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.
