One thing I love about Spanish professors: they tell you where and what all the good alcohol and food are.
“Go to Doze,” Javier said. “The mojitos are the best in Salamanca.”
“Go to Leman’s,” Javier’s wife Marta said. “You’ll like it. It’s very guay.”
“Get a carajillo,” Eva said. “But not before my exam.”
Last night Salamanca snowed heavily. “I’m not in the mood for going out,” I said to my friends, “but I think I want a spiked coffee, if you want to go get a drink.”
So my friends and I went out for a drink at a café named for a French film about cannibalism.
The waiter brought me a cup of espresso and a packet of sugar.
Then he brought me a spoon.
Then he brought me a small metal pitcher of cognac and set it on fire.
Then he left the table.
The flames leaped for about five minutes.
When the fire went out, I examined the strange concoction. A few coffee beans and a piece of lemon peel floated on top of the bruleed alcohol.
Thank you, Eva. My curiosity is satisfied.