As Beverly said while we were waiting idly for the light to change, and for it to be time for dinner:

“Isn’t it nice to feel like we’re actually early for everything for a change?”

Also, Spain is the kind of place where two women can walk into a bar and say, “We’ll have what they’re having.”

And the punchline is: a giant plate of delicate purple-shelled cockles, swimming in wine and garlic; a wedge of bread smeared with spicy sausage paste (sobrasada); two beers; two refreshing glasses of verdejo; a wedge of sheep cheese; a tapa of succulent ratatouille-ish stuff; and some squid in escabeche.

It’s also the kind of place where we get a free, unasked-for plate of deep-fried nuggets of monkfish liver. And the total tab is less than 20 euros.

No wonder I was in a swoon after lunch yesterday. Not just the jet lag, really.