We’re ten minutes outside Santiago in a small house with a sticky kitchen door. Market day. Tote, coins, notebook. Bertie at the threshold doing his union stare.
At the Mercado de Abastos we split jobs. Patricia checks prices and boards. I ask to taste. “¿Puedo probar?” Small pieces, no fuss. The Cheese Lady is on today, same corner as last week.
We try four.
- Tetilla. Mild. Good on bread at lunch.
- Arzúa-Ulloa. Richer. Best eaten within two or three days.
- San Simón da Costa. Birch-smoked. Still good on day two.
- Cebreiro. Tangy edge. Better with bread or a pear.
Patricia orders. “Doscientos gramos, por favor.” We ask for vacuum sealing. “¿Envasado al vacío?” Yes. It keeps the smell out of the bag when the sun shows up. I pay cash. Card works most days, then it doesn’t, and nobody enjoys a queue.
On the way out we do our usual loop. Quick hello to Luis in the fish hall. He repeats his rule for the tenth time: timing first, then leave the lid alone. We nod like it’s new information.
Home is cool. Table clear. We unwrap, label, and keep it simple. Masking tape notes: Arzúa today. San Simón tomorrow. Paper wrap, not plastic. The mini-fridge freezes at the back, so soft cheese lives near the door. Bertie smells the Arzúa and makes his case. He loses.
Lunch is two slices of yesterday’s bread with Arzúa. Nothing else. Later, thin pear with San Simón. Windows open. The washing line flaps over the rosemary like it always does. Patricia writes it down in the notebook: “Cebreiro for guests.” Which means it starts conversations and we won’t waste it on a Tuesday.
Our neighbour leans on the gate around four. She asks where the good tetilla came from and tells us her nephew is helping two aisles over. Galicia runs on who knows who. We try not to pretend otherwise.
Things that actually help:
- Go before 11. Better choice. Time to talk.
- Use grams. Cien gramos. Doscientos gramos. Easier than fractions.
- Ask clear questions. “Para tostada por la mañana, ¿cuál recomiendas?”
- Taste, then buy. If you taste and walk, expect silence next time.
- If you’ll be out for hours, ask for a double wrap or vacuum seal.
- At home, paper or a clean tea towel. Plastic only for transport.
- Write names down. You won’t remember later.
If you’re hunting the exact stall, it shifts. Days change. Staff swap. Walk each nave. Look for clean boards, steady queues, prices you can read from a step back. That’s usually the spot.
By evening the house smells faintly of wood and a hint of smoke from the San Simón. Patricia folds the tote and tucks the notebook away. Bertie does a last crumb patrol and clocks off. We aren’t experts. We live nearby, we show up early, we ask properly, and we pay for the slice that taught us something. The market is starting to recognise us, which is all we wanted.
