spain // the calm before the storm
I thought this trip would be different. I thought maybe I learned some self control—after all I’m forty now. Not so much. My body hates me—it needs water and sleep. Seven days of eating and drinking all over Spain —it hurts, but I’m not sure I’d do anything different. Fingers fat and acid reflux creeping in, you start to think about the meals while plotting out this week's detox.
Lunches that stretched into dinner and dinners that went past midnight. It kind of blends together. Jamón and cheese with every meal—it’s always the first thing I tell myself I’m not going to eat this time; but then it seduces you like that late night text, “you up?”. Pleasure over logic. Txuleta for days—I’d probably give my doctor a heart attack. Pan con tomate seems redundant, but never seems to get old. You eat past fullness, you eat past reason. Your body starts to protest and mornings are fragile, but carried on by momentum: caffeine and the excitement of the day. No doesn’t seem to enter your vocabulary. A lust for life, it may kill ya; but until it does: pass the steak and pop another bottle.
It started in Barcelona—the calm before the storm. It began at Serras down by the port, which I had booked once I landed. I arrived early Saturday around 8am—equal parts delirious and thrilled. I didn’t sleep much the night before and I scrambled Friday before my flight. Early evening flights to Europe are tough because sleep never seems to happen & you arrive wanting to hit the ground running as I did.
Serras is a beautiful boutique hotel with impressive hospitality. It wasn’t quite lunch time, so I ripped an espresso and did some work. Around 11am I left the hotel and walked around —ending up at Puertecillo in Born. It was raining so it wasn’t pleasant, but it kept the crowds away. I stopped by a few bars including Dr Stravinsky. Something about watching the rain fall while sipping vermouth felt a bit magical. My room was ready so I practiced my Spanish on the bartender. It wasn’t as smooth as it was in my head, but she smiled and brought me the check.
I officially checked in, showered, and went up to the roof while I waited for Courtney. The rain was intense —felt like a deep purge. I had a white negroni and worked on some more emails—now NYC was finally waking up.
We stopped by Món Vinic for a bottle but settled for a glass. They had some great wines, but they were closing so all our attempts were denied. Though bummed we couldn’t get a bottle—there was something really cool about not being motivated by money. I forget the exact pricing but we wanted to order a bottle for €200 and left with a €12 check for two salty wines from Greece.
Was excited to be back at Gresca, though it didn’t have the magic of the first visit. We drank well, a bottle of Selosse, and ate well; but it just didn’t hit like the first time. We tried to hit Sips, but just like Paradiso there was a line so we passed. We had a nightcap at Boadas & called it a successful first day.
I slept in, I needed it. Sun was shining as a marathon passed the hotel. We grabbed an uber and headed up the coast to Villa Mas. It was early in the season so they were only seating inside, but we’re already plotting our return. Hannah ordered food, Courtney ordered wine, and I stared at the ocean thinking this was a great idea. Sea urchin, squid, alçots, croquettes, and some paella—everything so good. Cheese course was three different comté—a statement on age. Then a chocolate mille-feuille. We drank well as one does at Villa Mas—raveneau, roumier, rayas, and coche. We wanted rayas rouge but they have a rule; which they said comes directly from the winemaker. You need to call one day ahead to order the wine so they could open it a day in advance. The dude is dead but I guess there’s something cool about carrying on his requests. Another thing that seemed frustrating in the moment, but was kind of endearing in retrospect.
Back at the SoHo House—we drink the rest of 2013 Les Cras on the roof deck & snack on some fried foods. The night seemed relatively young so I popped around a little and finally made it back to Bar Brutal.
I met up with my buddy Blake on Monday. He grabbed some vermouth at Bar Bodega Quimet that feels like it’s been there forever. We had some octopus & potatoes while we caught up on life. We walked around Gracia—a neighborhood that actually feels local. People were hanging outside, basking in the sun like they had nowhere to be. It made you question your life decisions a little. Back at Blake’s house we sat in the garden and drank some beers. We cruised around for a little bit on the motorbike—taking a selfie for mom at La Sagrada & ending for a courtyard beer in El Raval.
Meet back up with Courtney at Franca for an early bird dinner. Ulysses Collin & some squid bikini! The owner was super nice and chatted us up for a bit. Not intentional, but still glutinous —we had a second dinner at Suru. A little Cerrico with some chicken skin yakitori, how could I say no?
With only one last night before the group got there—I was determined to hit a few more spots, but only made it to one before calling it. Dry Martini is the name, so you can probably guess what I drank. Was considering another stop but got stopped by some cops on the way home that were looking for someone with my description. The cops didn’t say what the suspect did , but I took that as a sign to go home.