• Find school for oldest child √
• Find a home √
• Get a local number √
• Open a bank account √
• Get furniture over from Berlin – massive fail
• Find some time to eat out, rather than eating sandwiches for 3 meals a day – ditto (massive fail that is)

So some things have been working better than others. We found a house to live in but then somehow the movers can’t seem to get our furniture over to us until the middle of October. Consequently, I’ve re-entered negotiations with the agent of our short term rental.One can tell the Spanish were ruled by the Moors for 700 years because everything is a negotiation.  That I paid the asking price on my short-term rental has been a matter of incredible hilarity among my acquaintances here.  I am now trying to negotiate another 10 days, it would be funny were it not that my failure to get good results would mean the twins, Layla and I would camp out on a piece of left over AstroTurf (did I mention my new garden is clad in AstroTurf?) in our bigger-than-we -wanted-it living room.

If I ever feel like I am about to dabble my toes in the pool of self-pity at trying to manoeuvre this large move all by my lonesome (with my surely-by-now saintly mother), I take a moment to think about Elisabeth Luard.  Elisabeth Luard who took to the cork forests of Andalusia with her 4 (*four*) children.  And who when her husband, Nicholas, ran into a spot of trouble with their finances (prompting them to sell the family car) made do with a donkey.

In comparison to that time and what she surmounted things are fine.

I feel at home here.  Today, I helped an older woman climb the biggest hill in Sitges with two bags filled with what I can only presume were antique cannon balls.  I did it because having been raised in the mediterranean myself, such a thing is normal.  And because the flurry of pleasure attained from truly helping someone is more gratifying than a new pair of shoes.  When, after 15 minutes of trundling up the hill on another sunny day, we arrived at her apartment – she planted both hands on my shoulders and two wet kisses on either cheek.

Afterwards, I went for a café con leche and croissant (€1.90) at Cañateca.  

CAÑATECA
Francesc Gumà 6-14
08870 Sitges
Facebook Page

Right now, the proverbial deer and I have a lot more in common besides our big brown eyes.  After spending three years complaining that there is nothing to eat but chicken and mince I am now at a loss for words (and recipes).  Catalunya is rich beyond anything I’ve ever seen.  The variety of food, be it from land or sea, is astonishing and bewildering.

Everyone knows about the Boqueira Market in Barcelona but I find that easing myself gently into, say, the Public Market of Vilanova is a good start.  To begin with, it is entirely made up of the local population, most of whom will only converse in Catalan.  There is an elderly woman with long white hair pinned up in a loose chignon selling Cava, tomatoes and green beans.   I buy 5 of her bruised ugly tomatoes, confident that they will prove to be the best I’ve had all summer (they are) and all the while she rattles on in Catalan and calls me ‘nena‘ (girl child).  The effect of which is momentarily transformative.  For almost five years now, I’ve been a mother.  My mind is resolutely practical, entirely unflappable, with an astounding amount of ‘fear not little one for here is an adult with a plan’ stowed away to be doled out with great generosity as my girls peel at that many layers of life.  When this lovely Cava seller calls me child, I have a glimpse of my mind, uncluttered and wide open as it had been once upon a time when I was the little girl. There are a lot of older people in these parts, outnumbering the younger ones I would say.  They clog the bifurcations of the city as they go about their business (and they always have business) while truant teenagers skulk in alleys, smoking and making eyes at one another.  And they all know one another, I notice, as a juggling street clown with a red foam nose doesn’t get much juggling done as he politely acknowledges each lady.It’s easy to spot the most popular fish stand, it’s swamped with people waving crisp bills in the air. To me, all the fish look incredible so I wonder what this stall has that the others don’t? As I hang back trying to understand what it is, I am immediately asked (this time in Spanish) if I can be helped? I shoot a panicked glance at the mountains of fish, many glassy eyes stare back. I falter. My fish cooking in London went something like this; remove cleaned (cod, pollock, salmon – you get the picture) fillets from plastic boxes, rub in some oil, scatter some Maldon salt on, bake until just done – dinner! My fish cooking in Berlin…Ha! There was no fish cooking in Berlin, just chicken and mince.

I spot 1/2 a kilo of sardines (€3.25), cleaned and butterflied lined up on an A4 piece of acetate.  I remember Elisabeth Luard‘s words, that she would just ask the stall holders how to best prepare the ingredients she was buying and ask what I should do with them.  So I follow suit and am told the following: “Get a frying pan really hot, in with your olive oil, dip the fish in flour – no egg and into the hot oil. “

That’s what I do.  I serve them with a tomato salad paired with a scattering of sweet local white onion, lots of salt and generous glugs of grassy olive oil.  I leave 4 fillets for the twins and they gobble them up, tails and all.

