Living La Vida Lolita

Today was, in a nutshell, THE BEST.  My sunrise run and the workday (woo hoo human samples!) passed by in a blur, and suddenly I was packing up my bag and heading out the door for the weekend.  However, I was not alone; Victor, Marcos, and I were going to pick up our race numbers for Sunday's La Maquinista 10K road race.  We hopped in a coworker's car and got a ride to La Maquinista mall, where we looked up our numbers on an alphabetical list (for the first time in my life, I was the only person with the last name "Moore"), got in line for numbers, and then got in a separate line for t-shirts and goodie bags.  While the race was about 13 euros for me, it was only 3 euros for people who own their own chip (as in track-you-during-the-race chip).  And for 3 euros, those people get a tech shirt, a race complete with bag drop, and food after crossing the finishing line.  Talk about getting some bang for your buck.  It make's tomorrow's 25 euro 5K zombie run just look sloppy (especially because they're not paying any of the zombies; people have to pay to be zombies!).  The race is in a part of the city that I had never visited prior to today, so I'm excited.  I wonder if I'll actually be running with any of my lab members or whether I'll be going it alone.

One quick Metro ride later, and I was home and ready for adventure.  After having been denied my candy fix last Sunday, I popped by Papabubble.

Originally opened in Australia, Papabubble makes handmade sweets, including melting and stretching the sugar into fantastical shapes and designs.

The store gets its name from the nickname one of the proprietors got from blowing sugar bubbles when making candy.  And it stuck.  I found out that they recently opened on up in the US, for all those state-side candy lovers reading this post (might even be vegan, Mom!)

 Kiwi!

 Watermelon!

 A Papabubble jetplane and clouds of sugar-spun  goodness

After Papabubble, I meandered along the route of the Green line and into the Raval district.  The Raval, to one side of Las Ramblas, is considered one of the sketchier neighborhoods in Barcelona.  It is definitely less wealthy and less touristy, with playgrounds fashioned out of what looks like old industrial machinery parts.

Still, it was full of life and dotted with small restaurants and bakeries alongside your everyday businesses.  And, as the refrain goes, it was a part of the city that I hadn’t seen yet.  Plus, because it was outside of Tourist Jurisdiction, all of the prices were low.  Bakeries filled with treats that I had tried at lab puffed the scent of fresh bread and baked sugar into the air around the doorways, reminding my grumbling stomach just how empty it was.

But, with reserves of strength, I forged on to the real prize: Lolitas Taperia.

A classmate from Yale, Wojciech, and his Yalie friend are visiting Barcelona for the weekend and I had suggested that we grab dinner.  Since he was bringing a Yalie friend, I decided to bring one, too (enter Naaman).  I have wanted to try Lolitas Taperia since I first read (and read, and read) about it: reasonably priced tapas that are to-die-for delicious.  The restaurant had a previous incarnation as Inopia before one of its co-owners left to open the new El Bulli follow-up restaurants (he was one of the brothers of an El Bulli founder).  The remaining owner changed the name to Lolitas Taperia, covered the walls with giant kisses, and changed very little on the menu, and it remains a wonderful place to dine.  In the wonderful tradition of dim sum, a large group allowed us to order many dishes and try a little bit of everything.  Since I hadn’t been out for tapas yet, I indulged in a few classics: Patatas Bravas (like slightly crispy wedge-cut French fries topped with a rich, almost mayonnaise-y aioli and dribbled with a red tomato hot sauce),

Pa amb tomate (bread with tomato, the Barcelona classic that I described in detail a few weeks ago, mostly for the benefit of my companions.  Not that great here; it’s more fun to make on your own, smooshed tomato in hand),

and the croquette of the day (today’s was calamari, which came as a croquette with purple-black innards and a briny, calamari taste oozing from the fluffy potato).  I added La Bomba de l’Eixample, a potato puff filled with meat and topped with aioli that came highly recommended by online foodies.

And after that, we got more adventurous.  A plate of veggies (onion, red pepper, eggplant), a long plate of tiny battered fish,

a mini burger,

a spinach empanada.  The dishes came, one after another, and we sampled each other’s brave choices.  We were happy and the conversation flowed between mouthfuls.  Good food always helps, of course.

We decided to skip dessert in favor of wandering and – at Naaman’s BRILLIANT and timely suggestion – a quest for alfajores.  The bakery that I had found that sells fresh alfajores was a few blocks away.  We hoped it would be open.  Upon our arrival, it was not only open but overflowing.  They sell empanadas of every type and a range of desserts that include alfajores.  In Chile and Madrid, the alfajores consist of a THICK layer of dulce de leche (picture freshly made, melt in your mouth, creamy caramel) squeezed between two thin, flaky cookies and then the whole confection covered in a thin layer of chocolate.  Here in Barcelona, the alfajores involve a thinner layer of caramel, two large fluffy cookies, and a dribble of coconut flakes around the outer edges of the dulce de leche.

Still yummy, but nothing on the other kind.  Naaman and I also got an apple empanada crusted with brown sugar, which the proprietress kindly heated up.  It was a little Barcelona apple pie, warm and spiced.

After walking, talking, and devouring, Naaman and I parted ways with our visiting guests.  It was wonderful to share the evening with them, and I wish them well on their weekend exploration of this wonderful place.  (Obviously, Naaman and I drowned them in suggestions)

Spotted: Because it’s clear that I can’t get enough Americana (coughcoughsarcasmcoughcough), I was THRILLED to find out that the WWE Raw World Tour is coming to a city near me.

As the event advertises itself: “Ridiculously muscled-up men.  Glossy ladies in bikinis.  Melodrama, tears and lots of growling.  And, most of all, over-the-top fighting that looks incredibly painful, but is all really part of a carefully choreographed show.”