I returned from Barcelona with a sprained ankle and parched, pursed lips. I felt utterly broken after a week of feeling incredibly alive. I recently started a new job only to renege daily responsibilities for a life of siestas and vermouth; a transition that took dedication and effort, of course.
I hadn’t been to Barcelona since I was 17 and this was obviously going to be a different trip altogether. These days my traveling style is all about admiring the Gaudi-filled streets from afar, and focusing on la hora del vermut, savoring Catalan delicacies, and soaking in the visceral beauty of Spain.
After consecutive nights of vermut negre and cañas, savoury goodness was all I wanted to eat. For six days saltiness reigned supreme throughout every meal. Squid ink paellas that left an onyx-stained tongue, copious heaps of prune-colored pulpo, and all the pa amb tomaquet one could ask for characterized our meals.
We stayed in the stylish Eixample, a placid, posh neighborhood that was a breath of fresh air from the more chaotic parts of town. Our hotel was the Praktik Vinoteca, a boutique spot with charming street views and petite, whitewashed rooms. Book a quarter with a charming mini balcony – perfect for toasting passersby at 2am or admiring the neighborhood’s impressive street grid layout that flanks grandiose architecture. As long as you have minimal luggage and a tidy streak I would highly recommend the Vinoteca. A back terrace allowed for late night drinking and cheap bottles of wine on offer. We were continuously amused by the staff of chilled yet spicy Spaniards ready to make conversation or assist with restaurant reservations (this is a city where booking is regarded). Across from our hotel was the worst temptation a group of party people could ask for: an LGBTQ+ club called Believe that stated it is “open until dawn, daily.” Our Thanksgiving was spent at a raucous drag show paying homage to the greats – from Kylie to Cher.
Aside from ending our nights at Believe, the rest of our time was spent eating. Most meals were memorable and challenged my tastebuds. Dining in Spain (and Europe, in general) always teaches me that sometimes you have to just shut up and eat what’s given to you. Moments like this were most prevalent during our lunch at a local canteen slurping brothy mussel soup and pimientos del piquillo rellenos de bacalao, while my group ate sausages topped with cheese and mashed pork and vegetables. That “quirky” experience alone summed up the surprise that was in store throughout every meal. Experiences like this were culture shock and awe for my cousin who accompanied us, celebrating her 30th birthday. This was her first visit to Europe so the albatross I carried to show her the continent “my way” weighed heavy – and Spain was the perfect portal to explore the weird, wild, and wonderful.
La hora del vermut: a word: My perception of vermouth had always been the super
sweet Italian variety that serves more as a mixer in a cocktail vs. something to be drunk
on its own. While you can do that, it was never much of a lure. Spanish vermut negre [Catalan for red] is worth traveling the seven hours, sitting in a bar, drinking one, then returning to your vermut-less land. The macerated, spicy-nutty,-herby notes tasted like next-level glogg. Depending on the bodega/bar you visit, preparation varies. Hip, high end spots will go all out, large circular ice cube with garlicky olive and orange garnish. Apparently, if a spritz is involved, one blog noted that “declining a spritz isn’t a travesty.” Old school spots are no-nonsense pouring the room temperature goods in a small glass, no frills. Either way, the drink had been my go-to for every occasion, whether it was at the traditional 12-4pm time frame to accompany pinchos, or going against the grain and drinking it until the wee hours.
Sarrià
Restaurant Canet (Carrer de Canet, 38, 08017) A cozy neighborhood taverna on the city’s outskirts in Sarrià run by a friendly couple was how we spent our Thanksgiving. The familial vibes felt like we were in a locals dining room. We sat down to a crystallized stream of gin and tonic poured at our table, accompanied by an extra garlicky bowl of olives and mound of crispy bread for some DIY pa amb tomaquet. We trekked here for the fidua, a massive pan of a vermicell-noodle like paella dish bedecked with massive shrimp and a side of the region’s beloved garlic alioli [aioli]. My crew played it safe with steak as a main course, and I tried an almost gelatinous bacalao casserole that sneakily hid a few chili peppers adding in a major zing that I was not prepared for. Sitting down for 8:30pm proved early, as groups of locals paraded in, to which we then realized how pan amb tomaquet is supposed to be prepared. Olive oil, get frisky with your fork and mash up the garlic and tomato. Tim did enjoy his [very British] “tomato sandwich” version.