Public Market
Pl. de Soler i Carbonell,
s/n, 08800 Vilanova i la Geltrú

How often do you find yourself in this situation: you’ve done a monster shop, been to the market, thumbed through the latest issue of Bon Appetit and watched some food program on your BBCiPlayer when hunger pops by and says – “So hey, what’s for lunch?”  There is no urgency at first but then the purring turns to growling before you know it, all your cupboard doors gape open, full to splitting point and you have no idea what to eat.

I bet that has never happened to any of the ladies working the cold tapas bar at Quimet & Quimet.  Not one single time.

No, these ladies (I count 4), wedged neatly between a narrow bar and a towering shelf of canned goods and bottles,  pass out plate after plate of enticing tapa and montaditos (something like an hors d’oeuvres on bread but way too big to manage in one or two bites) which are seemingly conjured from thin air.  Sure, there is a glass fronted cabinet with all manner of sea things but where are the chefs doing the assembling? 

Why, right before my eyes.  It’s all sleight of hand.  I notice that the girl (she can’t have hit her twenties yet) who I had until now assumed was just manning (womanning) the cash register is also making sandwiches, her hands seemingly able to operate without so much as a downward glance from her eyes or a nod of acknowledgment from her brain which is busy sending instructions for glasses of fino or the house brewed beer.

From my awkward position; elbows planted territorially on the bar but feet still out on the street, I crane my head in vain over the Quimet and Quimet beer trying to get a glimpse of the most popular dishes being ordered.  Then the girl with the large lip stick tattoo on her arm settles her gaze on me – and it says “So lady, you’ve been poring over the menu for 15 minutes, you must have memorised the thing by now – whatareyagoingtohave?”

I falter (seemingly my default position in Barcelona) and anxiously glance back at the laminated menu.  She screams and makes as if she is dragging her fingernails down her face in desperation and frustration.  She also steers me away from ordering two plates of baby squid and suggests (orders) I try the montadito with salmon and truffle honey.  Which incidentally, is one of the most popular dishes.  And one which shouldn’t really work – salmon? truffle? honey?  But it so does.  These ladies, these matriarchs (with lipstick tattoo ready to slip effortlessly into those shoes when her time comes) are something.

I’ve read that this is the best food in Barcelona.  Of course it’s not.  But it’s original.  It’s delicious.  It’s fun.  And yes, there is some anxiety attached.  Of finding a sliver of space to wedge yourself in.  Of hoping someone finally catches your eye so you can order and that when you do – you’ll remember what it was you wanted to eat.

Quimet & Quimet
C/Poeta Cabanyes 25,
08004 Poble Sec
No reservations, tiny place
Check opening times on Facebook

Michelangelo purportedly said: “Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to release it.” That is how I feel about discovering a new city. I know that my city is somewhere in there but I have to set about discovering it, teasing out the locals that will stand out for me.

In Berlin, I could set out onto its wide streets to discover it.  Barcelona is infinitely more complex.  It’s congested with independent shops and restaurants, the constantly new vying for attention with the old (take Can Culleretes , opened as a pastry shop in 1786 and still listed in Frommers with 3 stars).  All this to say, I’ve been spending considerable time trawling the internet to pin down a starting point for my explorations.

That is how I found myself on Espai Sucre’s website.  I didn’t think I could manage an evening sampling (no babysitter yet) their dessert only menu but – Hello? What’s this? An American Baking Course? Was my Spanish good enough? – My thought barely had a chance to form before it was abruptly (is there any other way?) interrupted by twin 1.  I impulsively clicked “buy”.

I’d signed myself up for a 10 hour course in American Baking (which I know), in Spanish (which I insist I understand).

On the day, I’m 15 minutes late (of course, I think this may be a genetic problem).  I join the rest of the punctual group who are already immersed in the business of taking notes and asking questions.  Our teacher, Betina Montagne, speaks rapidly and with visible passion.  She is still excited by pastry after more than 20 years in the business and if you don’t believe it, the dangling cupcake earrings she wears bear further proof.

Before I’ve had a chance to cease perspiring (summer’s still going strong here, even at 8:30 in the morning) we are invited to the kitchens.  Where an army of red Kitchen Aids man the counters. Betina asks us to turn our attention to the brownie recipe…and we are off!  We are asked to double up with the person closest to us.  My partner is Mirella, a girl from Barcelona who is studying to become a chef.  She is vibrant and bubbly.  If she is annoyed at being paired with the foreigner, she doesn’t show it, instead she gives me her apron when she notices I haven’t brought one and that in the war of cocoa powder and Suzy – the cocoa is winning.

In all the previous cookery courses I have taken, cooking has always been preceded by a demonstration.  This means, you get to watch a pro glide through tasks and have a bit of a shock when you realize that turning red pepper into brunoise is not easy.  So the Espai Sucre method; being given 12 recipes and told “go!” is novel and leads to interesting results.  Non-heat proof spatulas are accidentally melted (me), the microwave starts smoking (me), coffee is spilled onto lap (me), oven doors opened on the Lemon Poppy Seed Cake causing the whole lot to collapse (thankfully not me).  In short, mistakes are made, in abundance, the reasons for failure discussed.

