Hotel Restaurant

I'd write a haiku about Tempranillo, but that sort of Japanese / Spanish fusion just will not stand.

Ironically, the hotel restaurant that we decided to dine in here on our last evening in Madrid, was a fusion Japanese / Spanish restaurant. But you'll just have to take my word for the fact that this did not in any way contribute to my previous statement. So stop considering it. Now. This is an order. I'll wait for those neurons within your mind that were previously considering that possibility to depolarize.

Good?

Good.

I just read the back of a wine bottle. There is an English translation on part of it. Somehow, they misspelled the name of Tempranillo as Tempramillo. I don't get it; it's not like they had to translate that word. Copy and paste must have failed them utterly. Must have been using an iPhone (oooooh, yes, I went there.)

Let this be a lesson to all as to why you don't blog while you've been out all night drinking that Spanish wine.

Now, what you actually learn from this lesson I leave entirely up to you, dear reader. Because, frankly, it's one of those meaning of life kinda lessons, if only one were in a comparable state to glean.

Sleep on my forehead.