Happy thoughts

There seems to have been a lot of negative posting around here recently. Too much rain this, feral cats that. So now for a positive post: my favourite things about Barcelona so far.

1. The Parrots [See previous post for parrot related disclaimer] Ok ok, I mention them too often. I’ll stop, this is the last time, I promise. NO MORE PARROTS. But their chirping and their greenness do brighten up my day.

2. The palm trees. So exotic! They don’t even look forced and unhappy, like the palm trees you find along the ‘English Riviera‘ and down in Cornwall, eaking out a meagre existence in the drizzle. They are obviously at home here.

3. The food. Sobrasada and tins of squid-in-its-own-ink might not be ‘Barcelonian’ food, but nonetheless I enjoy consuming them (don’t worry, family. If you are reading this then I promise to bring home some tinned squid for the Christmas holidays. You’ll love it, I’m sure). Oh, and butifarra, and the fact that when you order a clara (shandy) they know you want it with lemonade, not soda water. I have been introduced to so much strange fruit since I arrived, which has been a delicious,  repulsive but always entertaining experience. Have a look at these, for example. I mean, what. are. they?

This is without mentioning the apple on the outside/pear on the inside fruit I tried, or the one that looked like a tomato, but wasn’t. But anyway, all of this food adds up. They are all small things, dear readers, but they make a difference.

4. The strangeness of Catalan. It’s a weird language. Words shouldn’t end in a ‘c’, and it’s impossible to pronounce the ‘ll’ as a foreigner. But hey, it’s like the palm trees and the par…. birds that live in them. It’s exotic and it fits, and I enjoy the challenge of speaking it. Even if I still think it sounds like gobbledygook when spoken quickly, that’s still part of it’s charm.

5. The nightlife. My only complaint is that I haven’t seen enough of it. But just an example, last time I was out I came accross a  US air marshall, a cuban guitar player called Mel, a lifesize replica of Barack Obama and two miniature italians wearing identical bow ties. What’s not to like about a city which provides such nocturnal delights?

So there you have it, my favourite things about Barcelona. Let’s see how long the happy posting lasts!

Of fish, and chips

I didn’t seek it out deliberately, I promise!

After enjoying an exploratory wander through the Raval, I stumbled upon something most unexpected. In the district of Barcelona best known for its high immigrant population, halal meat shops and (let’s be honest here) prostitution, a genuinely British Fish & Chip shop was the last thing I expected to see.

Naturally, as a self-sacrificing blogger, I had to venture in and check out the food so that you, my loyal readers, might know whether it was a haven of British cuisine, or simply second-rate grub for grease-starved tourists.Rest assured that my research was undertaken with the utmost care and scientific standards. Assistants were drafted in to provide second and third opinions, and the endeavour was undertaken with the seriousness that befitted it.

Featuring the option of a full english breakfast in addition to the generous traditional fish & chip shop menu and a sign announcing, “real english chocolate”, if anything the café offered more than one might normally find in your average local chippy.

Aside from the menu appearing in Catalan and Spanish there was little to suggest we were in Barcelona at all. The drizzle and grey skies outside only added to the authenticity of our experience. A certificate even proudly proclaimed all the produce to have been sourced in the British Isles.

And what about the actual food?

Here we have an example of my personal favourite, chicken and mushroom pie and chips, accompanied by a dr. pepper.

I’m pleased to report the chips were suitably greasy, there was a noticeable quantity of chicken in the pie in question, and the dr. pepper was served well chilled. Vinegar was offered, but declined. Salt and ketchup were accepted.

On your right is an example of the classic fish and chips. A small portion size was chosen, gravy was the condiment of preference, to be accompanied with the somewhat unusual choice of a Nestea. The batter was found to be crisp, the fish succulent, and the chips once more pleasantly greasy.

I’m getting hungry again just thinking about it. A return visit is definitely in order, but I’m going to have to make an effort to tone down my guiri ways in future. A recent comment that I was turning a bit, to quote, “Costa Brava tourist” has made me think carefully about future blog posts.

So look forward to a higher Spanish content in future posts, dear readers.

Even if I write them while drinking Yorkshire tea 😉

http://www.fishandchipsbarcelona.com/en_who-we-are.htm

Comida

Comida.

We’ve arrived at a topic which lies close to my heart (and of course, my stomach). It was always going to be tough moving away from the culinary delights of my university home. I kid you not, students we may have been, but we took food seriously. We had pancakes in the morning at the weekends, a different chef rustling up a meal every Sunday. Sometimes in-house cooks, sometimes guest turns from visitors.

So obviously, I knew that food would be an important factor for my wellbeing in Barcelona. Of course, I already knew I was a fan of jamón serrano, squid in its own ink, chorizo, lentejas and tortilla de patatas.

                                    

The capital of Catalonia is also famous for its grub, and I had heard of many local delicacies before arriving. I was all set to settle happily into a Mediterranean diet.

But it was not to be.

Readers, without Marmite there is a part of me that just doesn’t function properly. I need it to keep going like oil on a bike wheel; without it I squeak slowly to a halt and begin to rust. For a while I held out, sustained by chorizo toasties and a desire not to be an expat Brit pining for home.

The weeks ticked by until, ambling around the city one day, my yeast-extract deprived body subconsciously found its way to this shop.

Almost like a mirage in the desert, I rushed in. It seemed too good to be true, as my eyes fell upon a shelf full of the sticky brown nectar.

Marmite it was. But at €11 for 500g, I could see such an extravagant purchase turning into a habit that would spiral rapidly out of control as I gorged my way through jar after jar, saving together pennies to get my next fix.

Life without my favourite spread continued. Try as I might, I could never quite push it out of my mind. Breakfast times were particularly trying moments for me, and I would often brush away a tear as I took out the jam from the fridge.

So you will understand my utter joy when this weekend brought not only much loved visitors from my native land, but visitors bearing Marmite! I’m trying not to overdo it, but I’m sure I can find a way to give Mediterranean dishes a salty, moreish twist; the best of both worlds.

❤