The interior of the Sagrada Familia Cathedral is probably the most incredible building I have seen and to try and describe it would be much the same as to sing a song to tell about cooking. Gaudi was a genius.
Sagrada Familia
Mercat de la Boqueria
The Mercat de la Boqueria is a large covered food market off La Rambla, the long pedestrian way leading down to the ocean. Sweets, chocolates, pastries, fruit and vegetables meats, hams and poultry were on sale but especially seafood which we could smell before we saw it. It was wonderful to walk around the lanes admiring the variety, colours and aromas of the wares. A minor disaster was averted when I discovered my camera left at the flat but Sharon came to the rescue with hers.
A stroll through the Barri Gotic, an old area of the city eventually led us to the Barcelona Museum. On the way, we came across a photo shoot of a slender girl in a wispy black dress leaning on a bicycle. I would have liked to have stayed and watched the technique of the three photographer’s but the others had disappeared down a narrow lane and around a corner.
The highlight of the museum was an impressive courtyard which was a cool retreat from the afternoon sun. I remember a fountain, rills leading water away across the paths and four ancient grape vines planted in 1857 in each corner of the courtyard. How can I make one of them at home?
Three chefs, Tom, Villasar and Nico
A slow start led us down the hill towards La Rambla, the long street leading to the water. I popped into a second hand shop and was greeted by the female assistant,
“Hola,” she said.
“Hola,” I replied.
Her rapid Spanish which followed was met by my quizzical look and she then spoke in English.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“I was just passing and I thought I’d pop in and have a sticky around the shop, if you don’t mind.”
This time it was her turn for a quizzical look.
“I don’t understand a word you are saying. Where are you from?”
Over coffee, Tom’s phone rang and it was Nico, his Spanish chef friend he worked with at the Gilbert Scott in London.
“Would you like to come to lunch at my friend’s restaurant in the hills behind Barcelona?”
The train to Mataro, a half an hour north of Barcelona, ran on tracks just a few metres from the beach and sometimes the ocean. Nico took us in his Volvo into the hills, past vineyards and traditional homes beside the winding road, all the time telling us stories. He told us of the history of the area which is not Spanish but Catalan, their love of food and a long lunch, of the local sparkling wine, cava, till we arrived at Villasar’s restaurant at Vallromanes.
Nico suggested we allow Villasar to bring out what the chef thought would, in his words, “Make us happy.”
Over the next three hours, we ate:
Strawberry and tomato Gazpacho (cold soup)
Alaskan Salmon salad
Pa anb tomaquete (Bread with tomatoes and oil)
Table of jamon (ham)
Greek green olives
Ham in béchamel croquettes
Tempura battered onions in romesco (peppers, tomatoes and nuts) sauce
Cod with grated black olive with confit tomato
Capitota (pig’s head and trotters)
Pork rib paella
Coconut foam pineapple with mint
Orange brioche
Cigalo rum with espresso
Orujo, pomace brandy
Orange chocolate sweets
Copa cava (local sparkling white )
AA Parvus (local Chardonnay)
We were more than happy. The food was excellent and Nico, a natural storyteller, entertained us for all of the three hours it took to get through the courses. Vilassar sat with us and gave us places to eat in Girona, one of his chefs recommended seafood restaurants in Portugal, we met and swapped business cards with the local mayor who was having lunch, Tom toured the kitchen then Nico drove us back to Barcelona a little bit more squashed in the Volvo than when he picked us up at the train station.
Later in the evening, while the other carpet snakes were curled up resting after their meal, I took a walk to a nearby square and listened to five men play guitar, clap and sing their version of Spanish flamenco rap. A good finish to a fine day.