Despite doing a year long diploma at the Leiths School of Food and Wine in London, I still learn a few tricks, my two favourites being: for perfect cakes using the creaming method – butter should be 20ºC and when your baking thermometer reads 91ºC (you have one of these, right?) your cake is done!

We manage to produce 8 cakes to take home.  The pace is not frantic but speedy and efficient.  Even with all our accomplishments, we have time to nip out to a neighborhood restaurant called La Candela where we are treated to a simple but lovely 3 course lunch with coffee.

It’s only been 10 hours since we first met yet, we all feel united in our accomplishment.  Some of us exchange emails and all of us exchange tips of where to eat and it’s off home loaded with brownies, blondies, carrot cakes, chocolate cakes and even a Christmas cake.

Espai Sucre
c/ sant pere mes alt 72
Born-Ribera
www.espaisucre.com
Day Courses: €180, Two Day Courses €350, yearly courses also available

From the folks behind Happy Pills comes ice cream with a face: Eyescream & Friends.  Shaved ice cream (imported from Taiwan- where they are crazy about the stuff).

If my ice cream didn’t come with eyes, in a cardboard tray with a wooden spoon and two pots of my choice of mix ins what would I think of it?  I would think.  ”Meh.  Forgettable.”  But like this, it’s fun.  There is no seating available but across the street it’s all moored sail boats and street performers.  In that context, I enjoyed it.  If you have kids, they are likely to enjoy it even more because these days – it’s all about the packaging for these pint sized people. There are 7 flavours, each with their own colourful Avatar and personality: Mango is Bob Mango and wears a rasta hat.   The concept won an award for its identity from Restaurant and Bar Design.  For more on the branding of this shop visit: NOTCOT).

Eyescream and friends
Paseo Joan de Borbo 30
Barceloneta
+34 932 215 310
Facebook

Caelum is a shop in Barcelona that sells goods made my monks and nuns.  It’s in the Barri Gòtic which means there I am,  walking through the dark maze like streets, which often smell of urine (there are a lot of incontinent tourists on the streets of Barcelona), I am surrounded by the pierced, the tattooed, tan-to-the-point-of-lobster folk photographing the laundry hanging from the balconies.  And there, emanating a glow like a single candle in a dark cellar, is Caelum.

I practically hear the Gregorian chanting as I enter the ivory and gold shop and turn over boxes of marzipan, jars of tomato jam, scented candles, “stained glass window” biscuits.  Each made by a different community specialising in a certain something. I don’t know about you but I find that these days when everyone is consuming the same shows, aspiring to live the same life: the idea that there are people who have given up all earthly temptations and live without central heating and are rolling ground almonds in icing sugar to make balls of (the best marzipan I have ever, ever tasted) entirely original.

There is a cafe inside, where I sit down and have a cup of coffee with a slice of cherry cake.  The bottom is slightly singed and I come across two cherry stones, I call this find: rustic.  The taste is all there.

My father is muslim and my mother is Christian.  I never went either way but am one of those people who get’s caught out every now and then as to “what are we all doing here anyway?”.  I don’t dwell on it.  I don’t go into churches or mosques and reflect.  But somehow the idea that the people who have lent their time and their skills to do this… Well  on this day I find myself reflecting (a little) but also enjoying their efforts.

Caelum
c/palla 8
Barri Gotic
08002

For me, simple is always best.  If it is a speciality, it’s even better.  If to boot, it’s a pleasure to look at or be in, well…there you’ve got me. Lukumas has me.

Plus! Doughnuts! Hello?  How are cupcakes and macaroons better than doughnuts?  Answer: They’re not.  Give me a doughnut any day.  With a cup of coffee.And a big helping of gorgeous design.  A large mirror with a facetious curly moustache stuck to it, so that depending where you sit, you may end up wearing it? Yes please. White subway tiles with bevelled edges?  Makes me want to run my hands along the wall, the same way well carved bar of soap makes me wash my hands for longer than is necessary.  That’s all before you get to the “Lukuma” (which means doughnut in Greek).  There are simple ones, sugared or glazed.  Filled ones.  Pink ones with sprinkles (strawberry), green ones (mastika) and chocolate –  to choose from.In the background, the husky voice of a Greek female presenter keeps interrupting the music that’s playing.  The glass that looks onto the pastry kitchen has Thessaloniki written on it in Greek cursive script.  Because that is where Petros’s family comes from and the provenance of the recipe.

Every detail is charming and well thought out.  And as I say, that is before you even get to the doughnuts.

