It's Good to be King

So there we were on Sunday, traipsing through the tasting tents, dodging tequila swilling sunburned festival-goers and trying not to get pelted with biscotti when we spied a rather elegantly-appointed table serving up some very classy bites. We read the table sign announcing the restaurant - Bizkaia - and the sample as "Olive Oil Drunken Bread." Another tray held plastic cone cups of "Truffled Cream of Ibar Cheese." Who were the purveyors of such refined fare, we wondered. Three chefs outfitted in the crispest white chef jackets stood behind the table, sporting serious expressions methodically plating each of the olive-oil soaked pieces of cornbread.

"Where's your restaurant?" we asked.
"In Bilbao," came the reply.
"Oh. What are you doing here in South Beach?"
"We're here traveling with the King of Spain, representing the Basque region."
He then went back to pushing the artfully-arranged plates on the table, looking up momentarily as passersby swiped the plates, gulped down the contents and moved along.

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