O’Leary’s is an interesting one; it’s a pseudo Irish Bostonian bar that serves tex mex in a Spanish airport. The queue was short, but it took aaaaaaaaaages as there was only one person doing the drinks — and he, bless him, didn’t seem to know what he was doing. I think he was being trained in via baptism of fire. There were two other servers, but they let him try and figure out most things himself. When the food arrived, the garnishes were lovely; however the chicken was the rubberiest I’d ever tasted. I ended up abandoning it for the chips as to finish chewing it meant I would miss my flight.