What better way to finish this trilogy of reviews, this trinidad española, than a basket of hand-cooked crisps in the shadow of Malaga Cathedral?
After a long day, I settled down for a beer at an overpriced tourist bar. It was the last day of the holiday. The Sunday blues were on the way. A warm Andalusian breeze drifted up the calle and condensation dripped from my caña. Then, unbidden, a hand appeared. An angelic voice whispered “These are free” and trumpets sounded. On the table was a basket of crisps, like manna from heaven. I looked at the waiter, a slight halo hung about his head. I blinked and he was gone.
Upon reaching for a crisp, I realised they were hot. Freshly fried fritas. This truly was a miracle. Perfectly crisp, delightfuly salty, and - I cannot stress this strongly enough - hot. High on the cathedral, a gargoyle winked. My prayers had been answered.
As the mystery of the Most Holy Trinity is the central mystery of Christian faith and life, so is the unbidden crisp to Crisp Review.
10/10
Peak crisp.
Up next, nirvana.