If Cities Could Speak

  I ate my first torrija around six years ago in the kitchen of a house in Tooting where I rented a room. In those days I was sceptical about white bread and sugar, so I probably didn't relish this doughy treat as much as I could have, feelings of guilt polluting the pleasure of each sweet bite.  Now, I'm standing in the kitchen of a house in Madrid with my mother-in-law, sleeves rolled up and my relationship with food uncomplicated. It’s a hot Easter Friday and we’re making a fresh batch of torrijas to enjoy throughout the long weekend, as per tradition for this Spanish dessert. Whether you’re familiar with the name or not, you’ll almost certainly be familiar with the concept of torrijas. They’re Spain’s answer to French toast and are made by dipping sliced bread in sweet milk and eggs, before being fried in a deep pot of bubbling sunflower oil and sprinkled liberally with cinnamon-speckled sugar. There is something therapeutic about the repetition of it all, the dipping of e...