It is the 14th of April and like every year since my father passed away, I’m waking up early to prepare one of his traditional breakfasts.

My father retired at 60 due to illness and changed his life.

He became an auto-didact, developing his own quirky brand of classical music and film classification; rewriting historical accounts of Roman Barcelona and tracing photos and stories for every member of the family he had ever heard of. He also became a pilgrim, and would spend 10 days walking different tranches of El Camino de Santiago every year, with a bunch of almonds in his belt, his handmade bourdon, his hat and his pencil. He wrote his memoirs about each and every journey, 25 idiosicratic booklets covering every corner of the Iberian peninsula. He also created a vineyard, became a winemaker and produced wine that he would label by hand with wacky names – and even walkier designs. And he cooked very early breakfasts. Like a shepherd.

I am a very early riser, like him. And I like cooking his famous breakfasts on the 14th April, his birthday – El Día de La República, as he’d always say. The old favourite consists of thinly cut and fried potatoes with thinly cut green peppers. It is a delicacy and an art to get this exactly right: the right olive oil, at the right temperature for the right potatoes cut at the right lenght, with the right amount of salt, during exactly the right amount of time before you throw in the right green peppers (necessarily dark green. Essential) cut exactly in the right way and frying for exactly the right amount of time alongside the potatoes that get infused in a wonderful way before everything must be removed, drained and served in the exact perfect manner. Everyone must be sit and ready to eat straight away, at the right time too (some would complain… 7am on a Saturday?) with small forks and – if you are an actual shepperd – with a small tumbler of wine.

¡¡¡A desayunar!!!