Wilfrid

Agreed. Had he been a really strong songwriter his career would have been fascinating.

The last standing Monkee sings REM. Not sure about some of these arrangements but I had to hear the voice that sang “Pleasant Valley Sunday” take a shot at “Shiny Happy People.” Anyway, here we come…

I know but it’s so central to the Harlem Renaissance isn’t it?

The rabbit legs were sucked up. The second vast corn soofle went with my guests; I was left with the rest of the pernil. I cut it off the bone and portioned it for the freezer. Three pounds. A lot of tacos and burritos in my future. I did end up with a lot of cheese too and the big hit was La Retorta, a fantastic soft goat cheese in a seriously mineral rind (from Formaggio of course. Get it.).

In fact the ships tried to put in repeatedly at ports down the east coast, but were deterred until they reached (French-speaking) Louisiana. Maybe a chef swam up the Harlem river.

So I stroll past the Harlem Renaissance hotel on 125th, or rather past the old Victoria theater that serves as its lobby (same block as the Apollo) and I pause to read a sign about the Victoria restaurant inside. It’s some weird blurb about celebrating the history of Harlem through Cajun cuisine. Similar sentiment to be found on the website (see below). I showed this to my daughter who shrewdly suggested it should be soul food. Mm. But it’s worse than that, isn’t it? I have a dollar says whoever made up this nonsense thinks that Cajuns are Black. Anyway, what the cooking of displaced, white French-Canadians has to do with the history of Harlem is a mystery to me.

This is another important place, and because it’s not new it may have been on the old thread. Boadas. I knew the name but had never been there, but after engaging in some conversations about classic cocktails (more to come about the weird stuff), it seemed like a place to try. And it’s right there under your nose. A narrow street on the west side of the Ramblas, just before Plaza de Catalunya, takes a sharp turn immediately and Boadas is right after that turn (invisible from Las R.s). A step down into a small, wood-lined room. A greeter and several staff behind the bar, all dressed in formal black suits and bow-ties. No tables, bar stools and stools along counters around the wall. I wonder if the floor gets packed late at night? Early evening, the counter seats tended to be hogged by parties of older (than me) tourists led there by a guide. I got a seat at the bar each time I went. Yes, they have a list of curiously named fruity tall drinks and a special Negroni and mostly that’s what people buy. But they are overtly interested in mixing classics. The mixing is done by a tall guy, very much in charge, very much skilled (except when he’s on his break). His chorus do bar back work and hand him bottles. The part I liked was when I asked him, “Tu sabes el Hanky Panky?” His response: “My god, yes.” And it was great, like the other classics I ordered there.

Me too and they last long enough.

He does respond.

He was willing to serve G&Ts. He was asked for a gin and club soda. He said he had none. One or two of us observed that he had agua con gaz, which is essentially the same thing. Turns out he thought club soda was a sweet drink.

I didn't want to drop this in the Barcelona thread because the holiday was magical. Getting home, not so much. Monday: 10.45 direct flight on American, repeatedly delayed, then canceled around 2pm. Chaos ensued as the ground stuff tried to assign us hotels and get us on buses. Took at least a couple of hours with some passengers completely losing it. All the ground staff's ideas were right, but execution not so much. For example, have separate lines for priority and non-priority customers to get hotel assignments? Fine. But identify the lines, because if someone waits in the wrong line for 45 minutes, and is then told to go to the other line, they will shout at you. (I was in the right line by sheer dumb luck). Hotel about 20 minutes from the airport was actually very nice. Simple buffet for us. The bar was hilarious. I asked for a Tanqueray martini. Bartender, young man with mischievous smile, refused. I pointed to the Tanqueray and said (in Spanish, of course), "You have vermouth? What's the problem?" Oh, I know how to make cocktails, he said: it is my policy not to. It is not, he said, normal for Spain. I listed for him some of the cocktail bars just downt the road in Barcelona. Not budging. Okay, battle of the wills. I ordered a large Tanqueray on ice. He was okay with that. Then I ordered a dry vermouth. Knowing himself beaten, he begrudgingly added some vermouth to my gin. Then the next customers, also from my flight, showed up and ordered cocktails. "A lot of Americans in tonight," I told him. Tuesday: We were all rebooked on a direct flight for 9am. By the time we went to bed (we are all talking to each other by now) it had been delayed until 12. One became skeptical, and indeed when I arrived at the airport the next morning, it had been canceled. The best American could do was put me on a British Airways flight to London with a two hour stopover to get a direct American flight from there. What with getting off at Heathrow, changing terminals and finding a connections desk to get a boarding pass (BA couldn't give me an AA boarding pass), I actually had to hurry my drinks and nuts before boarding time. The 1.35 (UK time) direct flight was impeccable. I got home about 6.30 (NYC time), which is of course after midnight in Barcelona. It's the most difficult journey I've had since the 36 hour Nashville to New York trip several years ago. In each case, the cause was not weather or external circumstances but irreparably faulty aircraft.

