What I Ate in Seville (and What I'd Skip)
It's easy to get Seville wrong, especially if you're chasing the postcard version of tapas bars with tourists huddled around tiny tables. I learned that the hard way when I tried to squeeze into El Rinconcillo at 8 PM on a Saturday, only to be turned away with a shrug and a "tomorrow, maybe." What I didn't know then was that the real Seville, the one where the food is alive and the streets hum with the rhythm of locals, starts after 9 PM, not before. My first real meal in Seville came at a tiny, unmarked spot called La Azotea, tucked away on Calle San Jacinto, just off the Plaza de San Francisco. I stumbled upon it by accident after getting lost on a walk through the Santa Cruz neighborhood. The owner, a woman with flour-dusted hands and a warm smile, handed me a menu written in Spanish with no English translation. I pointed at a dish called "pescaíto frito" and a glass of Albariño, which cost 12 euros. The fish, fresh from the Guadalquivir River, was ...