More on Barcelona

I am so not in Barcelona right now. It's Sunday morning.  A grey 49 degrees outside and raining.  

I just ate a six minute egg on sprouted wheat toast with a big squirt of sriracha and a cat hair on it.

That same cat is now trying to take a nap on top of my keyboard.

I was trying to catch up on my podcasts and flipping through the pile of magazines that arrived this week, but I know I should go finish up my Barcelona blog.  I am procrastinating.

Can you judge a boy by the kinds of magazines he subscribes to?  Let’s see:

Wallpaper, Architectural Digest, Elle Décor, Bon Appetite, Travel + Leisure, Conde Nast Traveler, Cooks Illustrated, Saveur. 

Why yes, yes you can.  Clearly I don’t have to mention that Out and The Advocate are in the pile.  

I feel bad that I subscribe to Bon Appetite and Conde Nast Traveler because they are published by Conde Nast, the rat-fuckers who cancelled Gourmet.  I really miss Ruth Reichl.  I have been reading her wacko twitter posts lately. 

Gray clouds scudding past. Leaves falling. Chilly wind. Fire in the mouth: A bowl of bright red chillied tofu on pure white rice.

Do you know about Ruth Bordain, the twitter love child of Ruth and Anthony Bordain?

Gray clouds. Fall fucking leaves. Chilly ass wind. Fire in the hole: As I sit on the bowl, paying for last night's bright red chillied tofu.

So Brilliant.  

 

Can you judge a boy by the twitter feeds he subscribes to?  Let’s see:

Ruth Reichl, Ruth Bordain, Sandra Bernhard, Rosanne Cash, Aimee Mann, Mark Bittman, Anne Litt. 

Maybe. 

What else can I not write about Barcelona about? 

I met Mark and Chris for drinks after work on Friday.  It was “bring your fucking germ bomb of a kid to work and get it all hopped up on sugar day” at work so I needed some hard alcohol.  We met at Artusi, the newish bar connected to Spinasse.  

I left at 3:30, but did not get there until 5:15 because of the Viadoom global gridlock. 2.2 miles.  Mark was already there and Chris showed up soon after, also traumatized by traffic.   So Artusi is this Italian themed cocktail bar.  You can’t get food from Spinasse, but you can get fun little appetizers.

I started with a Punctured Bicycle: Campari, Cynar, soda, lime. I was really craving Campari so this was perfect.  

I had:

semolina wafer with roasted cauliflower puree, toasted cumin and sesame

and then

another Punctured Bicycle

gorgonzola piccante with Kurt's apples & mint flower honey

and then

winter squash, parsnips & golden raisin caponata with toasted pinenuts

and then 

another Punctured Bicycle

tripe* with bone marrow* & local black truffles

and then 

we went to a great little wine bar called Poco.  

Cute tiny gay boys work there at Poco.  Mark got an Albarino from Yakima(?!?!?) and I had some yummy Muscadet.  Chris had some oaky red sludge.  I did not see any wine from Barcelona on the menu.

At one point this super fit blond gay man in his late 40’s came in with his little tiny Japanese boyfriend who was wearing a black veil. They had the waiter take pictures of them.  So fun.  I really need to get out more. Like in Barcelona.

I have been kind of obsessed with Julie Delpy lately, so we Netflixed her movie called The Countess where she bathes in the blood of young virgins to make herself look younger. We drank Campari and watched her torture people.  The boy she was in love with in this movie was born in Barcelona. He was also in her absolutely perfect movie, 2 Days in Paris. Do you know she has a sequel coming out soon: 2 Days in New York.

Who else am I obsessed with right now? Shelby Lynne. I am listening to her amazing new album right now.  A quick Google search shows she has not played in Barcelona recently, but it does confirm she plays every instrument and does all the back up vocals and should be rich and famous at treated like Mozart or something. Really, please go buy Revelation Road. 

So now that I have worked on my Barcelona blog some more I am going to clean the house and then go to the gym .

More later…..

*Yes I did quit eating meat last March, but this was special.  Like in Barcelona.

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