Beware the Patatas Bravas

The story of a man who loved food

Once upon a time there was a man. This man loved food. That’s not to say he was fat, only that his passion in life was discovering and consuming the best food in the world. He traveled far and wide seeking out the best chefs, the finest restaurants, the most extravagant ingredients. Meticulous research and preparation went into each culinary experience, it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. You see, the man was on a budget, and fine dining ain’t cheap. He could usually only afford a few of these splurges per year.

The man got some exciting news one spring day. He had secured a reservation at an exclusive establishment in Spain, famous for their traditional paella. Amongst foodies, this was the location to get paella. So he spent the next few months furthering his education on paella, sampling Spanish saffron from La Mancha, analyzing the grain length of bomba rice, and even studying the background of the head chef to better understand everything that made this paella so special. He skipped meals to save money for the transatlantic flight, the journey out to the restaurant, and the expensive meal itself. He wanted to be able to feast like a king when the time was right.

Some recent Spanish paella.

In the final days before his reservation, the man hardly ate. It was important to ensure that he was hungry enough to finish the entire platter of paella and savor every morsel. At long last, as he strolled nervously down the path to the door of the restaurant, his stomach growled. Delicious aromas of roasted garlic and slow-cooked meats wafted from the kitchen. The long-awaited day had arrived.

A welcoming host showed him to his table. The entire staff were expecting him and his reputation as a foodie preceded him, so they were excited to serve him a meal they were confident that he’d love. The menu was set, and soon the first course was delivered: patatas bravas with a creamy salsa roja. These bite-sized potatoes were a simple appetizer, but cooked to perfection. Crispy skin, savory but not overly salted, with a kick from the red sauce that had his mouth watering. Though he was ravenous and had a large dish of patatas bravas in front of him, he paced himself. He knew the paella was coming and the last thing he wanted was to fill up on potatoes before it arrived.

By the sixth potato, his mind had started to drift, daydreaming about the steaming platter that would carry the next course. One moment he was chewing, the next he couldn’t breathe. What was happening? He panicked, trying to clear the blockage in his windpipe. After several attempts, standing and pressing himself down on the back of his chair, the large chunk of potato flew out of his mouth and he gasped for air. He felt the gaze of everyone in the silent restaurant burning through him, concerned voices asking if he was alright. His face flushed. His life revolved around food, and he couldn’t even handle eating a potato. Why did this have to happen here? Why now?

He tried to put the moment behind him. The gracious host cleared the patatas bravas. After a few minutes, the main course was served. The paella looked better than he had allowed himself to imagine. Every sniff brought new flavors to his nose. But his throat hurt from having potato lodged in it, and he was anxious about taking a bite. He cautiously took a nibble and his fears were confirmed. He couldn’t even enjoy the unique flavors because of the excruciating pain associated with swallowing. He tried and he tried, and each nibble tore at his raw throat more than the last. He asked for the bill (which was, of course, full price) and, ashamed of the full platter of paella left behind, exited the restaurant, avoiding eye contact with the host, chef, and fellow guests.

He came hungry for a feast, and departed with his tail between his legs, still hungry but with his throat too sore to eat. Dreaming about the day he could enjoy his next meal.

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