Bye, Bye Bittman

Yesterday I went on a “gastronomic tour” of Barcelona with the Barcelona Women’s Network ladies.  I was on the fence about whether to ditch my work to go, but it was only 2 hours and only 10 euros.  I figured if I picked up one or two tips it would be worth it.  The ladies all met up at Café Zurich, which is right where you pop up when you take the L7 to Plaza Catalunya.  I got there a little early, planning to have a coffee in the sun and read a Milano colleague’s book prospectus.  But pretty soon one of the other ladies showed up and I decided to ask her to join me.   This woman, a Brit who I’ll call Marian, chatted with me about what brought each of us to Barcelona.  I told her about my sabbatical.  Marian, who is probably in her late 60s, told me she was one of the “lucky ones” whose husband did not want her to work.  “Hmmm,” I thought, tempted to respond about how lucky I felt to have found work that I love and that allows me to poke around in cool places like Barcelona.  But I didn’t.  “What’s the point in making her feel uncomfortable,” I decided, although I am often tempted to say something provocative to get people to question their unexamined assumptions.  Please.

Once the group had assembled, we walked down the Porta de L’Angel, stopping at Planelles Donat to talk about turron.  I have been to the shop many times, but at least I had a chance to ask my question about why horchata is not sold in the winter.  The answer?  “Because we sell turron in the winter.”  Never mind that tiger nuts, as far as I know, are not seasonal, and that turron lasts for a year with no preservatives.   This is the way it’s done, and no one questions it.

Our next stop was the Casa de Bacalao, which is interesting because just the other night Alec said to me:  “You know, we probably shouldn’t leave this city without experimenting with some bacalao.”  Bacalao, literally translated, means, simply “cod.”  But when people talk about bacalao, they are usually referring to salt cod.  The story about its origins is that someone at some point long ago ordered something like 100 kilos of cod and received 1000 instead.  In desperate need of finding a way to preserve it, the cod was salted.  You buy it rock hard and crusted with salt, then soak it repeatedly (changing the water) for about 3 days.  The Casa de Bacalao, on Carrer Comtal, has existed for ages and ages, and when you walk in the door you are hit over the head with an overpowering fishy, salty smell.  I have to think some more about whether I’m ready to take the bacalao plunge.  Right now I’m in a potato phase.

We crossed Via Laeitana into the Born and eventually got to my favorite stop, Casa Gispert, a nut roaster that has been roasting nuts on the same site, with the same wood-fired oven, since 1851.  The vaulted ceiling is stained black with smoke, and the smell of warm, roasted nuts is heavenly.  Everyone left with a bag or two.  Gispert also sells teas, honeys, jams, spices and other things you find yourself needing and can’t seem to locate anywhere else.  I got a jar of homemade bouquet garnis; I have not been able to find cheese cloth here, so they will be perfect for soups and sauces.

After the tour ended, the ladies went to lunch but I had had my fill of them, and also had to get to my office for a call with the aforementioned new colleague.  I still needed to read her book prospectus, and I also needed something to eat, so I stopped on the Rambla at Café Viena for the flauta d’ibéric d.o. jabugo.  I first learned about this delectable sandwich from Mark Bittman’s 2006 piece in the New York Times in which he sings its praises.  It is simple and perfect (the sandwich)—everything Bittman promises.  When I got to my office and opened my email, I found a note from my good friend and fellow foodie Norm Glickman with the subject line: “Mark Bittman ends NYT 'Minimalist' column after 13 years; heads to opinion section, magazine.”  Norm gave me a copy of Bittman’s How to Cook Everything when it came out several years ago and it is one of my go-to cookbooks, a contemporary Joy of Cooking.  It’s here with us in Barcelona.  Even though Bittman kind of annoyed me on that Spain road show he did with Gwyneth Paltrow and Mario Batali, he is rock solid and I read his column every week.  I will miss him, and I wish him well.