Lukumas
C/ Torrent de l’Olla, 169
08012, Gràcia
www.lukumas.com

In 1997, El Bulli, got it’s 3rd Michelin star. In 2002, it was named restaurant of the year. Back then, lead times to super-restaurant-stardom were still a matter of years, rather than months.  (Check out Alma: Best New Restaurant in America 2013.  Now, no sooner is the accolade laid on then the book comes out, all marinating time has been discarded.  I find the lack of build up unsatisfying, like eating before you are hungry.)

There was plenty of build up with El Bulli.  I watched Cooking in Progress (a film which proved that exciting food to eat is the exact opposite to make) and read Lisa Abend’s Sorcerer’s Apprentices.  But by then El Bulli had already announced its impending closure, dashing my hopes of experiencing a meal there.  But the silver lining is that Tickets opened soon after.  It’s not El Bulli but there are El Bulli dishes, you don’t have to drive up a windy road to get there and it’s much easier (but still very hard) to get a table.

It turns dining on its head.  When I search for the adjectives with which to describe the experience, ‘delicious’ seems besides the point.  Instead “silly”, “unexpected”, “deceptive”, “fun”, “irreverent”, “textures” are more fitting.  Instead of a fork and knife being laid out in anticipation of the meal, I get tweezers.  While at Comerc 24 I marvelled at the use of large rocks as serving plates, here it’s all gravel and pebbles.  (I wonder, does the gravel get washed after every plate is returned to the kitchen or is it recycled?  How does one wash gravel?  Do they lay them out on miles of tea towels to let them air dry?) The space is fitted out like a circus.  Aspects of it; like the plasma screens  running documentaries featuring Ferran Adrià and flanked by scores of Maneki-nekos waving their gold paws, are cringe worthy.  It could very easily not work, I would go further and say it should not work.

But then there are two things that happen.  The food (obviously) and exceptional service.  Tickets may be funny to behold but those two elements are still treated seriously and with respect.

I am greeted at the door by a beautiful hostess in a top hat and a face so closely resembling that of Rebecca de Mornay that I wonder if she may have changed vocation? Hollywood likenesses continue, my server has the bubbling-just-below-the-surface-energy and spinal curve of Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck (“So I bake; bread, bread, bread.“).  At my request, he presents all the dishes in Spanish, supplying just enough information to make it interesting but not so much to make it feel like school.  Active service is key to a successful meal experience, flabby service is like a limp handshake: momentarily unpleasant and quickly forgotten.

So I thought: “Oh, I know, I know, I know! Microwave cake!” but it wasn’t, it was white chocolate with black sesame, the world’s lightest Aero bar

Eating alone has its perks.  Usually, it means that you get more attention from the staff.  It also means I am able to observe things.  The minority of the servers wear shoes with gold stripes and ‘Tickets’ stitched into the leather in small copper buttons.  I speculate that these are the long-termers and that since the ‘Tickets’ shoe scheme was introduced it may have been dropped as many were lost by way of eBay.  The servers and kitchen communicate with each other and keep stock of service through a complicated electronic interface that looks like the miniature abbreviated data of stock markets.  The bartender has a walkie-talkie.Much has changed since the day that Francois Vatel killed himself when the fish delivery did not arrive (on time – the irony is it arrived shortly after he died).  Now eating for amusement, expecting to be surprised is not reserved to Kings called Louis.  We can all take part.  With the miniature dishes (generally) coming in at €4.50, you can decide how much you want to spend.  I left it in the capable hands of my server who kept it coming until he saw me start to sigh a little with effort and then asked if I was ready for dessert?  Would I prefer more chocolate or fruit flavours?  How do I feel about a coffee dessert?

I will not give you an account of every dish I ate (there were 19 in total) nor will I inundate your screen with pictures of the dishes – what I will say is that you should try it.  It’s a veritable Cirque du Soleil of a gastronomy experience.  It’s fun.  And yes, it’s definitely worth the hype.

Tickets Bar
Avinguda del Paral·lel, 164,
08015 Eixample
www.ticketsbar.es/web

Barcelona does this category extremely well. They take something uninspiring, like sacks of grains, pulses, rice – sundries and turn it into “Ooooo! Let’s go to that shop and buy some chocolate buttons or red quinoa.” Every time I’m in the neighborhood I rack my brains for something I need so I can take a visit and peer into the sacks.

They are also incredibly cool to boot.  When I shop with Layla, she is always told to stick out her hand and is plied with more chocolate buttons than she sees in a week.  If you stick a curious hand (and who can resist not poking and prodding at all these marvels?) someone shows up to help you figure out what you ‘need’.And they are so natural about it all.  I can’t help but think, the equivalent shop in London would have a wall full of recipe cards for what to do with the strange and wonderful goods on sale.

I love this shop.  I dare you to go into this shop and not come out with 3 kg of stuff that (who are we kidding) you really don’t need.

