Random thoughts about Spanish food, part 2

On one of our last evenings in Spain,Barcelona's soccer team won the regional championship. As we headed home to our place in the Barri Gotic, we passed bar after overflowing bar, with enthusiastic sports fans spilling out onto the cobblestones, jumping up and down, chanting and having a great time.

The crowds thinned out as we got farther from Las Ramblas, but by late that night chanting crowds were flowing down our tiny Carre Cervantes.

While the night was still young, we dropped into a quiet Basque bar to have a drink and sample some of the pintxos (literally, a toothpick or wooden skewer, but the Basque catchall name for tapas). Each pintxo cost a Euro and was big enough for both of us to get a taste. Trays of each were lined up on the two-level stand-up bar, and servers circulated with hot pintxos fresh off the stove.

Tortilla espanola on crusty bread, piquillo peppers stuffed with tuna, ham croquettes, a kind of crab bruschetta topped with a guajillo chili and an olive, a similar smoked salmon sandwich ... We tried about 10 things, each beautifully presented. This mix of little items turned out to be surprisingly filling.

These pintxos, like much of the food we enjoyed in Spain, were each topped with a little something: a sprig of fresh rosemary, a slice of olive, a sprinkle of pimenton, a rosette of aioli. Besides looking nice, these little garnishes sparked up the flavor enough to add another dimension, a bit of complexity, a bit of the unfamiliar.

Who knew such a small touch could make such a big difference?

LaManda's, White Plains

An old-school Italian neighborhood restaurant with large portions, reasonable prices, friendly service and lots of garlic. The menu includes mostly standard fare, though there are a variety of less-typical pasta dishes featuring tripe, anchovies and chicken livers (no, not together!).

My fave dish, linguine with white clam sauce, includes tiny clams in the shell plus tender chopped clams, probably cherrystone. The sauteed escarole is quite good and the house salad tastes like home.

LaManda's pizza is some of the best in the area, with a thin crust and flavorful sauce. We recently picked one up to take home and discovered it had the wrong toppings. They quickly fixed us a replacement, at least four people apologized at least twice each, they packed up two huge pieces of ricotta cheesecake for us and insisted we keep the pie with the wrong toppings. We had started out feeling grumpy about the mistake and our delayed meal, and ended up feeling well cared for.

Franklin Cafe

We dropped into this cafe recently for a snack after enjoying Larry Davis' photography at SoHo Photo.

The tiramisu was good -- thin cake, thick layers of creamy filling, not too sweet, nice and rich. It's a nice place, friendly service, simple decor. Lots of choices of coffee and tea. The cappuccino and peppermint tea were good, they also put a decanter of water on the table, a nice touch on a day when you're out wandering around the city and developing a thirst.

I'd go back.

El Quinto Pino

This tapas bar is about the size of a walk-in closet. It is kind of a cozy place, with very simple decor: a battered natural wood floor, a narrow dark-wood bar around the perimeter, mirrors with a patina, high stools.

We had the place to ourselves at breakfast recently, we had a nice time chowing down and chatting with our server/cook. Our desayuno choices included strong, creamy cafe con leche and a kind of do-it-yourself hot chocolate -- three or four pieces of dark chocolate, a little pitcher of hot milk and several packets of raw sugar. You assemble the elements in a stubby glass, stirring the hot milk and chocolate till it dissolves, and sweetening to your heart's content. Very tasty.

We shared several small plates. Tortilla espanola -- an egg and potato frittata-like creation -- is one of those simple dishes that everyone does a little bit differently. Some are mostly thinly sliced spuds, barely bound together with beaten eggs. This version was more on the egg-y side, a nice thick wedge, thoroughly cooked without being dry. It was served at room temperature, as is the custom, with a nice doodle of aioli on the side. The bikini -- a grilled serrano jamon and manchego cheese sandwich, cut into triangles -- was constructed on buttered thinly sliced crust-free white bread. Croquetas de jamon had crisp brown crusts and creamy, savory centers. We finished our meal with warm, golden-brown churros, dusted with cinnamon and sugar and served in a wax-paper bag.

Everything was very good, well prepared and authentic to what I ate in Spain.

El Quinto Pino is open for desayuno (breakfast) and la cena (dinner) and there's a certain amount of overlap in the menus. I'm looking forward to going back for la cena, the evening menu had several faves on it, such as bocadillos of lomo or calamar, patatas bravas, cava and jerez.

Enrico's vs. Bagels & More, Hartsdale

The most perfect day of the year, weather-wise, lured us out for a midday walk. We ended up at Hartsdale Avenue, where we conducted a spontaneous bagel taste test.

The 85-cent poppy bagel at Enrico's has a soft crust, a bread-like consistency and a slightly sweet taste. It was ok, but seemed a little stale, maybe because of the bread-y texture. As some forgotten sage told me long ago, if it ain't chewy, it ain't a bagel. Enrico's has some good-looking, great-smelling pastries and cookies, so I'd probably choose something from the sweet side of the spectrum next time around.