Bar Monterrey (Carrer Major de Sarrià, 68, 08017) High on our first Spanish night out, we departed Canet ending up in the buzzy village thoroughfare at a place that was one part diner, one part cafe, one part overall bar. Ice cold Estrella beers were poured into ceramic mugs which made the nectar even more sweet, as locals popped in all night being served up hot food sitting along the counter. Arriving back at our hotel around 1am wasn’t enough, and we continued Thanksgiving’s party at Believe, making it one of my most memorable holidays yet.
Vila de Gràcia
made it happen.
Bodega Marin (Carrer de Milà i Fontanals, 72, 08012) There are moments in life when one feels totally elated and at their happiest, and one of those feelings came to me in this tiny classic bodega surrounded by my crew. Being sandwiched between walls stocked with wine and spirits, some mustier than others and squashed in between locals, Euros, and Brits looking for good chat was like crashing the right kind of party. The host was a lovely proprietor and her protege (who adorably would ring a bell if you tipped them). If I lived here, Bodega Marin would most definitely be my mainstay.
Restaurant Envalira (Plaça del Sol, 13, 08012) I imagined families gathering for Sunday launch at long tables in this peachy-pink and brown restaurant where time has stood still since the 1970s. That is right up my alley, and learning that they serve a favorable squid ink paella behooved a visit. Our tongues were blackened, more gin was consumed, and despite the frosty service (it was late, we were loud, do the math), it was a pleasurable meal that fueled another six hours of partying thereafter.
Restaurant Cal Boter (Carrer de Tordera, 62, 08012) America’s peroxided “triple D” hero / Mayor of Flavortown, Guy Fieri, featured this place on his show, but that wasn’t what lured us here. I still found it hard to imagine Guy visiting in all of his American glory, but whatever. The lunch special was simple and good – soups, meats, and mountains of pa amb tomaquet were cheap, cheerful and full of locals supping their lunch away without feeling rushed in this traditional tavern.
Bar Bodega Quimet (Carrer de Vic, 23) Bodegas are what make the world go round, and Quimet erred on the romantic side vs the raucous, with food being the focus. Classic tapas varieties, from salty to saltier delivered, from seafood salad to jamón ibérico to all the chorizo varieties one could wish for.
Xurrerias abound: Xurreria Trebol (Carrer de Còrsega, 341, 08037) While there are many delicious churrerias [xurrerias] around the city, but we kept returning to Trebol. This tiny spot is a goldmine of fried, crystallized sugar coated goodies – a classed up version of what you’d find at an American carnival. Perched over the counter, people-watching as the sun went down, dunking crisp, fryer-fresh churros into ultra-thick hot chocolate that lacks a cloying sweetness [and could put City Bakery to shame]… does life get any better than this?
Gràcia bars
Marcelino 1968 (Plaça del Sol, 2, 08012) Sometimes too much care in drink preparation can lead to a twenty-minute debate with the bartender about how to translate “kumquat” into Spanish. For the most decadent gin and tonic bedazzled with a delicate kumquat, look no further than Marcelino (which faces the vibrant Sol square).
Almodobar (36, Carrer d’en Grassot, 08025) Rather than dancing here with the youth of Gràcia, we opted for the next door bar whose name I cannot find, but serves as the rowdy warm up spot for clubgoers.
Eixample
Betlem – Miscelánea Gastronómica (Carrer de Girona, 70, 08009) While Sunday night in Barcelona is not as dead as most European cities, it was still a stretch to find a spot open late. Post- RCD Barcelona match, we made our way to this small, airy tapas bar. The menu was more inventive and modern, yet deliciously familiar. These were haute tapas you would expect in London or New York, and turned out to be one of our favorite meals.
Tandem Cocktail Bar (Carrer d’Aribau, 86, 08036) While Sunday entails some fun, Monday in this town isn’t the most happening of nights. But, how could you say no to stepping into a beautiful cocktail spot that looks like an exclusive 1980s steakhouse bar?Tandem was a welcomed slice of low key drinking, and my whisky-loving group were delighted.
Parking Pizza (Carrer de Londres, 98) When you’re tired of Spanish delicacies, pizza beckons, and having stellar Neapolitan pies in an old garage makes for a fun lunch.
Foc i Oli (Carrer d’Aribau, 91) The same goes for having one of the best burgers ever in a tiny counter spot, run by twin brothers who live for the bun, and play really good Britpop, and definitely cater to Anglo expats. This was our first and last meal in town, and it sweetened the sting of jet lag and an impending fear of flying .
El Xampanyet (Carrer de Montcada, 22, 08003) Claustrophobic and fun lunch rush hour tapas in the Gothic Quarter. If you’re looking for the quintessential tapas bar where locals and tourists collide, then this is the place to be.
elbows on the table 