Casa Perris
Plaça Comercial, 2
El Born
Barcelona

The other day, I was at Casa Ametller (which I know is a fruit and vegetable shop but still) and I ordered a coffee. Café con leche would do, whatever, I just needed the caffeine and fast. This is what happened; a gauze wrapped Novell pod was loaded into a machine, a switch – like a light switch – was flipped on and then the woman walked away to have a (long) chat with a colleague. What seemed like eons later, she returned, at that point I was on the counter peering into the cup trying to figure out if there was any room for milk. She then opened the fridge, took out some abomination tetrapak milk, the kind that I could put away and give to the twins for their graduation and it would still taste vaguely, like milk. She poured that 4ºC milk into my coffee. I thought: “well now my coffee is cold?”.
And then she put the whole thing into the microwave and zapped it for 40 seconds. Honest to god truth, this happened. Crazy!  That’s crazy right?  But here is the thing, the coffee culture here is largely, non-existent.  When I ask local friends, they point me in the direction of someplace that uses Illy.

I spent some serious time researching coffee shops on the internet and came up with about 5 contenders.  The most important player being El Magnifico (How can you go wrong with a name like that?). They source and roast their own beans. They have 40 different types available and they wholesale to most of the high-end shops and restaurants in Barcelona. (A better researched blog post by Bean on a Bike)

I order a cappuccino. And as I take my first sip. I want to drop to my knees in gratitude. It is only upon (finally) drinking a good cappuccino that I am able to fully appreciate the awful quality of most of the coffee around here. And you know what else? Unlike every single place in Barcelona, at Cafe Magnifico, they’ve managed to find a small artisanal producer (Granja el Prat) to supply them with milk to complement their beans.  If anyone reading this is considering embarking on a business in Barcelona – coffee shop, this place needs good coffee.  
Cafes El Magnifico
Argenteria 64
08003 Barcelona
T. 933 193 975
www.cafeselmagnifico.com

My first impression of Barcelona was that there were so many cafes, delis, bars and restaurants that you would have to be a fool to consider entering the local food and beverage market. But now that the dust has settled on my move and (most of) the boxes have been unpacked, I am retracting that sentence.  The bars with neat rows of tapas are endless, the paellas, the plates of fideua are everywhere.  Good coffee?  Non-existent (seriously, I have identified 6 shops in Barcelona that use La Marzocco coffee machines (their official distributor for Spain is a company called Coffee People and they list all their clients).  Breakfast places? The ones that do an epic layout a la what I was used to in Berlin, not so much.So I am not at all surprised by the cluster of people I always see outside Brunch and Cake (who are one of the 6 to have a Marzocco).  Their breakfasts are American style and then some.  A perilous tower of pancakes.  A wedge of cake, thick as a dictionary.  The so-called bagel turns out to be the size of my (Smart car’s) steering wheel.  There is also a leaning towards the strange combinations that are widely accepted in the US.  My poached eggs on waffles for instance comes on sweet waffles, with hollandaise sauce – it’s really too weird for me.  And I have always struggled with overly large portions of food, finding myself feeling bloated and defeated before I have even started eating.

I will stick to the coffee and maybe next time go for one of the big bowls of salad with quinoa.  But at least two people in my family have fallen hard for this place.  And they are not the only ones, in a city that doesn’t seem to do social media with the fervor of London or Berlin, Brunch and Cake are rocking Instagram with over 1,000 followers (that is seriously a big deal here, on a par with Albert Adria’s Tickets.)

Brunch and Cake
Enric Granados, 19
Eixample 08007
www.cupcakesbarcelona.com

When I ate at Commerc 24, there was a young woman eating alone and taking pictures of her food. A few days later, I came across her on the internet and the internet being the odd tool that it is, we arranged to have lunch first at Federal and then later at Koy Shunka.

She is Vietnamese.  20 years old to my 38, with a budget for lunch that surpasses mine (I wanted the €77 Koy menu while she insisted on the €110 (G)astro one because it included sea urchin)  and an appetite that would make Thackeray blanch. And she eats everything, weird things too – or challenging ones. She polished up the 4 tablespoons of sea urchin interspersed among her tuna and shaved truffle. And didn’t hesitate when I offered her mine.

While I stared glumly at a plate of assorted molluscs, crowned with a single goose barnacle – she began to happily slurp on hers.  Described by Charlie Skelton as smelling “strong as Poseidon’s armpit, but heavenly, like a mermaid’s burp.  ”  Well I don’t know about that?  It was sweet enough but I found it ugly to behold, with its wrinkled neck and beyond disconcerting when its toenail like shell clattered on the plate.

