It was much cooler today, and the natives were all suddenly wearing coats and incredibly stylish winter clothing. Just like that. But still bright blue and sunny, much like Tucson.
We had a nice day of walking around, tracking down a few obscure shops on Doriot’s lists, wandering ancient streets, and of course, eating more beautiful food. This time, it was a French restaurant Doriot had read about with a great prix fixe lunch; we had wine, and salad, and avocado and tuna, and quiche and mindbendingly delicious roasted pork with potatoes and forest mushrooms and crème brûlée and chocolate cake, all for an absurdly low price. It’s getting to the point where we are going from one beautiful meal to the next; this is only partly mitigated by walking all over Barcelona.
I suspect I will go into a more monk-mode when Doriot goes home in a few days. For now, I am behaving like a woman on vacation. Well, maybe I will go to the French restaurant for lunch every day, and then be a monk at other hours, subsisting on local cava, small roasted peppers, and rarefied air.
One of the places that Doriot wanted to see was an antique clothing shop; it was exquisite, and I could certainly see, if Bryan Ferry were with me (and paying) selecting a $400 Euro gossamer pink night-dress from the 30s, with exquisite detailing, or a heavy red velvet opera cloak. But excess really isn’t my thing, and the astonishing prices sent me where I belonged, out into the street, photographing dirty walls with philosopher’s Venn diagrams stuck to them.
After lunch, Doriot said, “Hey, the Barcelona Arc d’Triumphe is just a block away, and some other buildings in the city park you might like.”
She said, “The steps are just the right proportion for sweeping up in a ball gown.”
The park was full of children shrieking; running like herds of little beasts, making dust clouds and walls of sound. Bill would have been in heaven. They are like a little sea of energy, swirling around the feet of the mammoth.
I am, after having mentally said the words “little green peppers”, once again obsessed with finding the perfect plate of them close to home. Andre’s friend Tomas turned me on to them, and I’ve been a woman obsessed.
They are Galician Padron peppers, pan-fried, with sea salt and olive oil… indescribable.
The season for them is almost over… I hope they last just a little longer.