I had the best kebab in Bilbao at the weekend. That’s right, me and man like Thomas G Higginbotham went down there for a Sat nite out on the town before a cheeky Sunday morning sesh at the Dark Eye…

Not being a meat eater normally my forays into that part of the world involve eating cashew nuts and minging chocolate donuts from the petty station, seeing as even green salads or ‘vegetal’ sandwiches are invariably smeared in secret anchovy paste or silent pork offal. Anyway, as we were hotstepping thru Bilbao’s old town I spied a sign that said ‘kebabs’ and went in. Actually, at the first place we asked for a veggie kebab and they cracked up laughing. So we went next door. This kebab joint looked like the real deal: posters on the wall of people playing polo in Pakistan, an authentic aroma coming from out the back. Homeboy behind the counter showed us a completely different line. He was totally stoked on us being English as he’s got family in Bradford. He didn’t have any falafel left but did pull out all the stops to make a veggie kebab that blew my mind. Seriously, I’m talking a major taste sensation. As if that wasn’t enough, our brudda behind the counter even gave us a discount. Sweet!

The quality of those kebabs inspired us to a great night out, my mate Mikel took us around some wicked bars in the old town and we drank cold beers and mingled with the good people of Bilbo. Since then the surf’s been massive and offshore around here which is all well and good, but all I can think about is kebabs.