I eat breakfast standing up, and Madrid is the easiest city in Spain to do it in, because its markets open before the museums and most of them have a counter that has been frying the same thing since the seventies. This is the list I give friends who arrive with one morning free: five counters, what each one costs, the hour to turn up and the dish I would not order twice. Everything below I have paid for myself, in euros, in the last eighteen months.
Five counters, in the order I use them
- Anton Martin, weekday at eight. The first stalls fire up around half past seven, and the tortilla at the corner counter runs about 4 euros a wedge with a coffee at 2. Come before the office crowd and you get the run of the marble, plus a paper cup you can carry out to the square.
- Vallehermoso, Saturday at nine. Six euros buys a plate of huevos rotos with jam and bread, and the room is full of people doing the same shopping trip I am. Ask for the eggs on top rather than underneath, which is the only decision that matters at that hour.
- Chamberi, weekday at half past nine. A tostada with tomato and olive oil costs around 3 euros, and the bread is the reason I walk twenty minutes to get it. Take the small glass of orange juice with it and stand at the window to watch the market fill.
- La Latina, Sunday at eleven. This is a tapas hour rather than breakfast, and a bocata of calamari with a drink sits near 6 euros. Arrive before noon or you will be eating it on the pavement outside.
- San Gines, after midnight. Churros at 5 euros for the portion, chocolate thick enough to hold the spoon. It is open all night, which makes it the only entry on this list you can use on the way home.
What I do differently now
- Order standing at the counter. Sitting down at the same stall adds a euro or two to every item and turns a ten minute breakfast into a half hour one.
- Carry some cash. The smaller counters still set a card minimum around 10 euros, and the machine often walks off to another stall when you need it.
- Say para llevar when you are in a hurry. Every one of these places packs the same plate to go, and nobody at the counter minds the request.
- Walk past the stalls with a photo board. Real counters here write the price on the glass in marker, and the pictures are for people who do not know what tortilla looks like.
- Check the rest day before you build a morning around a market. Several shut on Sunday afternoon or Monday, and a sign on the shutter is the only notice you will get.
- Take a napkin in your pocket. Churros, tomato tostada and calamari all ask for one, and the roll on the counter runs out at the busiest hour.
What I order, and what I walk past
My standing order is the same in every one of these counters: a cafe con leche, a slice of tortilla cut warm from the whole loaf of eggs, and bread with tomato if the grater is still out. That comes to about 6 euros in most of them, and it is the breakfast I would cook myself if my kitchen were a marble slab behind a glass case.
The list of things I walk past has got shorter over the years: any stall with a laminated photo menu, any pan that has been frying since the night before, and every counter that keeps the churro oil going past midday. The test I use is whether the same three people are still working the pan an hour after opening, which tells me the oil was changed that week rather than last month.
- Cafe con leche: 2 to 2.50 euros standing, and a euro more if you take a table.
- Tortilla wedge: around 4 euros, worth asking for the piece cut from the middle.
- Orange juice squeezed in front of you: 2.50 euros, and the glass is the one I carry out.
- Bread with tomato and oil: under 3 euros, sold until the bread runs out, which is often before noon.
Buying for the train
If your morning ends at a station, the markets beat the platform shops by a distance. A bag of fruit from Anton Martin, a wedge of tortilla cut from the whole and wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water come to less than the tray sold two floors up, and they survive the walk to the platform without leaking. Cheese sellers at Chamberi will cut a piece of manchego to whatever size you ask and hand it over with a napkin, which is how I feed myself on the hour long ride south.
The two entries that decide most trips are Anton Martin at eight and Vallehermoso at nine, because both are open when everything else is still shut. Both are also finished inside twenty minutes, which leaves the rest of the morning free.