Forever flimsy and ineffective at cleaning greasy fingers, the servilletas of the Iberian peninsula resist the relentless ‘optimisation’ of our age. A new photo book recognises them as cultural treasures in miniature

If you have ever eaten a meal in a bar, cafe or restaurant in Spain and grabbed a napkin from the ubiquitous small metal dispensers, you will be familiar with the most intriguing feature of the wafer-thin servilletas: how utterly functionally useless they are.

Don’t bother using them to mop up spilled liquid, as they are less likely to soak up the spillage than protect it with an impermeable barrier. Never make the mistake of blowing your nose in them when you have a cold or a hay fever attack: they’ll just spread the mess to your hands. Their papery texture – originally meant to keep your hands clean while picking up oily snacks – has somehow endured despite their most common purpose being to clean your fingers and lips. For this, they are far from effective, and you end up flying through half a dozen for every croqueta.

These unsettling and unusual places tell a vivid story about the unique way that Spain deals with its past – or fails to

Una Grande Libre reads the sign above the entrance to a bar-restaurant in Madrid’s Usera neighbourhood. This was Francisco Franco’s motto for Spain – one, great, free – and it is accompanied by a large portrait of the dictator superimposed on to the window.

The exteriors of El Cangrejo in Ciudad Real and Casa Pepe in Despeñaperros are a little bit more subtle, but not much: decorated ostentatiously in the red and yellow of the Spanish flag. The accompanying historical symbols on display, such as the yoke and arrows of the Falange and the Eagle of San Juan, remove any doubt: the year is 2026 and you have encountered one of Spain’s network of bars and restaurants that proudly glorify Franco and his dictatorship.

As Barcelona groans under a surfeit of generic cafes, a grassroots movement is reviving the traditional ‘fork breakfast’. Anyone for pigs’ trotters?

There are many worse ways to start your day than with eggs royale. The contrast in textures between a soft poached egg and a coarse, toasted English muffin is a thing of beauty, and the combination of smoked salmon and a lemony hollandaise sauce ties it together perfectly. The term “brunch” was coined in an essay in Hunter’s Weekly in 1895, and while you’re unlikely to find too many fans in foodie circles, or among those who have to work the shift (“nothing demoralises an aspiring Escoffier faster”, wrote Anthony Bourdain), they aren’t lacking in number. It clearly has its place. The problem is the place it currently occupies: in our gentrifying cities, brunch has acquired a symbolism that goes far beyond the food itself.

After the quieter winter months, Barcelona is one of many European cities gearing up for another holiday season of heightened tensions around tourism. Feeling increasingly embattled amid soaring rents and an overcrowded, blandified city centre, Barcelona residents have made their voices heard through increasingly voluble protests. Beyond the general “Tourist, go home!” slogan, you’ll see specific pain points addressed via placards, chants and graffiti across the Catalan capital: specifically, “Ban Airbnb”, and perhaps more surprisingly, “Stop brunch!”

The far right is using pork consumption as a means to exclude, just as it was in the Inquisition. It should be a source of joy and community

Spain makes the best ham in the world, and a multitude of incredible pork-based dishes. You have your crunchy, salty torreznos de Soria, fried cubes of pork belly, which make for a fantastic bar snack. Or cochinillo asado, a suckling pig that’s traditionally roasted in a wood oven, and so tender that it’s cut with a plate instead of a knife when serving. For the more adventurous, I recommend exploring the world of regional morcillas or blood sausages. Morcilla de Burgos, made with rice and on the harder side, keeps its structure very well and makes an excellent pintxo when sliced and fried. Or there is the moist and spreadable morcilla de León, which my local butcher sells in jars. Another to look out for is the Basque morcilla de Beasain – made with leeks, it combines fantastically with black beans, cabbage and pickled green chillies to make one of the tastiest stews you’ll ever have.

At the pinnacle, you have the gastronomic and cultural phenomenon that is jamón ibérico. It is distinct from lesser forms of jamón as it comes from the famed Iberian pigs, the best varieties of which are fed on acorns. You’ll see whole legs of it hanging in bars and restaurants across the country, and they’re a staple of the Spanish Christmas hamper, often raffled off by bars to their regular customers. Its standing in Spanish culture transcends the food world: Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz met while filming Jamón Jamón, in which the former beats his love rival to death with a leg of ham. Meanwhile, lower-league football side CD Guijelo’s away kit sees them dressed as a plate of the stuff. It finds its way into Spain’s public festivities, such as the Lance al Jamón in the walled city of Morella, where participants have to climb its walls and grab a leg of ham hanging from the ceiling. The contestant able to hang on the longest gets to keep it.

Abbas Asaria is a food writer and chef based in Madrid

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