Simple. Elegant. Tortilla de patatas. It’s basically just eggs and potatoes. But in this dish, one plus one equals three.

In Valencia, where the cathedral is home to what is said to be the Holy Grail, I was on my own quest to find the perfect tortilla.

On a walk to the local grocery, I eyed La Bodeguita. The tables were full of local businesspeople on a mid-morning break. I hopped on a barstool and ordered a cortado from the man at the bar. I noticed a woman in the kitchen working a large, black skillet over a flame. She beckoned the barista to the galley, where he helped her turn the heavy pan onto a platter. The cook emerged with a large fresh tortilla. By the time I had finished my coffee, it was gone. This might be the one.

I returned the next morning. Same time. 9:00 am. I placed my order before the tortilla came out. Minutes later, it arrived with small cups of olives and peanuts. It had a sweet-and-savory, silky, custard-like center, formed by whipping the cooked potatoes into the beaten eggs at precisely the right temperature. My mouth was having a spiritual awakening. The Holy Grail.

In broken Spanish, I complimented the chef on her glorious creation. She smiled proudly and told me how she used four different kinds of potatoes, sautéed in the finest olive oil.

I returned for that tortilla. On a plate. In a sandwich. Religiously. On my final day in Spain, I came back for a last taste before my flight home. The electricity was out on the entire street, and the kitchen was closed. Like Galahad, I had glimpsed the Grail. And like the Grail, it was gone — leaving only the memory of what I had found.

Scott Salem is a retired TV photojournalist from Jersey City, New Jersey. He and his wife, Kat, are avid slow travelers who share their trips on their Authentic Travel Substack.