Barna, with nocturnality and treachery
I was never interested in the Movida. Neither the move nor Alaska and the Pegamoids , nor "The Spring Concert" ( Anthony Vega yes, look where) nor Tequila , nor the dodgy line , nor Ouka Leele (Alix yes, of course) far from it the first Almodovar (yes the Lovers) .
But yes the 'Gauche Divine', the gang of intellectuals who set fire to the night (and days) of a frigid and gray Barcelona. The Terence Moix, Gil de Biedma, Regàs, Jorge Herralde either Esther Tusquets (I love her daughter), the fuse that lit a light -all the lights- in a hotel with no windows to the sea. The Barcelona of the dragons, the trencadís and summers on the Costa Brava (living and reading, It can ) . The Barcelona del Melitón de Cadaqués, the Turia café, Bocaccio and the art of living (don't miss the exceptional portrait of Manuel Vázquez Montalbán). But is there anything left of that noisy, hedonistic and free Barcelona?
No. At least that's what Enric González says: “Barcelona is the most famous false city in the world. A city for foreigners. comfortable, but It has completely lost its character. It looks like a theme park. 'Barcelona' ”. Barcelona as an amusement park, a papier-mâché postcard, the setting for a minor movie, illustrated posture and socks with flip-flops. And yet...
However, the exhausted Barcelona lives a wonderful gastronomic moment . A time where maturity reigns (the post-Adrià hangover?) of authentic cuisine, obsessed with the product and the (sometimes subtle) look towards classic Catalan gastronomy. The tavern and the food house as substitutes for the gastrobar and the experiments. It is appreciated. I second the bluntness of my admired Matoses: today, nowhere in Spain eats like in Barcelona. And you live, I add.
In Barraca there is a lot of wood
Here are some gastronomic clues from my last trips to the Barcelona . And those to come:
Xavier Pellicer's rice dishes in Barraca.
a pan of Xavier Pellicer in front of Barceloneta. Not a bad plan, huh? Barraca is the gastronomic project of Pellicer (soul of the kitchen of our beloved Can Fabes) together with Guido Weinberg , a madman obsessed (like me) with organic farming. In Barraca there is wood (a lot of wood), an anthological terrace and an unpretentious kitchen (can you think of a better pretension?): mussels with tomato and basil, clams, cockles and squid paella, fish market, “rossellones” and garlic and parsley oil.
Sergi Arola and El Arts.
They already know (and if not, they should) mine with El Arts. It's call love. Every year I demand a couple of days in this hotel that is all hotels. A cinematographic space (those elevators...) where life is more intense and every minute seems like the prelude to something better. A hotel that is service, discretion, space and adventure. A breakfast as I have not known: Clouet, crying croissants, orange juice, Iberian omelette and Comté (prepared to taste, et voilà) and the best views of Barcelona. And Arola, of course. Next week (promised) I'll talk about the new season of Sergi.
Barcelona: beach, night and the Arts
Marc's kitchen at Blau BCN.
Blau is a little surprise in the heart of Eixample, a project by Mark Rock whose ideology is to recover the flavors of traditional cuisine. A tasting menu with 6 plates committed to its surroundings and the market pantry: coca de anchovies with romesco sauce and aubergine, stone octopus with potato foam and sweet paprika, potera squid with artichokes or poularde stuffed with brie and truffle. don't miss the private , what those walls must have heard...
The silence of First First.
I cannot finish this ode to that city that I sometimes love and so many times hate with this discovery that brings me closer (if possible) to this town that every day is a little more my home. First first it represents exactly the luxury that interests me (that interests me): silence. Saturdays morning. The pleasure of hearing rain. A difficult woman. Xavier's cheeses. The covers of the Blue Note Records vinyls. The stolen kisses. The old books. Handmade things.
Primero Primera is a house converted into a hotel (of the Pérez-Sala family, in fact the matriarch lives precisely on the first floor) in the neighborhood of the three towers . A hotel that is a hotel but also a home, a private residence, an English club, a swimming pool that is a Scott Fitzgerald page, and rooms where Ipé wood and granite hide secrets, lives (to come) and confessions.
I want to live here.
*** You may also be interested in...**
- Reasons why I (still) love Barcelona
- All the articles of Jesús Terrés
First First, like at home