There are big questions, and there are little ones. I figured I always knew which kind to ask at the appropriate times, but as I get older, I’m not so sure. A businessman in a fine suit saw us in the shadows as we were doing a large amount of nothing after a show. He hastened his pace and considered, at least for moment, to cross to the other side of the street away from us.
Instead, he ducked into a shop and emerged 10 minutes later with a bag. He walked up to us and handed Ana, Ines, Luis and me each a francesinha. The bread held cured ham, gooey cheese, and singed tomatoes and sausages. Beer sauce blessed the sandwich. The man nodded and quickly hustled away.
“What in the hell what that?” Ines asked, picking at her sandwich. No one answered. After all, the question was entirely too big.
Photo: Neil Maralee