Brava-do

Today's adventures took me back up to Tibidabo, a place that I love for its silly-sounding name (with serious meaning), beautiful architecture, and general feeling of peacefulness.  Despite the many tourists and amusement park-seekers, it retains a sort of tranquil charm.

Notable among the architectural gems that greet you upon emerging from the rumble of the subway is La Rotonda.  Built by Adolf Ruiz i Casamitjana in 1918, it was originally a hotel.  A gorgeous hotel.  I was so excited to see it rise up from the street corner in splendor, but it was not to be.  As with another building that I had tried to see the day before, it was undergoing renovations.

To see La Rotonda in all of its splendor, click here.  It apparently features in Carlos Ruiz Zafon's novel The Shadow of the Wind, concerning the Spanish Civil War.  For those of you who love injustice, there are currently plans to tear down about 80% of the building and local citizens are up in arms.  It would be sad to see this gem destroyed.
Note: for those interested, my other foiled plan from Monday afternoon was to see Casa Casas-Carbo on Passeig de Gracia.  Now home to the kitchen/interior design store Vincons, it used to be the home of painter Ramon Casas and writer Santiago Rusinol.  When the store is open, you can go upstairs to the second floor to see many of the beautiful Moderniste elements of the architecture, including a richly decorated fireplace and tile mosaic floors.

After this disappointment, I was cheered up by this car advertisement, which I feel is pretty representative of my summer.

I then wandered the wonderful residential neighborhoods of Tibidabo, which offer little for the tourist and were therefore quite peaceful and, well, Tibidabo-y.  I finally arrived at my destination, Bar Mandri.

And thus commenced the Battle of the Bravas.  Bar Mandri had been recommended to me by a coworker who heard that I was going to try the patatas bravas (or bravas, for short) at Bar Thomas (more on that later).  He said that I had to try the ones at Bar Mandri, which were very different but also excellent.  How could I say no?  A neighborhood war between two bravas specialists? Too good to pass up.

Bar Mandri is an adorable little place.  The interior is the complete opposite of anything pretentious or touristy; six or seven men in all types of dress from all walks of life (but, of course, all middle-aged with welcoming smiles) lounged at the bar enjoying tapas and glasses of beer.  They had that "I'm a regular" look to them; this was like a neighborhood hangout for adults.

Outside on the patio, a few of the tables were occupied by chatting couples or groups of neighborhood women, but most were empty as it was late for lunch but just a tad early for dinner.  It was that end of the day gray area when people are just starting to trickle in.  I went to the bar and asked for a plate of bravas, then comfortably seated myself at a table inside.  It was just going to be me, Sherlock Holmes, and some seriously tasty potatoes.

They arrived in all of their greasy glory, with glistening, crisp seasoned skins and soft steamy centers.  The cubes of potato were salted just a bit and then generously doused with a delicious, thick aioli.  I couldn't find the hot sauce (the "brava" part) anywhere until I took my first bite and found the thin red hot sauce hiding underneath the potatoes.

If you know me, you know my love-hate relationship with spices.  I love them, but they don't love me back.  But in these bravas, we found a peaceful middleground.  I enjoyed the slow, hot burn at the back of my throat and the bravas kept the heat turned on - for at least half an hour after I left.
(Note: this whole plate of bravas was 2.60 euros.  When you're going for fullness-for-your-buck tapas, you can't beat a plate of patatas bravas)

The second contender, Bar Thomas, was a little over a mile away and made for a pleasant walk as I digested the large plate of bravas that I had just digested.  Bar Thomas had come to my attention a few weeks into my trip when I heard that its bravas were so good, they were the king's favorite tapa.  According to this same source, Bar Thomas is the only place he'll eat them.  Good enough for the king?  Probably good enough for me, I figured.

And so I walked right in, ordered a plate of bravas at the counter, and watched as the man drizzled them with a thin, brown hot sauce before sliding them over to me.

Unlike Bar Mandri, Bar Thomas is a huge, hopping place.  It's right on the corner of two fairly busy streets, which makes it the perfect drop-by-with-friends location.  It's much more on the radar.  A long bar displays several tapas while adding seating to the long, narrow room.  Another long narrow room behind the bar has a small entrance, which was pointed out to me by the waiter when I was at a loss as to where I could sit.

But now back to those bravas.  These ones were cut thinner, with bubblier skins and a bit more crispiness.  The thin brown hot sauce had flecks of spice.  These ones were still good, but I thought there wasn't enough potato to balance the hot oil, spicy sauce, and creamy aioli.  The potatoes didn't get to add their own flavor to the mix.  Still, the atmosphere was very alive, the bravas were readily available, and the seating was plentiful (if nearly always taken).  And a plate of bravas?  It'll only set you back 2.30 euros.

The verdict: I prefer Bar Mandri, but I'm more of a Bar Mandri person in every way: comfortable, homey familiarity.  Small-scale food with big-scale flavor.  The ability to relax with a book and look up to find a few hours gone.  If I moved here, I'd want to become one of those regulars.

A few gems from my walk:

A statue about which I can find absolutely no information

The Zurich building; see here for someone else's superior photography

Spotted: Trees in Barcelona.  These speckled specimens line nearly all the streets in Barcelona.

Additionally, palm trees are everywhere.  There are over 5,000 now, but they're not native to the city.  Palm trees became popular plants for private gardens and parks, as well as holiday resorts, in major European cities during hte nineteenth century.