The 95-cent salt bagel at Bagels & More had the right consistency, nice and chewy. It was crustier and somewhat heavier, it had a good flavor, and just the right amount of salt. It was definitely the winner of the Hartsdale Avenue bagel taste test for two.

Grand Sichuan, Chelsea

It's been ages since I've been excited about Chinese food, but two visits to Grand Sichuan have rekindled my enthusiasm.


The menu is enormous and intriguing, with dishes named after green parrots and lovebirds (and then there's also Long Lift Vegetarian, undoubtedly a heavy meal, or the worrisome Grasp at Good Luck -- if you eat this?). I didn't really delve into the book-sized list, as our group of eight included several regulars who took over the ordering duties. We had a feast: old faves like soup dumplings and sesame noodles, and more unusual fare such as garlic sauteed pea shoots and fresh-killed chicken with about a bazillion dried red peppers.


I checked out Grand Sichuan again after a recent walk on the High Line. Again, we mixed and matched: crab soup dumplings, spicy sesame noodles, spinachy scallion pancakes, salt-and-pepper shrimp, sauteed three greens (baby bok choy, broccoli rabe and peapods -- a bit on the bland side, but immaculately fresh and crisp -- probably the most I've ever enjoyed broccoli rabe), and fresh killed chicken with green chilies and pumpkin (divine crisp-tender bright orange matchsticks, we debated if they were pumpkin or sweet potato -- didn't really taste sweet enough for a sweet potato, but not as watery, fibrous and bland as pumpkin can be, maybe some kind of squash).

Both meals were excellent. The dishes come out of the kitchen in rapid-fire succession, hot, savory and succulent. I'm probably spoiled forever for lukewarm takeout. The prices are surprisingly reasonable for the quality and quantity, and the preparation of even the most familiar dishes had a bit of a creative twist, like the spinach flour in the scallion pancakes.

Grand Sichuan is all about the food. It's crowded, it can get noisy, the decor is ... well ... maybe decor is an exaggeration, the service is efficient but not warm and cozy. On a weeknight you're welcome to linger and chat, but during Saturday prime time be prepared to dine and dash. About 30 seconds after our bill was paid, one of the employees announced that they needed our table.

I'm already imagining what I'll order next time.

Tapas 24, Barcelona

Tapas 24 was recommended to us as one of the less-expensive places to sample the kind of food has earned Spain the reputation of being the home of the world's best cuisine. It's a very hip place with great food and miserable chairs -- tall, virtually backless stools, with such poorly positioned foot rests that both of us were left with our tootsies dangling -- too low for me, too high for him. However, the tables have hooks underneath that are great for hanging purses, motorcycle helmets and shopping bags, keeping them out of the way of other diners and Barcelona's notorious pickpockets.

A lot of the menu items were very nice twists on old favorites. Our choices included patatas bravas (nice golden spud fingers drizzled with garlic mayo and a spicy red sauce), rinxos (curried skewered lamb, tender, succulent, rich, yum), bikini (a grilled sandwich of buffalo mozzarella and jamon serrano, cut into vaguely bikini shaped triangles), and McFoie (beef and foie gras ground, grilled, and served on a bun). For dessert we had chocolate gelato, which had a pudding-like texture. It was drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt. The result was amazing: very rich, not very sweet, and so intensely flavorful it hardly seemed cold.

This was definitely one of the top meals of the trip. Everything was very familiar, but more interesting and tasty than the usual version.

Another plus, Tapas 24 is in Barcelona's l'Eixample district, with its wealth of fascinating Modernisme architecture. After lunch we walked and walked, ending up in Gaudi-designed Guell Park. Looking at the amazing mosaics made me want to cover my whole house (or at least the kitchen backsplash or a garden path or ...) with pique assiette.

Tapas tales, Barcelona

The Palau de la Musica says "Look at me!" with Chili Palmer-like conviction. With its glass balustrades, stained-glass ceiling and ornate ceramic tiling, it's glorious and over the top. Hearing music there is like sitting in the midst of a carousel, full of lights and colors and whimsical ornamentation.



We heard guitarist Manuel Gonzalez play, great stuff, full orchestrations on a mere six strings. My fingers were positively twitching with envy.


Afterward, we went into a place in the neighborhood for tapas and dessert: meat-stuffed croquettes served with pimenton-sprinkled aioli; divinely fresh oyster mushrooms sauteed with butter, wine and herbs, too salty but very good nonetheless (which could be said of much of the food I ate in Spain); fig ice cream with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Everything was very good and everything went great with a glass of cava.

