Churros!

Throughout cafes in Spain we would come to encounter the stale, uniformly shaped, mass-produced and markedly inferior churros. But here in Seville we found churros-heaven. It came in the guise of the most minuscule of shops selling hot, delicious churros by the kilo, wrapped in newsprint paper to go. (If you have to ask, churros are the fantastic Spanish equivalent of a deep-fried, long, tubular breakfast doughnut.)

In Seville we found our spot; just one guy, one fryer, a mountain of hot, fresh churros coiled up like rope, a sugar shaker, and three sizes of thick, liquid chocolate available for dipping in. Bliss. Not quite sure who the patron saint of fried pastries is, on the wall above the fryer.