Eating in Spain

Spanish meal times feel strange at first. Lunch at 2pm. Dinner at 9 or 10pm. Nothing substantial before noon. But once you live with it for a few weeks, the rhythm starts making sense.

Breakfast is light—coffee, toast, maybe a croissant. Often taken standing at a bar counter, sometimes on a terrace, rarely at home. It's functional but pleasant.

Lunch is the main event. Between 2pm and 4pm, restaurants fill up. People eat properly: starters, mains, dessert if they want it. This isn't a quick sandwich situation. Lunch can last an hour or two, especially on weekends. Nobody rushes you. The waiter doesn't hover near your table. You finish when you finish.

Then there's merienda—a late afternoon snack, usually around 5 or 6pm. Coffee and something small. Common for kids but adults do it too. It bridges the gap before dinner.

Dinner happens late—rarely before 9pm, often closer to 10 or 11pm. It's lighter than lunch, more social, less rushed. People share dishes. Conversations drift. You sit outside if the weather's decent, which it usually is.

The ingredients help. Spanish cuisine isn't about complicated techniques—it's about starting with good raw materials. Tomatoes that actually taste like something. Olive oil that's richer and more flavourful than what passes for premium elsewhere. Fish caught that morning. Vegetables in season.

Simple dishes work because the base quality is high. A salad is just tomatoes, olive oil, and salt—but those three things are significantly better than their equivalents in most Northern European supermarkets. Grilled fish with lemon. Roasted vegetables with garlic. Prawns with nothing but salt and heat. The food doesn't need much help.

The difference between Spain and Northern Europe isn't subtle. Meal times are later, restaurants are everywhere, eating out is cheaper, and social dining is the default rather than the exception. Kids come to restaurants—all restaurants, not just family-friendly ones—and nobody bats an eye.

But the real shift isn't logistical. It's in how meals function socially. In Spain, food is a reason to slow down. Meals aren't interruptions in your day—they are the day. The restaurant doesn't rush you. The table is yours for as long as you want it. Conversations stretch out. Children wander between tables. The whole thing operates at a different tempo.

This affects daily life more than you'd expect. You notice it after a few months: you're less stressed, you see people more often, you're spending time in public spaces without it costing much. The rhythm changes. Days feel longer, but not in a draining way. There's just more space in them.

Costa Blanca amplifies all of this. It's not just Spanish culture—it's Spanish culture filtered through decades of international residents. Year-round operation means restaurants don't close for winter. The variety is enormous because the clientele is diverse. You can find authentic Spanish cooking, but also excellent Italian, proper Asian food, decent vegetarian options, and just about anything else.

For many who move here, food becomes one of those benefits they didn't anticipate. It's not on the checklist when you're choosing a property. You're thinking about square metres, sea views, proximity to airports. But six months later, it's the ability to walk to a dozen good restaurants that you value most.

Proximity matters more than you'd think. Not to a restaurant, but to your places—the ones you go to twice a week, where they recognise you, where you don't need to look at the menu anymore. That's what changes the texture of daily life. That's what people mean when they say the lifestyle here is different.