Walking the Gourmet Way

As a special treat, I decided to book myself a place on the "Gourmet Walk" offered by Barcelona Walks through the city's TI. A group of around 30 people met at 10:30 and were given turquoise earphones and a little white transmitter that mimicked an Ipod in shape and color. Once our guide, Bernard, had determined that everyone could hear him, we were on our way.

This was my first walking tour in Europe on my own, as I'm usually keeping a discreet eye on all the group members for one of the Rick Steves´ tours whenever I'm in this kind of situation, making sure no one loses the group. This time, I only had to listen to Bernard desribe the many mouthwatering foods we came across on our walk, along with a few tidbits about the local architecture and history, and a simple recipe for that classic of Barcelona dishes, pan con tomate. I can't wait to try it at home.

But more than anything, we saw chocolate - lots and lots of chocolate. Unfortunately we didn't get to taste any, but we were given delicious fresh fruit salads from La Boqueria market and a ticket for two tapas and a drink at our final destination, the Saint Catherine's market. I also made a quick stop during a free time at La Boqueria to take the obligatory photo of Juan, owner of the Pinxto Bar, smiling while giving the thumbs-up signal, just like in Rick Steves' show. I also bought an absolutely amazing pastry from him, crisp and flakey beyond any French pastry I've had, and filled with just the right amount of cream.

All of this coincided perfectly with the fact that I was starting to feel a little better, bringing back my interest in food. At the bar in the market, I sipped on red wine and enjoyed two Basque-style pintxos, one topped with sausage and carmelized onions, the other with eggplant, peppers, and a creamy goat cheese. Pintxos (pronounced peenchos) consist of any variety of toppings served atop a slice of baguette, usually with a toothpick stuck in the middle, enabling you to pay when finished by counting the number of toothpicks you have acquired. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to enjoying a great many pintxos next week while in San Sebastian, the gastronomic capital of the Basque region.

Along the tour we also were able to see a working 150-year-old oven used for roasting nuts, the only one of its kind in Europe. I bought some samples to bring home, so we´ll see how this technique works. Tonight I headed back to one of the shops Bernard had pointed out on the tour, this one specializing in hot chocolate with churros. Ah, heaven! The chocolate was like a silky, molten pudding, and the fresh churros only lightly sweetened with a sprinkle of sugar were the perfect accompaniment. But I really could have used a partner to share the chocolate; not that I wasted any of it, mind you, but such a rich dessert is, in my opinion, best appreciated in a few small bites to savor.

Following dessert with some tapas, I chose patatas bravas and pulpos (octopus) at a bar in La Ribera. Only here again I was confounded by enourmous servings that filled me up and were clearly ideal for sharing. If only Michael were here (although there is no way he would touch the pulpos - I'd still have those little creatures all to myself)!

Still, I feel as if I am finally getting into the foodie world of Spain, and it just whets my appetite for more. After a good night's sleep and an early train trip to San Sebastian, let's hope I'll feel even better and ready for the gastronomic delights ahead. And if you enjoy food and are ever in Bareclona, take the gourmet tour; it's two hours very well spent.

A Morning Ramble

Today all Barcelonans should be smiling, because not only did they win an important football match, but the sun has returned as well. Blue skies greeted me this morning as I headed out to La Rambla for a morning stroll.

The famous street was relatively quiet before nine. The flower shops were carting in their wares, and the many street performers were meticulously applying makeup and arranging their props, oblivious to any passersby. One couple sat serenely before a pair of enormous wings spray-painted gold and black, the man with his head on the woman's lap, turned away from the foot traffic as they caught a few last moments for themselves before the day's work began. On the return trip up from the waterfront, the woman was nowhere to be seen, but the man's face was still hidden, this time under the collar of a shirt and tie, while he held his new head - one oozing plastic blood from where it had been supposedly severed - serenely on his lap.

Even at this time, La Rambla, named for the Arabic word meaning stream, is a never-ending river of people, although later in the day the flow will become slower as crowds through around the performers and kiosks, making a trip down this street a maze through the throngs. And if FC Barcelona wins again, you can bet their fans will be celebrating by the fountain at the top of the path no matter what the hour. But I prefer the openness of a morning ramble, and this morning was the perfect occasion.

