LUNCH pages

Back on a side street, a pinxos restaurant beckoned to us, and we were seated in a corner with a convenient mirror so we could see everyone. Along one wall, a triple layer spread of tapas, called pinxos (pinch-os) in Catalan is arrayed. "Take what you like, but save the sticks. Each one is 1.95€."

We retraced our steps to the harbor, crowded with market stalls selling antiques and vendors with their wares on blankets, and escaped into the Barceloneta neighborhood, a reurbicación (what we would call urban renewal) of what used to be the tumble-down shacks of Barcelona's fishing village: narrow tall apartments in long rows on a grid of streets. We were looking for Bodega La Peninsular, reputed to be be a friendly-to-outsiders local pub. We had a simple lunch (and forgot to take pictures): papas bravas, the local take on french fries, tasty sausages, and a tomato and garlic salad. By the time we were done, the place was full of locals in full cry. 

We notice that the interpersonal space here is half or less what we reserve in California, while the volume of normal conversation is about doubled. We recognize that we are no longer fitted for this kind of urban living. "This is a place for young people," observes Rochelle a little later.

There is an abundance of restaurants in Collioure, because it's a day-trip destination as well as a known delight to stay. They're all gearing up for summer; yesterday was Whit Monday, and the place was crowded. Today, it's modestly busy, and all the shopkeepers have time to chat. 

So far, not even a soupçon of a bad meal. Even my sélection Catalan (€19.90) showed evidence of serious cheffing. Besides the overall deliciousness, the soup was smooth and perfectly seasoned, and the "Catalan-style" (meaning somewhat rough) sauce with the chicken was something I will try to replicate at home. Crême Catalan is like flan, only with a thin brulée crust. Good flavors.

We're still in Catalunya, and not that far from the Med, and so it wasn't too surprising to find in the town of Amelie-les-Bains a sweet little restaurant, Au Poivre Vert, serving as the plat du jour "Paella Royale." Compared to the paella we had in Barcelona, this was more classical (although somehow it didn't quite have the same paella feel.) The presence of a little sausage and a little chicken to counter the mussels and red shrimp made it very satisfying. 

Back down the highway to a bigger highway, and then the twisties before Collioure. Again miraculously we found a parking place, the last one we'll need before we move along to Séte tomorrow. 

   Below, a portrait of our purchases for the day.

After rejecting several restaurants as inauthentic or unappetizing, we find by chance what our host later identifies as Séte's best. They have a table for us. When we sit down, Rochelle is a little frazzled by the traffic.

They serve us fish soup, a nice little salad, and then, the pièce de resistance, a gorgeous sole, head and tail on. Our server ritualistically debones and serves us. Oh, my. (Rochelle settles down.)

We are surrounded by "our demographic," only they are all Sétois and speak French. Most of them are having spectacular platters of shellfish. Later I indulge in a mousse au chocolat. The gentleman next to me gets a dessert with a little umbrella: two boules of lemon gelato and a jigger of limoncello.

In the morning, we share croissantes and then go to Les Halles, the city's morning market, for supplies for our dinner. Compared to yesterday, the market is abandoned. For the Cettois (they spell it both ways; in Roman times it was Cette) the big event of the day is lunch. Right across the street we find a very tucked in little place with an intriguing Formule, so in we go. The server's English is as bad as my French, so we manage in Franglais to order a delicious lunch ... so delicious we forget to take pictures of the main course. 

The entree, at right, is a roulade of ecrevisses (crayfish) and sprouts with a little salad and spicy Thai mae ploy sauce. Lunch is a beautiful little Dorade, a sea-bream with great flavor and lots of little bones, served whole with a lovely line-up of gently sauteed vegetables. "We are eating some very interesting things," remarks Rochelle. Super clean flavors, simply prepared, presented elegantly. This in a tiny six-table restaurant on a side street.

When we're done with the view, it's down 375 step and a series of twisty steep streets back to town and our day's errands: we need an eraser (une gomme) and gloves for working our boat (des gants). Both transactions are cordial and amuse all parties.

And then it's time for the day's most serious endeavor: lunch. We find a little hidden restaurant row away from the tourist circulation. The menu looks interesting. We sit down and are immediately brought a little amuse bouche, olives, crusts, and spicy yogurt and parsley dip (below, 0) while we deliberate. Rochelle decides on the salade with roquefort and nuts (1) while I ask for the salade with duck breast (2). Abundant salads, perfectly dressed; we probably would have been fine with them alone. But no, here comes les Plats: Rochelle has an immense deep-fried Camembert oozing yummyness and sliced local ham (3) while I have the mussels in a lovely garlic persillade and frites maison (4), both of which come with little salads. Initially I had thought to have dessert as well, but I have to finish Rochelle's, and I beg off.

next group : Sète