'Today you're going to eat food that will make you cry!" shouted Fernando Rueda by way of introduction. I was buckling my seatbelt. I don't think I'd even offered my hand or my name. He was shouting because Málaga's late-morning traffic was loud, and because he liked shouting. "It will take you back to your grandma, and her house, and her kitchen," he said. "Welcome to the white magic of Andalucían gastronomy!"
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