Food is fuel and our tanks run dry quickly. Refueling, especially with three kids is essential but not always easy in France or Spain. We always seem to turn up at the wrong time. The Spanish eat at ten, except for the times we roll up when they have closed early. The one time we got it right we discovered we were in France and different rules were in play. Tonight in the one bar town of Lararrossoa, we got the time right but the bar was too busy to serve us before lights out at the Pension. So we settled, again, for six packets of Spanish cheesey wotsits.
