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At a fresh food market in Madrid's exclusive legal precinct, we are inspecting a pig's hoof. It is black. This is a good sign, explains our guide, Carlos Galvin, as it denotes the finest of all jamons (cured hams), de Bellota. Carlos really knows his jamon.
Dangling above the butcher's counter, it rubs shoulders with other jamon Iberica - dry-cured hams from Spanish free-range pigs.
The obliging butcher slices them paper thin and we try them all. There is serrano, traditionally from wild pigs that roamed mountain ranges. These days they are mostly farmed but, after slaughter, are still cured in the old way, in cold, dry mountain air.
But comparing de Bellota with other jamon is like comparing vintage with non-vintage wine. Acorns make it so. Pigs descended from wild boar get to roam freely in cork oak forests, feeding largely on acorns in the months before slaughter, explains Carlos.
I'd been warned before arriving that Madrilenos were hedonists - a city of six million more devoted to long lunches, followed by tapas, followed by dinners that last until dawn, than honest toil.
What I hadn't realised was that they have little choice. Appreciation of the finer things is the Spanish way. They call it "live for the moment" and in Madrid, that's easy to do.
Madrid is a clean and clearly prosperous capital. The central area is surprisingly green - flanked by a national park behind the Viennese-style Palacio Real (Royal palace) in the west and El Retiro park in the east.
It's also compact, with everything for visitors: from the historic quarter around Plaza Mayor (the original centre of power); label shops on the pedestrian malls between Puerta del Sol and Gran Via; galleries and museums along Paseo del Prado; to bohemian Chueca north of Gran Via.
The glue that holds the city together is its barrios - neighbourhoods based around plazas, from which narrow, cobblestone streets radiate. Within these labyrinthine streets, residents find everything they need.
Chueca, north of Gran Via, is the quirkiest quarter with its galleries, boutiques, artisan shops and tavernas. You cannot wander far without stumbling upon a cobblestone plaza with outdoor tables where you can pause for a coffee or cerveza. Or without stumbling upon a zapateria (shoe shop), where the Spanish leather fetish is expressed in outrageous fashions with matching price tags. Sol and Huertas are studded with bars and restaurants.
Nearby, the three great art museums along Paseo del Prado are reason alone to visit Madrid - Prado for the classics; Reina Sofia for the modernists and the Thyssen-Bornemisza for an eclectic collection from 13th century religious art to avant garde.
But the Madrileno eye for quality is as evident outside the galleries as inside - in daily visits to the food markets where locals will pay hundreds for a de Bellota ham or at local pescadenas (fish shops), where a vast array of the freshest seafood is displayed as sculpture.
Even in the fast-paced capital, the Spanish still prefer to shop at specialty stores than buy cheaper ingredients in malls or supermarkets. Artisans' shops are known for impeccable quality but you have to know where to find them - which is where food tour guides such as Carlos come in.
He takes us to Justica, a wealthy barrio surrounding the Palace of Justice and a short Metro stop from the city centre.
The produce market rubs shoulders with apartments, court buildings and legal offices, tapas bars and commerce. One of Madrid's premiere shopping strips, Casa de Serrano, is nearby; scattered throughout the neighbourhood are shops selling pastries, olives, cheeses, chocolates and fish.
First stop on Calle Fernando VI is La Duquesita (Little Duchess), a bakery founded in 1914, still in the same family, where pastries and breads commemorate religious dates and anniversaries.
Along the road is another institution, Gran Pescadena Y Marisqueria, laden with trays of gleaming octopus, bream, bass, monkfish, turbot and salt-encrusted bacalau.
It's not all corner stores and world-worn shopkeepers, however. With the artisan food movement gaining momentum worldwide, some trendy new players are moving in. Aciete de Oliva Virgen Extra, on Meija Lequerica, recognises the rising status of Spanish olive oil.
Half the countryside is planted in olives, says Carlos, but the oil used to be taken for granted and shipped to Italy for mass-production.
Now, oils from 10 regions are protected by denomination of origin status and the best vintages presented in ornate bottles or infused with herbs and spices and priced accordingly.
In a sidestreet of upmarket apartments, Poncelet, a humidity-controlled store in a stone-walled building, pays homage to queso (cheese). There are 300 varieties to sniff and taste, 100 of them Spanish.
Of course, as the Spanish say: uvas y queso saben a beso - grapes and cheese taste like a kiss. So, Poncelet has a cellar.
Which leads naturally to thoughts of something sweeter: chocolate. As luck would have it, a couple of blocks away is Cacao Sampaka, a shop with as many takes on chocolate as Poncelet has on cheese.
About now, I understand the point of siesta but between the chocolate shop and our hotel stands Chueca, Madrid's bohemian quarter which has its share of tapas bars.
We pop into an innocuous-looking taverna and the chef emerges from kitchen with five-star finger food: duck capaccio, anchovies from Cantabria, risotto with idiazabol cheese and, best of all, anguila (baby eels).
These worm-like delicacies are made from surimi with olive oil, white wine and spices, then rolled into tiny eel shapes. They taste great - as they should at $200 a kilo. But on top of a tapas, your wallet feels little pain.
*Geoff Cumming visited Spain as guest of Turespana. For more information see tourspain.es
