Episode 48: My Kind of Town

Whether you prefer New York to Los Angeles or Paris to London or, to the point here, Barcelona to Madrid, may well depend upon which city you experienced first. Geezer first saw Barcelona in 1955 as a green-as-grass G.I. with high-water pants and a whitewall haircut. He didn't get around to Madrid until six years later. Fiercely exotic Barcelona had him wide-eyed and wowed, after which Madrid could stimulate little more than regard. Those early impressions have balanced out a little more evenly since, but given an either-or choice I'd opt for Barcelona every time.

Back in the Fifties, after two decades under the iron fist of of the dictator Franco, Spain more closely resembled an underdeveloped country of the southern hemisphere than of Europe. There were mule-hauled carts in downtown Barcelona and much street lighting was provided by gas. Young couples were expected to be accompanied by chaperones and they could be arrested for daring to kiss in public.

By the early Seventies, largely due to a concern for sustaining Spain's high levels of tourism, the authoritarian Francoist shroud was being lifted slightly to allow in a few freshets of contemporary thought. Almost unimaginably, demonstrations and protests were permitted to proceed, albeit under tight control.

One afternoon, I was sitting at a window table at a restaurant on the second floor of a building overlooking the top of La Rambla and the broad Placa de Catalunya. The former is a wide, tree-lined pedestrian concourse with a constant 24-hour flow of tourists, sailors on shore leave, three-generation families, street performers, pickpockets, caricature artists, and those who seek profit from the others. The plaza has spillover from La Rambla as well as thousands of pigeons drawn by visitors who actually think it is a good idea to feed the rats with wings.

As I was working my way through lunch, I heard a welling rumble of shouting people approaching the plaza from the Paseo de Gracia. The sound became thunderous and angry as a parade of demonstrators burst into view. They carried banners and waved forbidden Catalan flags and some rocked cars in their path as if to overturn them while others set fires in waste baskets and threw rocks at streetlights. They swept across the plaza and down La Rambla beneath me.
I don't remember why I returned to the same table in the same restaurant that same night. But there I was at 9:30. A sound of people marching and bellowing slogans came up across the plaza. Banners were waved. Marchers broke into a run across the plaza. Some of them set small fires, a few rocked cars in their path. They swept down La Rambla.

I asked the waiter what was going on.

"This afternoon, politics," he said with a sigh and a Mediterranean shrug. "Tonight, football."

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To Market
As soon as possible after I arrive in Barcelona I get down La Rambla to the Mercat de Sant Josep, a.k.a. La Boqueria. Housed under a soaring neo-Gothic metal and glass roof dating from the 1870s, the sprawling market features stall after stall of artfully displayed produce, meats, cheese, and seafood. Demanding home cooks and professional chefs roam the aisles, picking through pyramids of shiny melons and glowing peaches and bundles of albino asparagus and French beans, poking at glistening heaps of scallops and slab-sided skate and plump sea bass, squeezing loops of butifarra sausages and garlands of garlic. Crabs and large clawed shrimp are so fresh they still creep across their beds of cracked ice. Tucked into it all are a dozen bars and cafes. It is both a joyous tumult and a photogenic education in the Spanish culinary repertoire.

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This Time
We had breakfast each morning at Cafe Zurich, a once-legendary spot across from the top of La Rambla. The original had been torn down years ago for a new office building, and then re-constructed at the same location after major protests. The newstand at the corner had both the International Herald Tribune and USA Today, so with cafe con leche, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and toast, we were set for long intervals of people-watching and conversation about the day's news.

On this visit, my particular interest was seeing how the rehabilitation of once-ragged neighborhoods was proceeding. The most recent area to receive attention was Raval, the part of the old town west of La Rambla. It was long an intimidating place to travel on foot, especially at night, afflicted with drug dealers, pimps, and other street criminals. Urban renewal has involved considerable demolition and new construction, to the dismay of some. But a former hospital dating from the 11th Century was converted to a library and art school, a 19th Century monastery became an ambitious cultural center and the brand-new Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona (left) worked the mysterious magic that art museums do - witness the Guggenheim in Bilbao - motivating entrepreneurs to gather 'round with galleries, shops, cafes, and clubs. Add thousands of young people attending new university centers and an influx of North African immigrants and Raval is well on the way to full renewal. Now there is buzz about yet another shabby district showing signs of life - Poble Sec, west of Raval.

