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More Barcelona Part 1

August 11, 2009

Realizing that I may never get myself around to finishing a day-by-day account of the food from our trip, I’m just going to throw together some highlights in an ordered fashion. And by ordered I mean haphazard. Here goes a few.


Interior shot of Barcelona’s finest bomba, found in a rickety little tapas place recommended by the bike tour guide/travel hippie.


Mystery liquor foisted on us by owner of said rickety little tapas place. Rather delicious.



The exorbinant snack we stumbled into in a devious little tourist trap in Gironas. We idiotically ordered a jug of the sangria cava, which ended up being pure sugar syrup (you can see the inch-thick layer of sugar sludge at the bottom that couldn’t dissolve in the hyper-saturated yellow glop). The olives had some sort of fish in them. I thought they were ok, but Lauren claimed “it tastes like the sea up and died in these.” Chips were salty and not to be disparaged. The bill, however, was much to be disparaged. 30 euros. Suckers, us.






This was, at the time of eating, by far the best thing we’d had yet. A razor-thin carpaccio of a tuna cousin with a few shavings of parmesan, roe, and olive oil.


The red snapper brought tableside for me to inspect in Cadaques (there’s nothing like asking where the fish came from, and having the owner point out the window to the sea ten yards away). They were gorgeous.


And those same red snappers opened and grilled and nothing else. Best, simplest fish I’ve ever had.


Lauren ordered the grilled calamari, and that’s just what she got. Notice the inclusion of the entire everything of the squids. Not pictured is Lauren running off to the bathroom to collect herself and screw up her courage before tearing into to these little (and one huge) guys. Once you get past the admittedly alarming texture of the eyeballs and the little squirts of ink, it turns out the face area (sadly left out of the rings-and-tentacles-only calamari we get Stateside) is the deliciousest. I won’t say that I’m a coward (I had one), but Lauren heroically cleared that plate.



A heaping pile of heavenly little chorizos swimming in a pool of their own thick and spicy grease. Lauren managed to snag one while I popped them like peanuts.


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