Madrid for The Food Pilgrims: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

A cast-iron market hall of 1916 turned into a tasting floor; ignore the paella stall and go for the anchovies, the croquetas and a vermouth.

Vermouth on tap and a tortilla still runny in the middle, in a tiny bar that has poured since 1892; the counter is standing room only by seven.

Javier Bonet's butcher-shop dining room, where the menu is cut by cut and the pass is the best seat; the tasting plates are the move.

The La Latina market where Madrid cooks buy fish, fruit and tripe from family stalls; closed on Sundays, so Saturday morning is the day.

A sherry bar of 1930 pouring fino and manzanilla from the barrel, chalking the bill on the counter, with a rule against photographs.

Order a caña and a plate of tapas comes with it, piled higher with every round; three beers and lunch has arrived.

David Muñoz's three-star dinner: a wild, loud tasting menu unlike anything else in Spain, with drinks on top; tables sell out about two months ahead.

The Sunday flea market on Ribera de Curtidores since the 1700s; walk it before noon, when it is still passable, and eat the pickles and olives at the bars.

A 1642 inn on the Cava Baja serving cocido and roast lamb; the cocido arrives in three courses and takes the whole afternoon.

A light plate on the roof terrace of the Chueca market, because nobody eats a second cocido; the stalls close at midnight.

Order the porras, the thicker churros, with chocolate so dense it needs a spoon; the passage off Calle Arenal has been feeding people since 1894.

A working neighbourhood market near Atocha, open Monday to Saturday; buy olives and cheese for the flight.

The bocadillo de calamares by Atocha station: a baguette of fried squid, eaten at the counter in six minutes with a caña.