The Gastro menu at Koy Shunka is epic.  Do not embark on this journey unless you have an empty leg into which you can pack the food. We are talking 11 substantial portions. I would have been satisfied with ‘Sashimi in Japan’ on it’s own: a plat of the most beautiful tuna I have ever eaten, interspersed with sea urchin and wearing shaved truffle. By the time I packed away course number 9: Japanese Wagyu beef with brown rice I was having trouble breathing and when I was handed 4 pieces of sushi right after wards I had to put my hands up in defeat. I could not eat another bite.

Consider yourself warned.

And now that I’ve dealt with that.  Fantastic place.  Dark and moody when you come in, opening on an enormous kitchen, where chefs busily clatter and cook.  The best tuna I’ve ever eaten.  Having sampled how far this kitchen can take the simulation, next time I will happily order a la carte.  Especially since my young Vietnamese friend has gone back to Boston where she will be finishing her college degree.

Koy Shunka
c/ Copons 7
08002 El Barri Gòtic
www.koyshunka.com

There are many indistinct bakeries in Barcelona. Forn La Llibreria stands out from the bunch.  Because of the original design – sure – but mostly because they use stone ground flour and traditional baking methods.  Which means that your bread doesn’t transform into a doorstop 24 hours later.  And the crust is crunchy but there is also a chew to it – not just a shatter.

I can’t tell you much more, unlike most business here, it doesn’t have a fancy web address with tons of animation that takes longer to load than it does to hardboil an egg.

It’s good though.  Right around the corner from the University of Barcelona.

Forn La Llibreria
C/ Aribau 22,
08011 Eixample
Facebook Page

Is it the lack of Australians or the lack of hipsters in Barcelona that can explain away the absence of 3rd wave coffee? Because samples from both these groups are present in Caravelle, the second best place to get a coffee in Barcelona after Cafe El Magnifico. They use a La Marzocco machine and source their coffee from a small roastery called Right Side (girls – I think you should click on their link just to get an eyeful of coffee-taster/roaster-in-lilac-shirt.)  Their flat white is the real deal while their version of a cappuccino is made with rather more milk then I like (same like the flat white in fact but with only one shot of espresso) and comes with a sprinkling of cocoa powder.  

I can’t speak for the rest of their food but their brunch is fantastic.  Fluffy ricotta pancakes with honeycomb butter or ‘poached’ eggs on avocado toast.  (This being Spain, the ‘poached’ eggs are in reality cooked sous vide, resulting in something that looks raw but was probably brought to a core temperature of 60ºC.  Give me properly poached eggs any day, I say.)

The service is lovely and leisurely (you don’t come here if you are in a hurry but then, you don’t come to Spain if you are in a hurry.)  It’s an independent shop, the long in the realizing project of The Unemployable Chef and I think it shows.  In the care taken with the food, the coffee, the friendly staff and the interior.  Even the sparse branches planted in vases around the room.  Their is pride in this undertaking and that usually makes for good eating and drinking.

Caravelle,
C. Pintor Fortuny 31,
Raval 08001
Caravelle on Facebook

Albert Adrià must have a very happy bank manager. Most of his venues are in the Sant Antoni district where the majority of the shops are shuttered with once hopeful (now weathered) ‘for rent’ signs.  Right across from Bodega 1900 is the popular Tickets bar and 41º.  Which is convenient as during my meal there, chefs arrive ferrying gastronorms of marinated tuna from the bigger kitchens across the street.

It’s a charming little space.  And by little, I mean tiny.  A front room and a back room.  The front room being an uneven split in favour of Bodega 1900- between Bodega1900 staff and customers.  To wit: Bodega is allocated a cold station running the length of one wall underneath swinging Joselito hams and salamis, an ordering station where waiters congregate to tap in orders (they don’t have individual hand-held units) and there is a man with a clipboard (really?) waiting to greet at the front door.  Customers get a scattering of petite round tables, pushed into corners and up against poles or some bar stools against a sliver of a bar.  In the bustling back room, customers have slightly more space which they share with a bar and a warm kitchen.   

The idea at Bodega 1900, is to have a little something to go with your Vermouth, beer or cava (little because after your Vermouth and snack, you would be expected to continue on to lunch as is tradition).  The somethings turn out to be extremely simple.  A tomato salad for €5.90 where I am served a skinned tomato, that comes in deceptive rough and ready chunks.  I say deceptive because the care that goes into the slicing and individually salting and peppering each wedge borders on the absurd.  The identical slices of smoked mackerel receive a similar treatment, being laid out in parallel lines, a flake of salt bestowed upon each tender slice with a final flourish of a few drops of oil (possibly Oro Bailen) dispensed from a pipette.

I order one dish from the days menu, sweet peas with mushrooms and morcilla.  The peas are so immature and succulent they reminded me of the vacuum packed  suckling pigs that lined the chiller cabinets all through the Christmas period.

The chocolate tart I have for dessert is the only point at which I think the booking has been worth it.  A rich chocolate in a pastry shell so thin they must have painted the pastry onto the tin.  Outstanding.