Tapas tales 2, Madrid

I usually avoid museum food (see Dateline: Bilbao) but I'm glad I made an exception at the Prado. The museum cafe had a good selection of tapas and hot dishes. Everything looked so fresh and smelled so good, it was hard to choose.

We settled on Serrano ham with honeydew melon, and smoked salmon with white asparagus. The ham and melon both had a hint of a smoky flavor, the sweet fruit balanced the salty meat, and the juicy, ripe honeydew was a great pairing with the meat's chewy richness.

The rich, salty, tender salmon and crisp, earthy asparagus also complemented each other in taste and texture.

Crusty bread and cafe con leche rounded out our meal. Rested from lingering over our midday feast and freshly fueled with caffeine, we couldn't wait to head back for more fun with El Greco, Velazquez, Ribera and their gallery mates.

Another thing -- besides the good, fresh food -- that surprised me at the Prado's cafe was the pricing. The tapas and hot food seemed very reasonable for a place that has a captive audience: most things were 5 to 7 Euros. But the "junk food" was pricey: 3 or 4 Euros for a small bag of chips or an ice cream bar. Small bottles of Coke cost about the same as small bottles of wine.

Fast Good and Farggi, Barcelona

Visiting Ferran Adria's Fast Good was high on our list of things to do in Barcelona. Several books recommended it and the website looked great: a reasonably priced restaurant with an appealing menu and recipes devised by the chef often dubbed the world's best.

An address in l'Eixample guaranteed that we'd want to walk there: The district is full of amazing Art Nouveau-flavored moderniste architecture by Gaudi, Puig i Cadafalch and others. We schlepped up there, taking lots of pix and oohhing and aahhing to our hearts' content.

But Fast Good was gone. Closed. Empty storefront. "For rent" sign in the window closed. We double-checked on the Blackberry, we were at the right address as posted on the very much alive Fast Good website.

We considered going to Tapas 24, another highly recommended cafe, but their website wisely provided the information that it's closed on Sunday, as are many other businesses in Barcelona.
We ended up with an overpriced so-so bocadillo at a sidewalk cafe near la Pedrera and excellent ice cream from Farggi -- also kind of pricey but definitely worth it. I went for the fruit flavors, peach and strawberry, very rich, not too sweet. Since I love a research project, I had to try the brand again to make sure it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't -- Farggi ice cream was excellent, regardless of location or flavor.

Tapas tales 1, Madrid

From the moment we stepped out of our apartment on Calle de Carretas, there seemed to be something to look at. On this particular day, we checked out the view of the Madrid skyline from the top of Catedral Almudena, and ogled the Tiepolo ceilings and five Stradavari instruments (among other things) at el Palacio Real.
Ravenous and not realizing how close we were to restaurant-rich Sol,we had tapas at a cafe right across from the palacio. It was really a bit too chilly to sit outside, and the place felt too touristy, but we did it anyway. The food was pretty good: marinated mussels, potatoes with mayo and spicy aioli, atun on a thick slice of bread, and a big vegetable and hard-boiled egg sandwich.

More meandering and gawking after lunch, running into some fun and interesting places and activities by chance: Plaza de Espana, Templo Debod, a reliquary full of miscellaneous mememto mori at Real Monasterio de la Encarnacion, music stores (including one with a fascinating George Crumb chart in the window) and a late-Monet exhibit in an elderly building with gloriously beautiful modern restrooms.

But there's nothing like watching a passing pot parade to stoke your appetite. We heard heard some horns and commotion, and wandered over to see what was up. Hundreds of people were marching from Puerta del Sol, waving signs, shouting into bullhorns and smoking Louisville Slugger-size spliffs. We watched for a while, breathing deeply, and went in search of snacks.

We settled in at Meson Gregorio III, which we've dubbed "the old man's bar." No frills. A bar, a couple of tables, a few hams hanging from the back bar (now there's an unusual touch), numerous framed shots of the bartender in autographed photos with people we didn't recognize.

Every time we bought a round, we got a free dish of tapas, starting with some very tasty olives and moving on to ham croquettes. Very nice. Other people who looked like they were there for the night got plates of sliced ham, dishes of nuts, cheese assortments. Made me kind of sorry that two's my limit. I think we spent 5 Euros for our night on the town.

We hoped to find our way back there before we left Madrid. We never did. But it was a cozy, old-fashioned, non-touristy neighborhood joint, very comfortable.

Inspired by Spain

Learning about new ingredients and getting inspired to try new recipes are among my favorite travel souvenirs. A while back I reported on trying to replicate a patata relleno con atun dish I tasted at Cafe Gijon.

For the past couple of weeks it's been practically too hot to eat, so I've been enjoying going to the farmers market and fixing gazpacho as soon as I get home. I've been using Jose Andres' recipe as a starting point, always using a lot less oil -- maybe two tablespoons rather than the 3/4 cup that he recommends. And I'm pretty random about the garnishes -- a quick cup of gazpacho fresh from the fridge is a great snack or light meal. If you take the time to add Andres' suggested garnishes you have slightly heartier fare, pretty enough for a photo shoot.

