Every time we walk outside, just outside of our own apartment, we see a different square, different streets, different shops, restaurants, people, art. Almost all of the commercial places here have a garage-door that can be pulled down to cover the front door and sometimes windows too, so that when the place is closed, you see the (ever-changing) street art on the doors. You simply can’t take readings on “did I see this before?”
This excellent place has been open sometimes. But not all times. Tonight, though, we set out in the rain to find tapas (hopefully padron peppers of course) and this was our first stop.
The peppers turned out to be stuffed with cod brandade (I think of Julia Child, and poor Paul lugging the giant mortar and pestle for making the silky preparation through the huge Les Halles market…) and so we passed on them, and had instead the most astonishing pan con tomate of the trip so far. It was unreasonably light, crispy, exquisite. Food for angels. This combined with a perfect eggplant and plate of thinly shaved jamón ibérico (you may recall Doriot’s horrifying, fascinating photograph of a few days ago?) was the kind of simple meal a person could remember forever.
We didn’t stop with that, though, but instead struck out into the rain again, somehow finding ourselves many many blocks away, so many we could hardly believe it when it was time to walk home in yet more rain after a lovely huge plate of, yes, peppers.
I’m fascinated with the changing faces of the streets of this city; a person could never be bored, but always wondering what intersections of place and space and light and music will present in what combination the next time we walk outside.
My love for this city is more heedless by the day.