The first night in Seville, my partner and I walked by a vermuteria at 8 p.m. and the lights were off and security gates covered the storefront. The next day we peeked in the windows around the same time, then a man approached us and said it opens at 8:30 p.m. and that he was the owner. When we returned later that night, we sipped house-made vermouths that was started by the owner's grandfather, and we had the best fish tapas we've ever tasted: salmon and pesto, cod and red peppers, oil and tuna (and you know how we usually feel about fish). My partner and the owner, Esteban, shared memories of living in Mallorca, so we had to try the salty, acidic Mallorcan wine he had at the bar. He told us about the dozens of herbs in each vermouth, the special grapes and brandy and sherry he used, and aging the bitter vermouth in American bourbon barrels. He spoke about living in California and now Seville, but wished his home country Venezuela wasn't in so much distress. He quit his job a few years ago and opened this tiny vermouth and tapas bar, in which he did everything: served drinks to the dozen or so patrons, fixed up tapas plates, changed the playlist on the fly, and bussed tables--even wrote a list of recommendations for our next few days in Madrid. His passion and joy made this a special place for patrons, whom he considered family. And his mother, who drank vermouth next to us at the bar, wished Kati ¡feliz cumpleaños! and kissed our cheeks to say goodbye. Muy contento. 10 out of 5. read more