent the contest from taking place or the total or partial enjoyment of the prizes. In the event that this promotion cannot be carried out, either due to fraud detected in the promotion, technical errors, or any other reason that is not under the control of BOTÍN and that affects the normal development of the promotion, BOTÍN reserves the right to cancel, modify, or suspend the promotion.
* BOTÍN is not responsible for any damage caused by the comments sent by users in the publications that are made of the micro-stories in social networks, and that at any given time may offend the sensibility of the participants. BOTÍN reserves the right to eliminate or denounce such content without being obliged to do so.
* BOTÍN is exempt from any responsibility in the event of any error in the data provided by the winners themselves that would prevent their identification or the delivery of their prize.
* BOTÍN reserves the right to make changes that result in the success of the contest when just cause or reasons of force majeure prevent it from being carried out in the manner set forth in these rules.
* BOTÍN reserves the right to postpone, advance, extend, or suspend the contest, as well as the right to interpret, extend or modify these legal conditions.
* Participation in the contest implies acceptance of these rules, so that the manifestation in the sense of non-acceptance of all or part of them will imply the exclusion of the participant and, as a result, BOTÍN will be released from the fulfillment of the obligation contracted with the participant.
*The winners will be responsible for any tax charges that the acceptance of the prize may entail, as well as any other expenses derived from the promotion that are not expressly assumed by BOTÍN in these Legal Bases.
* BOTÍN reserves the right to disseminate the name of the winners by the means and forms of communication it deems appropriate, for as long as it deems necessary and without any obligation to make any compensation whatsoever. The name of the winner may be published by BOTÍN on its website, social networks or wherever it deems appropriate.
* Each participant accepts that his/her name, image, character, voice and portraits, videos and testimonials in connection with the contest to any participant, appear publicly on the website of BOTÍN, as well as for the incorporation of the same to any commercial or national promotional operation, in any modality, medium or support (including print, radio, television, mobile telephony and Internet). Additionally, the winning participants agree to collaborate with the promotional activities carried out by the Organizer.
*The participants in the sweepstakes assign to BOTÍN, exclusively, for the whole world and with the right to transfer to third parties, all the exploitation rights that may correspond to them over their image and the contents presented in the promotion, for their eventual exploitation in any known modality, media and/or support and for the maximum term of validity of said rights in each territory.
* Likewise, the participants waive any claim for royalties, rights or remuneration for such use. The assignments made in this clause are made free of charge, not giving rise to any consideration other than the prize to the winning participants.
* BOTÍN for its part undertakes not to use any action carried out by the participants for advertising activities outside the contest in which they participate unless otherwise agreed.
* Texts should not contain expressions that are not suitable for all audiences, including, therefore, indecorous texts or texts that are not considered appropriate or that offend general sensibilities.
* Texts that go against an individual, that violate the principles of the right to honor, personal and family privacy and self-image, respect for the dignity of the person, the principle of non-discrimination on grounds of race, sex, sexual orientation, religion, opinion, nationality, disability or any other personal or social circumstance, as well as other principles that may be violated, shall not be allowed.
* Texts and comments on social networks that are derogatory to other participants will also be prohibited.
* BOTÍN reserves the right to remove content deemed offensive, and declines all legal and juridical responsibility for all comments on the micro-stories in social networks.
* BOTÍN is not responsible for and in no way monitors user comments. However, and even without being obliged to do so, BOTÍN reserves the right not to publish or to delete comments that: (i) Are defamatory, libelous, false, misleading, unfounded or unproven; insulting, threatening or rude, obscene, sexually explicit, racist, insulting, provocative, sexist, homophobic or discriminatory or objectionable for any other reason. This includes words that include asterisks in substitution of some of their letters; (ii) Are deemed unrelated to the subject matter of the contest and/or the discussions held in the contest; (iii) Include contact information and/or personal data such as, for example, telephone numbers, postal or e-mail addresses, bank accounts, etc.(iv) Promote products or services for profit and/or other commercial purposes; (v) May be considered to represent the use of electronic messaging systems to send unsolicited messages indiscriminately (spam); (vi) Are in any way illegal and/or justify or encourage illegal activities or do not comply with all applicable laws; (vii) Infringe, directly or indirectly, the rights of third parties, including the violation of industrial and intellectual property rights, trade secrets, know-how, as well as the right to honor, privacy and self-image; (viii) Pretend to impersonate a person other than the user; (ix) Include links to other websites and/or come from a user name whose content infringes these Legal Bases; and/or (x) the publication of personal or offensive comments about BOTÍN or the participants of the contest.
Fill in the form to participate in the contest. You will receive a confirmation email of your submission. Remember to check your SPAM folder. If you do not receive the confirmation email, please contact us at the email address that appears in the contest rules in the section "Mechanics of the contest".
IMPORTANT: in case you have problems with the form and you cannot send the micro story correctly, you can send a MAIL by clicking HERE: in the mail you must put the following data:
Thank you
