As the chef proudly leans across the counter to hand me my lunch, a few pieces of chopped tomato plop onto the floor.
He smiles sympathetically, knowing that by the end of the meal, I’ll be a mess. There’ll be sauce on my shirt, avocado on my jeans, and a splodge of mayonnaise on the floor. I expect he’s already alerting the cleaners: “get ready, a foreigner is eating a completo.”
The completo is practically …