My wife’s parents called it motor trailer. My parents called it dead secretary (Perry Mason was the most watched show in those days). I didn’t care what they called it. Mortadella was my favorite sandwich meat.

I mentioned that Chamonix’ dishes are different. The pastas are a good example. Five very good new Italian restaurants have opened in San Miguel in the last year: Florios, Fari, Da Carmela, Ziracco and Serrano 82. And if you want Pomodoro, Puttanesca, Parmagiano or Pappardelle, you’re sure to find it at least one of them. But if you want your pasta with lemon and prawns; or mussels and baby scallops; or shrimp, pine nuts and raisins; or, what I had, the farfalle with figs and roquefort sauce, Chamonix might be the only place you’ll ever find them in this town.

The barbacoa melted in our mouths. The montalayo, miscellaneous organs cooked inside a sheep’s stomach, was superb. The machita, the one mostly made of intestines, was extraordinary.

Firenze’s owner Antonio Arrieta gave Casa Nostra’s Marco a giant bear hug when he saw him. They talked about being friends not competition. I did the slight delay, just like the actor stumbling to open the envelope at the Oscars and announced that in the number two position was Casa Nostra. San Miguel’s favorite restaurant, year after year, was still Firenze.