Day 7: The Day We Almost Ate at the World's Oldest Restaurant

Nov, 17, 2024

We kicked off the day walking from the Akeah Hotel Grand straight into a café that felt more like an art installation than a breakfast spot. Think walls covered in surreal murals, quirky sculptural lamps, and a vibe that blended a science lab, greenhouse, and painter’s studio.

After our trippy breakfast (coffee and snacks that felt calm in the chaos), we made our way to Plaza Mayor, where they’d already begun constructing the Christmas market stalls. While waiting for our walking tour guide, we sipped coffee and soaked in the transformation—it felt like holiday magic in progress.

Our guide arrived—she was originally from California, but had been in Spain eight years, having come for love and stayed for the paella. She led us on a 2.5-hour walking tour packed with local lore. First stop: Restaurante Botín, the world’s oldest continually operating restaurant. Founded in 1725, it boasts a wood‑fired oven that has literally never been extinguished, reportedly burning since it opened.

Then we wove through Mercado de San Miguel, which was so crowded it felt like a culinary mosh pit. Amid the chaos, our guide dropped this gem: the windows on Madrid’s old buildings are uneven because the tax assessor used to walk the alleys, measuring building height by counting windows. Buildings responded by giving themselves fewer symmetrical windows so as not to reveal floor counts. Sneaky.

We passed a convent on Calle del Ángulo (“elbow” street in Spanish) where nuns traditionally hand out cookies—but sadly, none were available that day. Next up: Plaza de la Villa, where each house towers more impressively than the next, and you’ll find the statue of Álvaro de Bazán. Tourists rub his butt for good luck—because why not? 

Rather than just viewing the palace at ground level, we climbed up to a viewpoint and got a sweeping look at the Royal Palace. There, we learned about the dramatic fire that destroyed the original Alcázar on Christmas Eve 1734—reportedly set by King Philip V himself. Legend says he threw a grand party, had all his precious artworks removed, then let the palace burn so he could build a new, grander one. Seriously?!

Post-tour, we sat outside by a public fountain, watching Madrid’s DIY hydration scene unfold—people refilling all sorts of bottles from the fountain spouts. It was oddly mesmerizing and relaxing.

We circled back toward Botín but were put off by how heavy the food looked (massive roasted meats—tempting but too much). We wandered down what used to be Madrid’s old city border street—the one historically nicknamed after… sewage. Public latrines used to line one side, and the waste drained down the other side, giving the street its well-earned “poop name.” Visitors were reportedly relieved it’s now just a tile‑lined pedestrian street.

Still hungry but wary, we passed by two more tempting midday food spots that looked equally heavy, until we finally found a pizza place and we both sighed in relief. It was simple and perfect.

That night we joined a food tour with Sergio. We started at a tiny, standing‑room‑only tapas joint where the garlic shrimp was still sizzling when served—you dipped your bread in it, and it was perfect. There was a couple from New York in our group who seemed impossible to please, and became more annoying each place we went.

We moved on to a cozy meat-and-cheese spot and nearly lost one guest—she kept stopping to take photos of the street tile lettering, insisted on decoding each plaque and then took a wrong turn. Evan heroically sprinted after her. At that stop we had quesa tetilla (“titty cheese,” a soft, mild Spanish cheese shaped like—you guessed it), quesa almogrote (a spread made of aged cheese and peppers from the Canary Islands), and cecina, a smoky cured beef. Evan very much enjoyed the white wine—Juan Gil—two rounds, because I was skipping alcohol. 

Next was an unexpected bite of shark—not the kind you see on animal documentaries—but instead prepared locally.

Our final stop was Las Gallayos, an atmospheric historic spot where we had croquetas stuffed with tender shredded pork cheek cheesecake and cava—I had a sip of the cava and was happy to pass it off to Evan- it was VERY bubbly- but I was happy to keep the croquetas and cheesecake for myself. 

On our way back, we walked through Plaza Mayor and grabbed churros con chocolate from the famous place everyone talks about in Madrid (Chocolatería San Ginés). We sat outside while Evan delighted in the sugary dunking extravaganza.

Day 6: Palaces, Pikachu, and Perfect Bread

 Nov 16, 2024

We started the day with a self-guided walking tour of the Royal Palace in Madrid. We rented audio guides so we could pretend we were cultured and informed, but my lingering nausea had other plans. About halfway through, I quietly switched mine off and just let myself wander. The rooms were breathtaking—massive crystal chandeliers dripping from painted ceilings, gold-framed mirrors catching the light, walls covered in silk damask, and furniture so ornate it looked like you’d get arrested for sitting on it. Every doorway felt like walking into a different world, and for once, I was happy to let the grandeur do the talking instead of the audio guide.

After the tour, we plopped ourselves down on the wide stone steps outside the palace and stayed there for quite a while. Our main source of entertainment? The random collection of life-sized costumed characters milling about—gorillas, Pikachu, and a few others whose origins were… questionable. The mix of royal architecture in the background and someone in a fuzzy yellow suit waving to toddlers was bizarrely delightful.

We wandered from there to the Monumento a Cervantes, where the statue of Spain’s most famous writer sits proudly overlooking the Plaza de España. At his feet, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza ride side by side in bronze, forever on their quest. It was one of those travel moments where you feel like you’ve stepped straight into a literature class illustration—except this time, there were tourists posing for selfies with Quixote’s horse.

From there, we strolled through the Sabatini Gardens, where manicured hedges formed perfect geometric patterns and fountains bubbled softly in the summer heat. We found a shady bench and just sat, letting the rhythm of Madrid life pass in front of us. Families strolled by, tourists posed for photos, and street musicians played softly in the distance. People-watching is one of my favorite travel activities, and this was peak content.

Dinner was a highlight. We went to a Georgian restaurant—our first time ever trying Georgian food—and it was delicious. We ordered khinkali (Georgian soup dumplings) and khachapuri (a glorious pull-apart bread filled with melted cheese and topped with an egg) that could probably sustain you through a small winter. I was still being careful about what I ate, but both dishes were too good to pass up.

We loved it so much that, once we were back in Chicago, we hunted down the only Georgian restaurant in the city just to relive the magic. Not only did we have khinkali and khachapuri again, but we added a traditional clay pot dish our waiter recommended—and we were not disappointed.

We ended the night back at the hotel, binging The Lincoln Lawyer and schooling one another at card games. (For the record, I maintain my wins were skill, not luck.)