"In a tiny tapas place in Kyoto, while drinking perfectly poured cañas — small draft beers — and eating deep-fried croquetas de jamón, I reach for a napkin, which turns out to be just a thin sheet of waxy paper that doesn't so much absorb oil as push it toward another, cleaner, part of my hand.(4000 words, Wall Street Journal)
"I think these are Spanish napkins," Gonzalo, my Bilbao-born companion, says in disbelief."
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