This post begins with a rewind to Day 3 and something I left out: a phone call after we returned home that evening from Mr. M’s sister, Conchita, asking if we’d like her to cook us a meal the next day. Conchita, you will remember, had previously helped cook some of the food at the furancho, to great success of course. Conchita is one of those Spanish mother types I had only dreamed of meeting and learning to cook from. She and her husband, Cito, live on a 40-acre farm about an hour from Sanxenxo. In her words, people come from miles
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