When It Rains, It Pours

This evening, I was about to step out of a Barcelona metro station when I noticed that the weather had turned from merely overcast to dumping buckets of rain. With half a dozen others, I scrunched up in the small entrance, eyes fixed on the stairs just outside, hoping this would only be a fifteen minute shower.

Eventually, I just had to make a run for it. Fortunately I was only a block from the hostel, where I was able to grab my umbrella before heading out on a twenty minute search for the local phone shop. Everywhere people were huddled under doorways, while the brave few ran quickly by under their umbrellas. It gave me a good chance to ask - on four different occasions - just where the street for this phone shop was, which I figured was a good opportunity to practice my Spanish. Besides, today is my husband's birthday, and no little rainstorm was going to keep me from making this call. Nor was the fact that I myself am currently under the weather.

Yes, I'm afraid I'm sick; it's not just the jet lag. Despite the fact that I stayed in bed until noon today (which, for me, is absolutely unheard of), my body and brain have been lagging all day, and my throat persists in being sore. It was a relief, after having made my phone call, to sit in a bar eating a zucchini tortilla (that's Spanish for omelet), traditional Barcelonan tomato bread, and drinking hot tea. Sadly, it will be another early night for me, as I'm determined to nip this in the bud. I feel suspiciously like I did when I was sick for more than week earlier this year, and that's an experience I can do without while on tour.

But despite my long stay in bed last night, I can't claim to have slept particularly well. The good news is that I believe Barcelona must have won their football match last night. I was awoken in the middle of the night to sounds of cheering, clapping, and endless honking horns that seemed to go on for an hour. It sure sounded like fun, just not fun for me at that particular time. After things quieted down, I still slept fitfully until the morning traffic picked up and the city came back to life as its noisy self, at which point I lay in bed wondering why I had to be born such a light sleeper.

Due to the weather and my general lack of ambition for anything too active, I chose to visit the Catalan National Museum and the Miro Foundation today, well worth the trip just to see Miro's enormous tapestry of abstract blues, yellows, and reds hanging in the gallery. Tomorrow I will have to be a little more lively, as I've booked a two hour gourmet tour that meets at 10:30. In the meantime, I think my bed is calling me.

Barcelona im Augenblick

You know you have jet lag when you step out of your hostel in Barcelona and open your guidebook to find a map of Munich. Whoops! Fortunately, the hostel has only half a block away at this point, so I was able to easily go back and swap Germany for my Spain guidebook - much better!

But that gives you an idea of the state my mind is in right now, so please forgive any grammatical or spelling errors you may find. The title, "Barcelona im Augenblick" (Barcelona in the Blink of an Eye) gives further insight to my mental state, since flying across the Atlantic to Frankfurt on Lufthansa has unfortunately put me in German mode. Now that I'm in Barcelona, I'm still hearing German everywhere (including right now as I type this; there is a group of Germans at the hostel). Go figure, Barcelona has a lot of Germans. Somehow I'm not surprised.

But there are also plenty of Barcelonans, and upon leaving the Hip Karma Hostel with the correct guidebook, I soon found myself immersed in La Ribera neighborhood, walking through narrow streets lined with wrought iron balconied apartments, the balconies across from each other so close that two lovers could almost manage to touch over the heads of passersby below. The streets themselves were teeming with children creating makeshift games using anything from a soccer ball to a crushed water bottle, and teenagers of all backgrounds in tight jeans lounged on benches. This was a real neighborhood, from the mothers pushing strollers together on an evening walk, to immigrant run stores selling discount clothes for five euros. Castillian, Catalan, and other languages were tossed about with abandon.

When I came across a shop selling gorgeous sundresses for 35 and 40 euros, I knew I was nearing the tourist zone. Sure enough, the shops were posher as I neared my final destination, the Picasso Museum, although the neighborhood wasn't above the occasional tacky tourist traps. The entrance to the museum itself was practically hidden along one of the narrow alleyways, but marked by the nearby art print shops.

