I've got mussel fever, I've gone mussel mad. They're in season, and fatter and juicier than I've ever had them.
Each day off, I pop to my local fishmongers on Calle de la Espada, where fat fish are served by burly winking men, whilst the seafood section is run by petite girls that short-change you if you're not careful. Their mussels come from Galicia, fresher than fruit, sat proud on their ice.