I didn't think of dessert. And I am out of cheese. Thanks to my travels, planning is a bit chaotic, but it looks like I am braising rabbit in red wine, others are bringing pernil and corn soofle. I have been told to make roast potatoes and asparagus.

I knew he was 99 but saw today his birthday is October 1. Long haul for the century, then, but who knows?

I see 4Gats is now serving a more ambitious menu in the back room. Not sure I trust it though.

A new one for the list. La Sosenga, a short walk from El 4 Gats, is new Catalan. I walked past by chance and the menu looked interesting. I saw some good comments online. Why not? You need to reserve. The website showed a few late night slots so I tried showing up at opening time (8pm) as a walk-in. After some thought, the two women running FOH decided they could risk giving me a bar seat — although they would need it back in two hours. Deal. All organic/natural/local wines (I believe). Delicious cava (un mas); if the link to the wine list worked I might be able to tell you what the very good red was. They specialize in seasonal croquetas so I started with one, packed with porky stuff and vegetables. Delicious. I didn’t know what to make of the English version of the next dish: cured pork lard. The Spanish, chicharron, suggested something crunchy. Neither. Thin slices of moderately fatty roast pork dabbed with nectarine marmalade and sprinkled with tiny pieces of green pepper. Finally, stewed beef 14th C style. Okay, that reminded me of the old Atheneu Gastronomica which used to recreate historical recipes. This turned out to be a serving of very tender beef cheek in a slightly sweet, spiced sauce. The orange slices, I felt, should have been a modest garnish rather than a full serving. I don’t have the full cost at hand, but pork 8.5 euros, beef 18, not expensive. Very pretty, well lit dining room. Worth a try.

More posts to come, especially about the excellent La Sosenga. But last night here and decompressing by listening to Black Star and Lou Reed. Home to Harlem as the blessed saying goes.

It does. The slab of foie gras might not be the best you could eat but it’s a big slab. Duck confit is fine.

Jimmy is tough.

I still haven’t posted about Estimar. A small, pretty dining room hidden near Santa Maria Del Mar (I think there was a room to the side as well). Reservations essential. The team work an open kitchen behind mounds of fresh seafood. My main server was the image of a 19 year old Nate from Ted Lasso. Small bites of boquerone and gigantic olives were complimentary. From a long menu, a fresh sea urchin, then percebes. Inexplicably, I took a photo of the steamer in which they were served, but not of the percebes themselves. There were six, honestly not as big or tasty as those at the restaurant with no name. But they did squirt everywhere (now, then). The esperdenyas were just that, spread out on the plate, neatly seared and drizzled with very good oil. My favorite esperdenya *dish* was at Hisop where it was a garnish for some porky concoction. Finally, I thought I ordered a small plate of scorpionfish, but they heard a whole fish and it was out and fileted and served while I was scratching my head. I couldn’t do justice to it, although it was fine. It made a $150 check into something like a $220 check, but I have been eating ridiculously cheaply all week.

Pretty solid is fair. I must have posted about it a few times. I had my last birthday dinner (I can’t remember why).

I enjoyed it and especially the performances of Randolph and Giamatti; but I admit I struggled with the bridge between hilarious comedy and utter tragedy.

No embarrassment whatsoever for Marco or Paul.

Some old timers still hanging in there.

Bar Irati is still selling pintxos but the number of such places is drastically reduced. Instead a huge proliferation of empanada vendors (there is a growing Argentinian community, I’m told).

Last night, Bar Celta. Is it the only remaining old school tapas bar in the central part of the city? Heaping dishes of calamari, shrimp, chistorras, ensalada russ along the counter, Albariño served in little china bowls. No microwave, dishes are passed back into a cubicle of a kitchen for heating. Pig’s ears, bunuelos and great morcilla for me.