In the Heat of the Night

This post is dedicated to all of the Aqua CDs that I found in a block of ice in our soda fridge after my brother grew tired of hearing their whiny tween music blasted through the house.

And, of course, to their song, Heat of the Night, which greatly reminds me of a night out on the town in Barcelona. [But seriously, see SONG and LYRICS]

You know those times when night and day blur into one?  Well, last night was one of those nights.  After my post-dinner nap, I met Naaman at our usual Metro line transfer meetup at around 1 AM to head to the beach clubs.  We decided to try Shoko in the hopes that it would have better music than Soletano.

While there were a couple strange musical choices during the night (circus theme song…?), in general it was better.  AKA more Top 40s hits that made me want to dance.  They even did a cool mash-up of By the Way by Red Hot Chili Peppers that made it danceable.  Incredible.  While Naaman and I were both creeped out by the age of the men at the club (one guy who tried to dance with me was 60+.  You shouldn’t be able to qualify for Social Security and club entrance…), we had a great time dancing and letting loose after a week of work.  The clubs here really are incredible.  While after a few hours of sweating and shimmying you become jaded, the first few moments are pure magic.  You walk down a long flight of stairs into a dark room lit by the strobe of pulsing bodies, and you feel the gaze of every stranger as you scope out the room and your eyes adjust.  Anyway, we danced until 4 AM, rotating around the dance floor to escape overly aggressive men or pushy crowds.  My savior or the night was a guy (name unpronounceable and unspellable) from Sweden who saw me being harassed by some guys who didn’t seem to understand “NO I DO NOT WANT TO DANCE WITH YOU” in any language and swooped me off to his other side, then fended off potential dance suitors.  This is a shout out to all guys who swoop in at the right moment.  We girls really appreciate your existence.

Anyway, I left the club at the reasonable hour of 4 AM, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep before my road race.  Just before the entrance to the Metro station, I met a very nice but very lost Australian guy who had just arrived in Barcelona four hours earlier… and had been at the clubs for three of them.  He was gushing about how “vibrant” the city was, but had no idea how to get home.  He said he needed to get to Passeig de Gracia, which is where I was going, so I showed him the way.  When we got off at Passeig de Gracia, I walked him out so I could point him toward the right street… only to discover that he wanted to be six blocks (at least a mile) up the road, where my actual stop was (I was going to transfer to another line).  But since it was a beautiful night, we walked.  It turns out he’s a 28-year old doctor finishing up his orthopedic specialization and on holiday in Barcelona for a week with friends (who were asleep back at the hotel).  We swapped nerdy medical stories, discussed the wonderfulness of Barcelona, and finally bid each other farewell.  Truly one of the nicest people I’ve met so far in the city (especially of the tourists), and I wish him all the best on his adventures.

SO.  I managed to get two hours of sleep before waking up and stumbling to the road race.  The race, called La Maquinista, is located in an industrial center of the city (hence the name).

The back of the race shirts say “Molt mes que correr,” which means “Much more than running”  and alludes to the purpose of the race: to raise funds for programs that benefit mentally and physically disabled residents.  The race is always a huge hit, because this is a cause with lots of support in the city (I routinely see people taking groups of handicapped adults for walks at the beach or other parts of town).  I met up with coworkers: Marcos (who ran a 70 km mountain race last weekend… insanity), Victor (who got lost on the run last week), and Marcos’ very nice girlfriend.  We didn’t run the race together (I ended  up far ahead… oops… and Marcos caught up at the end to finish the last quarter mile with me), but it was really nice to spend the morning with them.

Despite a week of mountain running and some 10-mile runs in the days leading up to the race (not to mention a night of dancing in heels and only 2 hours of sleep), the race went well.  Very well, actually.  I finished in 44:42.  Not a bad finish for a race of 4,000 people, eh?

 Note: the position for my sex and category are based on the overall time, not my adjusted time (since I started way back in the pack and crossed the start line after their clock had been running), so sadly I have no idea how I actually did relative to other females.

This evening, I signed up for a cooking class at Cook&Taste, a cooking school that offers a lesson in English on classic Catalan recipes.

While the class wasn’t as good as I expected (less hands-on time, vague recipes.  The comparable class at Espai sounded more like what I'd anticipated and wanted), the people were wonderful.  In particular, there were two people filming the class and experience for a video for ViaTours.  They’re traveling all over Europe for 2 months filming the different activities offered on their tours, and this class is one of those “experiences.”  They were great and we had some wonderful conversations between sound bites.

The menu:

1. Pa amb tomaquet (bread with tomato)
   
2. Asparagus in a Romanesco sauce (such a good sauce!
   
3. Cod (very common here) resting in a pureed roasted pepper soup
   
4.  A chicken paella with lots of fresh veggies
    
5.  Crema catalana, the Catalan take on crème brulee that I tried on my cardiovascular department excursion on my second weekend in Spain
   
   
   

The food was overall good, and I enjoyed the class.  Highlights: Romanesco sauce, flavorful creaminess and lemony acidity mixed together in the paella rice (it’s all about the rice), and the crema catalana.  I didn’t like this dish when I tried it before, but this time it had the PERFECT balance of cinnamon and cream, and my sugar crust was perfect, if I do say so myself.

Quote of the night from our teacher, “my-name-is-not-Maria-but-call-me-that-because-my-real-name’s-too-complicated”: “If you have chickens and cows, you’re going to end up with eggs and milk in your dishes, because they go so well together.”  Well played, domesticated livestock, well played.

Spotted: A missed opportunity to explore European fabulousness.  After seeing so many gravity-defying hats and fascinators recently at the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, as well as craving a fashionable fedora that I could never pull off, I have had something of a hankering for hats.  Hence my sadness that I missed THIS wonderful excuse to buy one and wear it in public, no matter how ridiculous I look.  Who can resist Stroll With a Hat Day?  I complete support the two Barcelona women who, in 2005, "inaugurated a hat parade in the city, where participants could sport elegant and eye-catching headgear at a time whent eh custom of regularly wearing hats was more or less extinct."  You go, girls.