It worked in La Ribera. That was another medieval quarter, one that became the home of the city's thriving textile industry in the 19th Century. Its narrow streets were lined with small factories, workshops, markets, blacksmiths, tanneries, and, somewhat surprisingly, the courtyard mansions of many of Barcelona's privileged families. One of these became the Museu Picasso (below left) in the Sixties, and slowly annexed adjacent mini-palaces as the collections grew.

The now-predictable transformation of Carrer Montcada and nearby streets and plazas has made La Ribera and adjacent El Born a vital stop for both tourists and Barceloneans.

We've seen the Picasso. So we had continued down Montcada. With all its galleries, boutiques, bars, the textile museum, and the Barbier-Mueller collection of Pre-Colombian art, you could easily spend a full day along just this one block.

We crossed the Passeig del Born, down another alley, and into the compact Placa Olles, there to join the queue outside Cal Pep. Not long ago, the restaurant was largely unknown to the traveling public, but is now exalted in every guidebook and foodie website. It opens at 1:15 Monday through Friday - 8:00 in the evening - and the line starts forming well before those times. Be among the first 14 and you'll likely be seated. Otherwise, expect to wait at least an hour.

The reasons for this enthusiasm aren't for Cal Pap's high style or trendiness. The food is very traditional Spanish/Catalan in concept, but prepared to near-perfection with the freshest ingredients, cooked to order either at the grill behind the counter or delivered from the kitchen. The preferred seating is at the counter in the front room. It has just 14 stools, best for viewing the activities of servers and cooks. Patrons who don't speak Spanish or don't know what to order usually accept the counterman's rote suggestion of a "sampler".

Agree to that and thereafter proceeds a parade of plates. Our lunch that day included: a heap of lightly breaded and delicately fried shrimp and squid parts, tiny clams in garlicky oil, chickpeas with baby squid no bigger than a thumbnail, pimientos de Padron (jalapeno-sized peppers grilled in salt), and roasted merluza (a fierce-looking fish with sole-like flesh). It was too much, and very good, but it's hard to resist the crema catalana, a sweet custard with a caramelized crust.

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They're Alive!
Maybe the phenomenon originated elsewhere, but I first encountered living statues in Barcelona. At first, street performers simply painted themselves silver or white, stood on podiums, struck poses, and pretended to be the Tin Man, Frosty the Snowman, or whoever, and tried not to move for as long as possible. Once the living statues discovered that this was relatively easy money, evolution took over. Not only are there imitators from Key West to San Francisco to Paris, the costumes and props have grown ever more elaborate.
Have you checked out the several green manifestations of Lady Liberty at the ferry dock in lower Manhattan?

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Hidden City
Barcelona's Barri Gotic - Gothic Quarter - had an earlier life as a Roman settlement, established
two centuries before Christ. There are still remnants of that period, most of them hidden. Start with the Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat. It is a Gothic mansion of the 15th Century. It was moved here to get out of the way of road construction in the 1930s, but when they were digging a new foundation, they discovered the remains of the ancient Roman town, Barcino. It sprawls under the museum and beneath the adjacent plaza.
After that, stroll over to the back of the Cathedral and seek out the shadowy lane called Carrer Paradis. At number 10, on the left, enter the usually open portal and walk a few yards inside. On the right, completely enclosed by another Gothic building, are the bases of four Roman columns, thought to be part of a temple to Augustus. They are a ghostly presence.
Rounding the back of the Cathedral, enter the cloister, with palm trees, flowers, and a flock of resident geese. The birds are meant to symbolize the city's Roman era, presumably after Christianity was adopted.
Exiting through the side door and walking toward the front of the Cathedral, note the small alley on the left. It's another gloomy byway, opening into the modest enclosed Placa de Sant Felip Neri, with plane trees and a sexagonal fountain. There's no particular Roman connection here, but evidence of a more recent tragedy. Note the many pockmarks in the wall of the plaza (right). The door to the right was, and is, the entrance to an elementary school. During bombardment of the city in the 1936-1939 Civil War, a shell fell in the square. The school was in recess. Twenty children were killed.

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Eating, Sleeping, Seeing
Cal Pep (described above) is at 8 Placa de loes Olles, between the Picasso Museum and the waterfront. Most dishes are between 4 and 13 euros.

One of my favorite tapas bars is Irati, 17 Career Cardenal Casanyes, between La Rambla and the Placa del Pi. It specializes in the Basque version of the famous bar snack, called pintxos - meaning a wide variety of tidbits heaped atop pieces of bread and pinned in place by toothpicks. Platters of fresh pintxos are brought out at regular intervals, and the countermen pour glasses of sidra - sparkling cider - from ladles held high above their heads into glasses clutched below their waists.When you are finished, they count up the toothpicks (no fair throwing them away - this is the honor system). Around 20 euros cover enough food and cider for two, a serious bargain for pricey Barcelona.