It’s unfussy food fussed over by a large number of staff for a small number of customers.  And you need to have a reservation, which somehow takes all the fun out of going out for a Vermouth and some chips, even if the chips are very very good chips conceived of by Albert Adria.

Would one go to the trouble of reserving a table if it wasn’t for Albert Adrià involvement?  I am not sure.  Especially with so many alternatives in Barcelona.  If you want a glimpse into the world of the Adria brothers, I think your money is better spent at Tickets.
Bodega 1900
Carrer Tamarit,91
Sant Antoni

After this post, I am going to make it my mission to keep the blog Adrià free for a while.  But for now, let’s talk about Oriol Balaguer.  Born to a chocolatier father and graduating to the famed kitchens of El Bulli before being named (at the tender young age of 23) Best Artisan Confectioner in Spain.  My 4-year-old daughter and I are here today with a view to getting our hands on the chocolate cake in eight chocolate textures. The store is elegant, the thick tinted glass, the brushed aluminum frames- it’s more Balenciaga then Confectioner.  And that is the point, as we are about to pay €35 for a very petite, very shiny cake.  There are other things besides cakes. Some leavened pastries and lots of chocolate. Most of the chocolate shaped like a small cocoa pod, roughly the length of a car key.  It’s the largest bon-bon that I have come across in a while, it makes Paul A Young chocolates seem incy wincy in comparison. The sheen and finish on them is fantastical, making me think of either a plastic rendition of a chocolate or a chocolate that has come straight off the production line (ah yes, once upon a time I was fortunate enough to work for a chocolate factory).  All that, I imagine, is part of the El Bulli legacy, using industrial techniques to enhance and improve a food rather than to make something cheaper look and taste more enticing.  (Hello MRM!)

This Oriol Balaguer shop in Sarrià – Sant Gervasi is one of 3 in Barcelona, 6 worldwide with distributors all over the world. As for the cake in 8 textures, I wish it came with a key, the way a new iPod would, which would tell me where I could locate all those textures and what they were.  Meanwhile, my 4-year-old who is our resident Chloé Doutre-Roussel  pronounced it a very good chocolate cake and enquired immediately as to when the next tasting might be?

Oriol Balaguer
Pl. de Sant Gregori Taumaturg, 2
Sarrià-Sant Gervasi
08021
http://www.oriolbalaguer.com

Further Reading: ‘Not for the masses – Oriol Balaguer’ on The Brander

There I am, in Berlin, going on and on about how I love little portions of food (tapas, mezze) and I finally get to a place where that’s what it’s all about and I find myself wanting a big bowl of something.  Ramen will do quite nicely thank you, especially if it’s going to stand up to Cocolo in Berlin & Koya in London.  As with most places I favor, Ramen-Ya Hiro is tiny and takes no reservations; which inevitably leads to lining up for a table. Which (also like most places I favor) is small, and cramped, with help yourself cutlery or in this case chopsticks.  The eclectic music blares – it must be what the kitchen likes to listen.  It’s an open kitchen with two bandannad chefs welding ladles like they are flag semaphores, dishing out steaming bowls of broth.

The menu could fit inside a fortune cookie; three ramen choices and a scattering of side dishes.  Gyoza is one – and for me, it always has to be gyoza.  I have a steaming bowl of Marisco – the sea food ramen, filled with a tangle of alkaline yellow noodles and small clams.  Loveliness in a deep bowl, marred only by a few pieces of burnt garlic that have found their way in.

Ramen-Ya Hiro
C/ Girona 156
08037 La Dreta de L’Eixample
Barcelona
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My two favourite Japanese restaurants in London are Dinings and Yashin (in that order).  Both are generous with the citrus and easy on the soy.   I know that the executive chef at Dinings (Masaki Sugisaki ) worked at Nobu and that Nobu Matsuhisa was heavily influenced by Nikkei cuisine (a symbiosis of Japanese and Peruvian food).  So it is with very high expectations that I walk into Pakta on a sunny Saturday afternoon.    That and it’s taken me over a month (as usual) to get a table at this Adria brothers spot (no it’s not your imagination, they do seem to own every restaurant worth going to in Barcelona).  
There are two prix fix menus to choose from: the Fujiyama (€90 VAT included) and the Machu Picchu (€120 VAT included).  We opt for the latter and begin with the Honzen Ryori.  Which is an elaborately arranged tray of 5 small dishes the like of ‘Avocado tofu with sea urchin, yuzu and wasabi’ and ‘sweet corn cream with caviar’.  There are different spoons for different dishes and an order in which the 5 dishes should be eaten.  There are so many instructions to follow that our server uses a baton to point to the dishes as she explains what’s what, what’s first and with what – oh and don’t eat the tuft of leaves which is just a tuft of leaves.The fish on offer that lunch is spectacular. The sliver of tuna on the nigiri is the colour of pressed pomegranate juice. The rice it sits on is the best sushi rice I have ever had. The ‘Tuna te-maki’ is so so good and so so…small (curses!).  The “sea bass ceviche” – well how would the establishment feel about bowl slurping because the spoon they have provided me with is doggedly refusing to pick up those last dregs?  The warm ceviche with its spicy citrus sauce – divine.  Less successful; greasy overly salty mushroom tempura, ho-hum chicken “Anticucho”.The dessert is camouflaged.  We have to be told not to eat the branches except for the branches we are supposed to eat; those made of black sesame tuiles and decorated with puffs of yogurt cake. It’s an expensive afternoon but one that is well worth it. The tough reservation slots and limitation to prix fix menus takes out any hope for spontaneity.  However, on my way out I spot Espai Kru and I am not entirely sure if they are part of the Adria group or not but the waitress tells me we can get some similar-ish dishes up there; a la carte.  So that’s where I am going next…

