I set off through the winding streets of old Madrid searching. Searching for authentic, searching for adventure, searching for fried bacalao. This little dive, Reveulta, in spite of it's completely unremarkable exterior (and interior for that matter) makes a specialty of the dried fish. So I was on the trail.
Not exactly sure what to expect, I invite myself to a table in the dark room where I am the only woman and the only foreigner and order the fried bacalao. What arrived was a large filet, steaming hot, fresh from the oil, with a crisp, crunchy batter. The tender fish practically spit juices as I bit in. How is it possible something so juicy from something dried?
Breakfast in Madrid. Another successful search.
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