Despite my tired state (and despite the loud German teenagers), I enjoyed the museum, which showcases Picasso's development as an artist from childhood on. Two rooms were devoted to his interpretations of Velazquez's Las Meninas. A painting close to my heart, Las Meninas was the first truly great masterpiece I saw in a European museum, and I found Picasso's take on the subject fascinating. A friend of mine had found these paintings "shocking", but to me they were alternately joyful and thought-provoking. Picasso managed to capture the scope of the piece while giving it his own decidedly unorthodox twist.

Unfortunately, my trip to the museum was followed by a near pickpocketing experience and a trip to the Sants train station, where I waited in line for one hour to purchase a ticket for Friday to San Sebastian. So now that I've managed to stay up far later than I'd planned, I think it's time for a quick bite to eat and a long sleep in my cozy, curtained hostel bed. Hasta mañana!

Loose Ends

As any trip nears, the list of things to get done tends to get longer, not shorter. At the same time, more and more is crossed off the list, not because the tasks have been completed, but because, realistically, they just aren't going to happen. And in the meantime, while I figure that out, things that should be happening get postponed, and the deadline draws ever closer.

I will be leaving my house for the airport in less than 36 hours and have yet to pack. Heck, I have yet to create my packing list! Do not mock the packing list; every time I don't use it - and I mean really use it, not just type one up and decide I have now memorized the list and erroneously believe I no longer need to refer to it - I forget something and end up having to buy travel alarm clocks and batteries in Haarlem that don't work (gee, isn't it fun when the tour guide is late to breakfast), or getting drenched to the bone in Rome because I didn't bring a poncho or an umbrella

So what have I accomplished? Well, I cooked up a storm for Michael and Ryan's joint early birthday party on Friday night - hooray for the new pasta machine! I have successfully obtained a functioning camera, one that I'm borrowing from a friend since I don't feel ready yet to plunk down a couple hundred or more on a new model. The front yard has been weeded, and an attempt was made to mow the jungle that some might foolishly describe as a "back yard". I was able to meet up with several of my friends for some one-on-one time, and I remembered to call my Mums to wish her a happy Mother's Day (phew! I'll have to get her a gift in Europe). Michael and I managed to get out with the Lucy dog for some quality time in the sun at Green Lake and Carkeek Park over the weekend, and we also successfully installed our guest bathroom sink and bought a new light fixture. And, perhaps best of all, I get the treat of snuggling with a squeaky clean dog tonight - Lucy has had her monthly bath!

That leaves what I haven't accomplished. The packing, of course (I better get cracking!). And I still haven't posted my final fabulous five tightwad travel tips! Believe me, I started that post long ago, and these are some good ones! I promise it will arrive... eventually. As for the so-called mowing of the "back yard"... well, some is better than none, right? That's a task and a half that will have to wait. And speaking of waiting, we still haven't come close to finishing the paint job on our bathroom cabinet doors. Let's just say that Michael has a lot of sanding ahead of him while I'm gone.

But all in all, I feel pretty good about things. I didn't read all the books I had planned, largely because I ended up aither biking or driving to work recently, and those hours on the bus are usually my prime reading time. I definitely need to complile a good list of restaurants to try in San Sebastian; that town is a foodie paradise! Still, I'm confident it will work out. At least, if I get off the internet NOW and actually get to the task at hand.

Sure, it's little work now and a late night, but the fun is just getting started.

Gone to Look for America

In fewer than six days, I'll be on a plane, headed across the Atlantic. While it won't be an especially long trip (last year I was gone for almost seven weeks in one go), I still can feel myself getting a little misty at the thought of leaving. Everything takes on more significance: this will be my last weekend, my last day in the office, my last chance for good Asian food, and, tonight, my last live music show in Seattle. I very seldom get homesick while traveling, but as my trip approaches I become introspective and more aware of my surroundings. The advantage, I suppose, is that I seem to work through any feelings of missing home before the plane touches down on foreign soil.

