We arranged two long tables and the forty or so of us sat down, unaware of the hospitalero’s plans to demolish our hunger.

First, a mini-paella with oysters and shellfish. I cracked a shell to shards in my pilgrim frenzy but my teeth remained intact. The hospitalero filled my bowl a second time.

Next, garlic soup. I was just getting warmed up at this point and Padre Ignacio knew it. He put a bowl down in front of me with a hand-sized slab of beef. “Especially for you,” he said, and I got to eat the flavor meat. This marked the second time a priest has given me a special treat, the first being Father Garanzini, President of Loyola Chicago, distributing pastries after a friend and I crashed his party and abused his booze.

I swabbed the remains of the soup with thick bread slabs. Next, deviled eggs so smothered in deviling the egg disappeared. We each got two. I put mine down and had visions of Cool Hand Luke. For a minute, thought I’d puke. Took a few sips from my liter of milk (probably not the best idea), a bit of bread and all was well. Swabbed again and a basket of cookies appeared, followed by a tray of chocolate. Last, a perfect Spanish orange. Now that’s a meal you can walk on.