At Ca’n Joan de s’Aigo, three centuries of history, odd furniture and a faintly ghostly mood are more memorable than what was in my cup.

Late autumn in Palma, the old town fills with enormous fallen leaves. I gather them by the armful and bring them home.

Fifteen years later, its tortilla, noise and beautiful little system of chaos are part of coming to Palma.

Useful beauty, Mallorcan craft and a century of baskets stacked almost to the ceiling.