A more conventional full-service restaurant is Senyor Parellada, in El Born at 37 Career Argenteria. On the ground floor of a hotel, it is contained in two large rooms with tall framed mirrors and many tables. At lunch, it attracts businesspeople and lunching ladies, with a younger crowd filling it up after 9pm. We started with potato and leek soup and ziti with spinach and a cream sauce, followed with a long-braised veal shoulder and duck confit with figs. All was quite satisfying and only 61 euros with espresso, bottled water, tax, service, and a full bottle of wine from Penedes.

Finding decent hotels for under 150 euros a night for two isn't as difficult as it used to be. We had a thoroughly acceptable room for only 109 euros a night at Duques de Bergara, 11 Career Bergara, T: 93-301-5151, www.hoteles-catalonia.es. It has a few English-language channels on the TV, a dining room, lounge, and a swimming pool in the terrace in back. The front desk staff is multi-lingual and usually helpful, but I'd eat and drink elsewhere. The top of La Rambla is less than two blocks away. We paid 109 euros per night for a double. Our last night in Barcelona we switched to the Alexandra, 11 Career Mallorca, T: 93-467-7166, www.hotel-alexandra.com.
Thoroughly contemporary in style, it is located in the tony Eixample district, north of the Placa de Catalunya. Wi-Fi is free, the bartender shakes a perfect martini, and the expansive breakfast buffet is free if you book via the website, a substantial saving. We paid 110 euros for a double.

The Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat (described above) is in the Gothic Quarter, on the Placa del Rei. The grand corner staircase on that impressive square is said to be where Queen Isabel greeted Columbus after his return from his second voyage to the New World.
Churches are often venues for music recitals. We saw a classical guitar duo perform the Carmen Suite by Bizet and the Suite Espanola by Albeniz in the Basilica Santa Maria del Pi. The church is a fine example of Catalan Gothic, completed in 1453. It enhances the lively and atmospheric Placa del Pi.
There's a new wrinkle in self-guided Barcelona sightseeing, the GoCar. The vehicle in question
is an open-top little bug with a roll bar guided by GPS. Several different routes are offered. I haven't tried it, but no doubt more adventuresome people will. Given the alarming Barcelona traffic, I'd rather have root canal.

Notes: At the time of visit, one euro cost $1.55. My apologies to Catalan and Spanish speakers - I haven't figured out how to insert the proper punctuation marks with this software.

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Clams Lola
Serves 4
The Catalan kitchen employs many ingredients and techniques distinct from other regional Spanish cuisines - meat or fish combined with fruit, regular use of piquant spices, sauces utilizing nuts. There's a hilltop village in Catalunya called Horta de Sant Joan, a place so small and remote it doesn't appear on most maps. This recipe was given to me by Lola, the wife of the owner of the Bar Manolo in Horta. I passed it on to Penelope Casas, who included it in her book, Delicioso!

3 thick slices of bread from a narrow French or Italian loaf
20 blanched almonds
8 garlic cloves, peeled
4 tablespoons parsley, minced
Salt
2 tablespoons plus one-half teaspoon olive oil
2 cloves garlic, lightly smashed and peeled
1 cup homemade fish broth or bottled clam juice
Fresh ground pepper
One-half teaspoon sweet or smoked Spanish paprika
3 dozen cockles or two dozen littlenecks (the smaller the better), scrubbed and washed

Place the bread and almonds on a cookie sheet in a 350-degree oven. Toast the almonds until golden, about five minutes, and remove to cool. Leave the bread in the oven until golden, about another five minutes. Remove to cool.

In a mortar or small processor, mash the eight cloves of peeled garlic together with the parsley, almonds, bread, pinch of salt, and the one-half teaspoon oil. Set aside.

In a large skillet, heat the remaining two tablespoons of oil with the two smashed garlic cloves, pressing the garlic with a spoon to squeeze out the flavor. When the garlic has browned, discard it. Add to the skillet the fish broth (or clam juice), ground pepper, and paprika. Stir in the mortar (or processor) mixture, add the clams, and bring to a boil.

Cover and simmer until the clams start to open. Remove them to a bowl as they open. When all have opened, return them to the skillet, turn off the heat, cover, and let sit for five minutes before serving.

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