It was therefore fitting, I felt, to be listening to American roots music tonight. Greg Vandy kept me company with his weekly show, The Roadhouse, on KEXP as I drove to the Tractor Tavern. It was the perfect way to get in the mood for a night of folksy, Nashville-tinged with a West Coast-slant American music. Country, folk, jazz, and blues: this is the homegrown music of our nation, and sometimes nothing feels better than to sit back and listen with a beer in hand.

Somehow this kind of music has gathered something of a hip following of late, but you can still hear it when a musician puts their soul into it. The final group of the night, the Bittersweets, made me feel exactly like their name - a little wistful, a little melancholy, but definitely sweetly satisfied.

This is my America, and I'm going to miss you. I may forget for a while after I step on that plane, but I'll be back, and it will be good to be home.

Poppy

I have a new favorite restaurant.

Finally, having anticipated a visit since, quite literally, months before the place opened, I made it to Poppy. Now, those who have been to my house in the past year or so may notice that I seem to have a bit of a fascination with the brilliant red blooms, so perhaps it is only to be expected that Poppy, the restaurant, would be, as Anne of Green Gables would put it, a "kindred spirit".

Now, Poppy has gotten its fair share of mixed, or even downright hostile, reviews. Most of these reviews, I noticed, seemed to have been written during the first few months of its inception. Any new restaurant needs time to get its groove going, but in the case of Poppy, the expectations were pressure-cooker tense. Jerry Traunfeld, former executive chef of the Herbfarm, where dinner costs a cool $200 per person and is a four hour event, was finally going to open his own restaurant. And it is not the Herbfarm. Really, did you expect a $32 dinner ever could be?

Avid restaurant review reader that I am, I'd heard it all: the decor was cheap, service was bad, food was mediocre, concept didn't work. But everyone I knew who'd actually been to the place raved about it. When Michael and I finally made on Thursday (conveniently, and unexpectedly, timed to coincide with the Dine Out for Life AIDS fundraiser), Lewissa joined us, having been once before and loved it, and was so excited she could not stop dancing in her seat.

And now that I've been, I can't wait to go back. The concept is simple, but unique (at least for Seattle): order a thali, a platter of ten individual dishes inspired by the Indian tradition, for $32. The menu is set and changes at least weekly, following seasonal ingredients, which is where you really see the Herbfarm influence. For many couple, splitting one thali makes a perfectly filling meal when joined with an appetizer and dessert or two. Also on offer are "smallies": thalis with only seven dishes, ranging in price from $20 to $24. For many, one smallie would make a good meal, but it's hard to resist the full option.

And really, where can you get such variety with such quality ingredients for $32? It's like an entire tasting menu, but all served at once. Tasting menus, however, tend to cost upward of $50 per person, so to me this was a deal. Others may disagree, but that's the beauty of being able to make up your own mind, don't you think?

So on to the actual food: it was delicious, fun, inventive, and unlike anything I've had anywhere else. Michael was a little skeptical at first after reading the menu, but soon he could be heard saying, "I wish I had a big bowl of the rhubarb pickle so I could just eat and eat it." The eggplant fries appetizer was also a hit - so light and crisp, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with sea salt, that no one seems to be able to resist them, even those who profess an intense dislike of eggplant. Other highlights included an incredibly tender halibut in herb sauce, risotto with nettle and lovage that was as green as spinach from the spring herbs, a creamy, melt-in-your-mouth leek and green garlic fritter, and a salad of cress, pea shoots, and radishes. As Michael commented at the end of the meal, we felt so satisfied, yet still as though we'd eaten a pretty healthful meal.

Sadly, we were all too full for any desserts, which I hear are fabulous. And even more good news for those who would like to experience Poppy without spending what is, for most of us, still a significant outlay of cash: they have a happy hour! Two, to be precise. Tuesdays through Thursdays and Sundays, the early happy hour lasts from 5 to 7 in the bar, and includes $5 five item thalis, of both the savory and dessert kind, as well as drink specials. Then, in the evening, happy hour resumes at 9 in the bar, this time with $6 naan-wiches and more drink specials on offer. Seriously? How can you beat that? I'm sure you'll find me at the bar during one of these times before too long.

And, by the way, I love the decor. And our servers were great. No complaints here. Anyone want to join me for a thali?