There's an excellent exhibit of graffiti artist-turned-mainstream-painter, Jean Michel Basquiat, in downtown Manhattan. The artist died at 28 of an overdose; his works are sobering. It would have been a hard transition from this intense show to our ultimate destination, the Little Spain eatery, (thought-provoking art makes us hungry), but the High Line was nearby. Little Spain has a magnificent selection of Spanish food. The diner prides itself on being purely Spanish but the Latin-American waiter did not know what a "pincho" was and they played Mexican music. Small complaints. We enjoyed every morsel, raised our "thimbles" and toasted Basquiat!
I hatched a plan after my doctor described my latest blood test as "boring." I never wanted anything about me to be described as boring. So I drove from the middle of Long Island, epicenter of bland restaurants, to southern Brooklyn to pick up the Guidepost Galloping Gourmets. They can root out Spanish food better than a savy pig can find a truffle.