In Spain, the ubiquitous thin paper napkins, known locally as servilletas, are notable less for their practicality than for their enduring presence and cultural significance. Found in nearly every bar, café, and restaurant, these wafer-thin napkins are often criticized for their inability to effectively absorb spills or clean hands, yet they remain a cherished, if somewhat inefficient, fixture of Spanish dining.

Traditionally intended to grease one’s fingers while eating oily snacks, the papery texture of these servilletas has remained largely unchanged despite their primary contemporary use as finger wipes. Patrons are often advised against using them for tasks like mopping up liquid or blowing their noses, as they tend to spread mess rather than contain it. In many casual eating establishments, the customary practice is not to fold or discard them into bins but to throw used servilletas, along with olive pits and other snack remnants, onto the floor. This habit, while increasingly contested, is considered by some as a hallmark of authentic and unpretentious bars.

A sign at Bar Alonso, a well-known eatery in Madrid’s Prosperidad neighborhood, exemplifies this tradition, stating that servilletas “are to be thrown on to the floor,” akin to prawn shells. Although this custom has faced opposition and is less common today, it remains a symbol of older, grassroots gastronomic culture amid shifting social norms.

The simple, papery nature of the servilletas also makes them ideal canvases for printing advertisements, illustrations, or restaurant branding. Photographer Felipe Hernández of Madrid has documented this phenomenon extensively. Since 2014, Hernández has collected over 1,000 servilletas from a range of humble establishments across Spain, using them to chronicle the diverse and often personal touches of small local businesses. He began photographing his collection in 2017 and recently published a book titled *Servilletas*, featuring 600 of these napkins.

Many of the servilletas bear distinctive regional or cultural marks—ranging from promotional messages such as “They say it’s the best roasted lamb and suckling pig in Madrid” from Restaurante El Senador, to simple illustrations like the doves adorning napkins at Marisquería La Paloma. Hernández views these items as a testament to the resilience of traditional Spanish bars in the face of an increasingly homogenized restaurant scene. He highlights how changes in urban centers and rising costs have led some older establishments to discontinue their custom napkins, while newer venues often forgo them entirely.

Despite these challenges, the servilleta remains an emblem of a slower, less optimized dining experience. Hernández describes the appeal of these napkins as “the beauty of the useless,” representing a joyful resistance to the relentless drive for efficiency and standardization that characterizes much of contemporary consumer culture. Through his lens, these humble napkins serve as quiet artifacts of an enduring culinary heritage that continues to thrive in the nooks and corners of Spanish daily life.