Parrillada Argentina Fire. Beef. Bicycle.

Friends,
Tomorrow Marbella will smell like a plaza in Buenos Aires that took a wrong turn somewhere near the Mediterranean — and we're going.
It's one of those wandering Argentine parrilladas that pops up in a square, charcoal already winking, chorizo already negotiating with the fire. The kind of meal that makes you forgive Mondays in advance.
The plan, such as it is:

I eat once a day. Tomorrow that "once" happens at 16:30, parrilla side, fork in hand, no apologies.
Before that, I'll be on the bike. Route: Torre Real 14:30 → San Pedro de Alcántara → Parrillada → Torre Real. Sea on one side, excuses on the other.
Join any stretch you like. The whole loop, half of it, or just the last Protected content so you can claim athletic credentials at the table. Judgment-free zone.

Why bother?
Because tomorrow's lunch isn't a date in a calendar. It's a small, smoky proof that the good life isn't waiting for retirement, the right weather, or a less busy week. It's a plaza, a fire, friends who showed up, and a guy on a bicycle who only eats once a day and decided that day should include you.
The present doesn't reheat. Neither does the asado.
Tomorrow. 16:30. Plaza, parrilla, present tense.
Wheels optional. Showing up: not.
Abrazo,