"I Would Make a HORRIBLE Wife!" Barcelona, Spain

I love the fact that Paolo doesn't have internet in his empty house. I love this fact because a) I'm not so distracted with silly searches and pointless planning and b) it forces me to walk 100 meters down the street to Alsur Cafe.

And I adore this cafe. I haven't felt so at home in a cafe since Main Street Bagels last year. I can't understand more than a few words of the background chatter, but I understand enough to pick out Italian, Spanish, French and German.

Barcelona's streets and cafes are bustling, hustling with people from all over the world.

There's just so much color. So much diversity... but somehow this place melds everything together in a tasteful, tactful way. It's not like Bucharest... where people/architecture came from everywhere and nobody really seemed to know what was going on/who they were.

I returned to Paolo's at seven pm yesterday evening and we promptly set out in search of Crema Catalan -- to celebrate my 15 months of travel (and because cream + eggs + sugar = delicious). As Crema Catalan is one of the most famous desserts in Barcelona (according to wikipedia and wikitravel and ALL the food blogs I've read), I assumed that hunting down this creamy pudding would be easy as apple pie. 

It was not easy as apple pie. It was more along the lines of Amish Friendship Bread (a dessert that takes ten days to make).

Paolo went into shop after shop and asked politely (in his lisping Castillian Spanish) whether or not the establishment might have any Catalan Cream.

"No," each baker/pizza maker/gelato barista frowned and shook his/her head.

"I had no idea it would be so difficult to find! I thought that eating Crema Catalan in Barcelona would be like eating pizza in Naples -- you'd have to work to find a place that doesn't serve it."

After nearly an hour of searching and sad, shaking heads, we found a hole in the wall restaurant where the server nodded his head and we were finally served our Crema Catalan. 

"At least we've earned it."

Yay, 15 months!

"mmm... yes. Yes, this is a perfect way to celebrate," I closed my eyes as the caramelized sugar melted on my tongue. "I love it when the local dessert is something I can actually eat. Win for Barcelona."

When our clay bowls were licked clean, Paolo paid for our celebration. I offered a few coins towards the bill, but he smiled and said, "No, you can't help. Just cook a lunch for us tomorrow. That's what I would like."

"Deal. I would be so happy to cook a lunch for us tomorrow. Although... it's usually hard for me to cook for French, Italians and Turkish. More so than in any other countries I've visited, these people seem really set in their ways when it comes to food. They know their cuisine is the best and aren't so open to trying different spices or recipes."

"That's true. But I'd just be happy for some vegetables."

Paolo is vegetarian. It's easy to cook for vegetarians because they usually enjoy the taste of vegetables. Basta. Put a pumpkin in the oven with some olive oil and salt and you have a happy vegetarian.

Okay. Paolo is Italian, so that probably means he likes his meals to be relatively simple -- no vegetarian masala or coconut curry. So. Make a meal with relatively few vegetables. And garbanzos. Every good vegetarian has some sort of weird love affair with garbanzos.

We walked along the beach for the rest of the evening, witnessing a spectacular lightning storm and a spontaneous swing dance party in a square by  the sea.

My photos from today's tour:

Nearly every shop door is covered in street art. I love walking through the city in the early morning (Barcelona thinks that nine o'clock is early) and seeing the doors of the closed shops.

It's been unreasonably wet for this time of year. Paolo grumps ('cos he's Italian and addicted to sunshine) and I crow with happiness (I'm officially fed up with sunshine. SO excited for the abysmal weather of Holland)

Welcome to the land of tapas, sangria and the rare beast of crema catalan

Gaudi!

Barcelona can't even do normal streetlights.

We returned to Paolo's flat a little after one o'clock. I turned on my music, preheated the oven and attacked some vegetables.

End result: Aubergine stuffed with courgette, onion, garlic, olive, almonds and tomatoes, broiled with thin slices of goat cheese. Served with a side of sauteed pumpkin and carrot, glazed with honey and placed atop a bed of lettuce.

"Can you cook for me every day?"

"You put vegetables in the fridge and I will put them on the plate."

"Deal."

I love these kinds of deals. 

"You would make the perfect wife."

"No," I laughed. "I would make a horrible wife."

"I don't believe it."

"I would always be running off to different countries for months at a time. I hear that's not an attractive quality in wives."