Pakta
Lleida, 5
El Poble Sec
http://www.pakta.es

This is what I think: people of Barcelona eat out an incredible amount.  With 3 hours for siesta being observed by all but the biggest most visible shops, they have the time.  They do it with other people, big – small, young – old; I am always marvelling at the human mikado that can be lunch.  They are a gregarious bunch and I see them all at different points of their lives, living it, that moment – being present.  It’s pretty fantastic.

There are a lot of places to eat at, a jumble like my children’s overturned toy boxes.  Choice – sure but where to begin?  And how to avoid the trap that is specific to Barcelona – a well designed shop with a fumbling kitchen or else missing the grungy hole with spectacular food? Oh and what if I don’t want jamón?It’s a feat to untangle this scene but every now and then I hit gold and think: “Yes, I’m getting somewhere!”  Les Tres a la Cuina is one such place.  In one of my favourite neighborhoods, Gracia, it’s a small shop.  Some bar stools around a high communal table at the entrance and bench seating closer to the kitchen.Anna is in the kitchen most days.  Irish from Cork with a soft spot for Dennis Cotter recipes and all the Ottolenghi cookbooks on her shelf. She started out as a jewelery designer. Before being seized by the urge to work for Bubo, before Bubo exploded. Her lack of experience? A detail.  She did it, she did it really well and went on to manage one of the shops before starting Les Tres La Cuina with a partner.  Her new place is nothing like Bubo it’s more like the fresh, seasonal, vibrant food of Cotter, Ottolenghi, Slater.  The place has something that a lot of places of second-time-down-the-career-path-and-decided-to-go-into-the-kitchen places have, an ability to surprise you in the details at their expense.  Using nice eggs for brunch, serving coffee from El Magnifico standing stalks of celery in a giant Kilner jar so the leaves are lush and succulent.  Such a special place, with food you want to eat. Opened daily until 6pm.

Les Tres a La Cuina
C/ Sant Lluís, 35,
08012 Gracia
T. 931 05 49 47

It turns out that, if you look deep deep below the surface, there is something stirring in the Third Wave Coffee corner of Barcelona.  In the past couple of months – 3 places have opened up.  Cøffee Lab & Shop, Skye Coffee (a Citroen coffee truck) and Onna Cafe.  It is a grass-roots renaissance, initiated by people who have a life (I guess) so the hours (as so often happens in Barcelona) are not that favourable to you: punter-that-wants-a-constant-caffeine-fix.
Cøffee Lab & Shop has got the best ones actually.  Monday to Friday from 9:30 to 3:30 you can find Jordi (of Nomad Productions) making all kinds of magic using a DC/PRO that glows, AeroPress, V60 with Hario Buono pouring kettle, thermometers.  This place is kited out, geeked out.  Honestly, I’m just here for the flat white- I haven’t gone down the coffee anorak route yet.

Most of the other guests are here for something off the menu: “Basic / €10″ – Coffee bag and coffee taste or “Coffee Feast / €20″ 2 Coffee bags and as much coffee as you dare for 2 people.

I ask for a flat white.  Jordi asks if it’s one or two shots I am after?  When I see the size of the cups (5 oz), I ask for one.  Which means I have two cups of coffee.  First a 65% Ethiopian / 35% Brasil blend and then a 20% Guatemala / 80% Brasil blend.  (I have no idea what that means of course but I have the presence of mind to jot it down.)  The second coffee is fruity, it reminds me of blueberries.  They are both divine.

There is no food to be had here, not even sugar to adorn the coffee (but without all the rah-rah blah-blah mission statement that The Barn Roastery has in Berlin).  But my oh my – the coffee.  Worth going out of your way for!

Cøffee Lab & Shop by Nomad Productions
Passatge Sert, 12
08003 El Born
nomadcoffeeproductions.wordpress.com
Twitter @nomadcoffeebcn