January 2014

TRAVEL

246

January14

Translation:

For the hungry, there

is no such thing as hard bread.

Hard bread is generally not

considered to be a good thing.

Unless, that is, you happen to be

making

pan con tomate

. The trick

to this ubiquitous Spanish dish is to

use stale bread (in a pinch, toasted

bread can work, too).

I’m in

Allium

, a slow food

restaurant in Barcelona’s medieval

Jewish quarter, learning to make this

simple bread, tomato and garlic dish

to accompany

a p l a t e o f

pulpo Gallego

a G a l i c i a n

s p e c i a l t y o f

octopus, boiled

potatoes and

p a p r i k a s o

popu l a r t ha t

it’s often called

“Spain’s fish and

chips”.

Allium is the

third restaurant

of the night: the

f i r s t ,

Et apes

in art-nouveau

Eixample, for cava,

mi-cuit foie gras

with peach

confiture

and black truffle

canalons

(Catalan’s “national” dish

introduced by the Italians in the

1800s) followed by an hour at beer-

factory-turned-gastro-bar

Moritz

for

peppery, sweet

fuet

sausage and

bio-dynamic wines from Catalan’s

prestigious Priorat region.

Dinner is officially in its fourth

hour but there is still more stop yet:

Barra

for a glass of

jerez

and a

small plate of Spanish butter cake

with lime basil ice cream – yes, tapas

for the dessert course, too.

Translation:

It’s better to go well fed

than well dressed.

Some Barcelonians really take this

one to heart – but no one more than the

city’s infamous Elephant Man. As the

face – and phallus – of the city’s liberal

slant, this gentleman doesn’t dress to

impress – in fact, he doesn’t dress at

all. It’s said that the Elephant Man sports

tattooed elephant ears on his stomach

and tusks on his legs – the trunk is his

junk in all its dangling glory, of course

– but it’s difficult to verify this. (Google

at your own peril.)

If Singapore is a dress shirt, starched

and buttoned up to the neck, Barcelona

is a butterfly-collared number, open to

the navel. You can still find public nudity

– even cycling ones (

wince

) – even

though it was officially banned in 2011.

Marijuana is legal in small amounts, and

public drinking is widely tolerated. And

castells

, those backbreaking human

towers built in town squares without any

wires or safety apparatus of any kind –

you’ll find them here too.

As the capital of Catalonia, Barcelona

is a city of fiercely nationalist people.

Catalonia has its own history, and its own

language; calls for independence from

Spain grow louder every year. The topic

is highly controversial among Spaniards,

so if you happen across an illustration

of a donkey, Catalonia’s symbol, doing

indecent things to a bull, don’t ask

about it unless you’re prepared for an

impassioned discussion about politics.

Translation:

Rice that is not

stirred will burn.

Spain’s phrase urging activity

and dissuading sloth doesn’t apply

to a good plate of paella. A stirred

paella will never form the

socarrat

that beloved layer of toasted,

caramalised rice at the bottom of the

pan. Paella is serious business here

(though not nearly as serious as in

Valencia), and it comes with its own

set of rules. First, never order paella

on Las Ramblas, themega shopping

t ho rough fa re and

tourist magnet. (In fact,

never order anything

on Las Ramblas –

not a beer, not an ice

cream, nothing – if

you care about quality

in the ver y least.)

Second, never eat at a

restaurant that serves

paella for one – proper

preparation requires

a portion for at least

two. Third, never order

paella that is ready in

less than 20 minutes.

If so, you can be sure

you’re getting a reheated dish.

Eating “paellaat theport” isup there

with photo pinching the top of the Taj

Mahal and kissing the Blarney Stone.

The neighbourhood of Barceloneta,

with its matchstick-thin streets and

seaside restaurants, draws in the

tourists – and for good reason. An

afternoon at

La Gavina

sipping cava

by theMediterraneanSea over shrimp

carpaccio

calamari en beignets

and

paella aux fruits de mer

, and you

won’t even care that the city’s best

paella is cooking in Barcelona’s less

picturesque backstreets.

A BUEN HAMBRE

NO HAY PAN DURO.

MÁS VALE IR BIEN

COMIDO

QUE BIEN

VESTIDO.

ARROZ QUE NO SE

MENEA, SE QUEMA.

Previous page, clockwise from top:

Barcelona's alternative side; a sip of wine in the

streets; cava at Parés Baltà winery; plating a dish at

Barra; paella in Barceloneta's La Gavina

Opposite page, clockwise from top:

Brandade "sweets" from Moritz; the Barcelona

Cathedral; black truffle canalons; dessert tapas; a

heavy metal shop in El Raval; Gothic quarter graffiti