odors there, after having been forgotten in the vast archive pituitary, when we see the years after we moved away to scenes of the past, moments lived innocently and now yearned wistfully the smell of wax of the stairs at my grandma, Caleche by Hermes collar of my mother ... we've all experienced that unique feeling of memories crowd galloped to blow nose.
taste is able to give us the same feeling even more difficult than this to happen. But when that time comes, this intense and intimate feeling is even more rich and enduring. to me about the cocotte of Marquina. that a child is not to stuff me cocotte, but perhaps the fact of having abandoned its use for decades and as an adult taste it again, I moved to this happy and innocent childhood summers in marquina. to when the wages of the week I lasted many minutes it took to get to the newsstand to buy the full squander supermortadelo or stories of Captain thunder, and before buying the stock pipes facundo, first asked the woman to give me change since then to pay the money directly. the cocotte bring me back now like, terrified, hid from me cabezudos plying the streets during the festival of Carmen, as in for my very long walks to the stables of Munib, the fun was to see how many slugs we found by way. and so many thousands of moments that are queuing to get out to every bite I take a cocotte. I'm not sure if this means I'm getting older or, rather, I am becoming conscious that I have done more, but in any case I still enjoy the pleasure of gastrohistórica memory.
for the cocotte myth remains, it is imperative that you never can buy in madrid, it is necessary to go to the bakery in marquina tate and follow the liturgy to visit at least once a year and left a fortune there cocotte to distribute body friends as if to give them pieces of my childhood, bits of my life to be eaten without knowing it while wet on a glass of milk innocent.
