The Scene: hotel bar in Barcelona

I was waiting for my husband. He was at a conference and I was boondoggling in Barcelona.

Sitting at a bar. Sipping soda as it was a little too early for a glass of Cava. I began to absorb the modern feel of the crowded hotel. The hustle and bustle of business being done, connections being  made. As usual, I was more interested in the kitchen staff, the ebb and flow of the food workers, than I was in the conversations around me.

Somehow I had seated myself in a front row seat for the Jamon show. A full leg of Iberico pork, aged to perfection, is bound in a metal cage, captured tightly. One young man spends his day attacking the pork, one thin slice at a time. He doesn't speak, simply slices tiny bits off the leg, changing cutting tools to suit his needs.

He covers small plates with the meat. As each one is completed, it is quickly whisked away by a very busy waiter. The task seems endless. In this modern setting his task is basic, old fashioned and greatly appreciated.

My husband finds me and we leave.

Found this memory, scribbled on a piece of hotel WiFi instructions, from 2013.