A big steaming vat at the square. The broth is dark and herbal — thyme, liquorice root, gum arabic, a dozen other things. The snails are small, pulled out with a toothpick.

At ten at night the steam rises into the cold air and the queue is mostly locals, standing around with small bowls. The broth is the point. The snails are almost secondary.

Tastes like medicine in the best way.