Though I've used pimenton for years, I've been turning to it more often since I went to Spain. For example, with the help of a mortar and pestle, I've been making a paste of a clove of garlic, a garlic scape, a heaping teaspoon of pimenton, coarse salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. A mini food processor would also work for this. The paste is great spread or rubbed on tuna or steak, either right before putting it on the grill or several hours in advance. The paste goes together really fast and adds a nice dimension to a simple meal.

Benny Powell

Everyone who knows me at all knows that what goes into my ears nourishes me as much or more than what goes onto my plate. So it doesn't feel entirely inappropriate to remember the late trombonist Benny Powell in this space.

Benny was one of the first people I met when I moved to NY in the early 1980s. He was at a Sunday brunch at an antiques store/listening space that was struggling to get off the ground -- kind of like my career. I had four years of on-air broadcast experience and a thick book full of features and news stories I'd written, much of it about jazz. I couldn't get anyone to look at my writing or listen to my demo tape. I lamented to Benny, also new to New York, that everyone told me to put that stuff away and go take a typing test.

He listened with interest and encouraged me to keep on trying, and said things would eventually work out if I kept making an effort. He had a benign, comforting way of talking, and his positive input came to mind from time to time over the years.

Since I'm enormous fan of Randy Weston, I heard Benny play regularly over the past two decades, especially savoring his gorgeous 'bone solo on the Melba Liston arrangement of "African Sunrise."

I heard the band in April, Benny looked frail and sat on a stool while he was playing. Afterward, I talked to him in the bar for a while and reminded him of his early encouragement, thanked him for his kindness and talked to him about doing the JazzWomen column for Hot House -- he was familiar with it, which pleased me no end. As usual, I walked away feeling uplifted by the evening's music and conversation.

The next day I wrote about it a bit in my morning pages: "Loved hearing Randy Weston last night, talking to the band, especially Benny Powell, dispenser of random acts of kindness. His 25-plus-year-old encouragement has really stuck with me: Benny Powell never told me to take a typing test! He knows my work, says I'm doing a good job. And he's still figuring out what life is all about, and he's still interested and entertained by it. He's frail, but plays like a musical saint. The flesh may be weak, but it's strong enough for low brass."

Benny died on June 26. I feel lucky to have heard him so often and to have gotten to know him a little bit. I hope his kindness, wisdom and beautiful, beautiful tone with stay with me for the rest of my life.

Cuines de Santa Caterina, Barcelona

When we were in Spain (as almost every sentence seems to start out these days), some of our time was destination focused (El Prado! La Sagrada Familia! The Guggenheim!). And then there was the random wandering, which practically always turned out to be an absolute delight.

We started out one day chowing down on pastries from La Boqueria, then walking along the beach and the marina. We heard marching bands in the distance, very cool, but couldn't figure out if it was a holiday of some kind, or if this just happens on Saturdays in Barcelona. We headed west past the Parc de la Ciutadella (the site of some of the action in The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon), to the Arc de Triomf.

We looped around into the Born section of town and just as our lunch bell went off, we came across the Mercat de Santa Caterina. Originally one of a handful of traditional markets in Barcelona, this one has been rehabbed to within an inch of its life. It doesn't have the earthy, down-home feel of La Boqueria, but still has a lot going on, inside and out.
Outside, a group of devils and demons in appropriately Luciferian costumes had gathered, setting off fireworks and blowing whistles. We asked around and later did some research on the Web, but still couldn't find out why a mid-May Saturday would warrant marching bands and pinwheel-wielding demons. Maybe just an average day in Barcelona. Move over, City That Care Forgot!

Inside, we found one of the most exciting meals of the trip at Cuines de Santa Caterina. There was a mix-and-match menu with categories like Asian, Mediterranean, pasta, vegetarian, tapas and more printed on paper placemats. And if that wasn't inspiring enough, reader boards spread the word on the daily specials.

I love to try things that I'd never fix at home, and the calamari appetizer fell into that category. Rigatoni-size pieces of meltingly tender calamari grilled with olive oil, topped with slender, crisp asparagus and julienned calcots. The plate was painted with squid ink, dark luscious, salty, smoky and redolent of the sea. I do follow my late father-in-law's philosophy that the best meal of my life is usually the one in front of me right now. However, I'd be tempted to rank this calamari a la plancha among the most fascinating and delectable dishes I've ever eaten.

For the main course, I chose fideua, a.k.a. fideo, a kind of noodle version of paella. I actually have cooked fideo at home recently, following Mario Batali's recipe. And I remember fixing a traditional sopa seca, which is similar, on a hotplate way back in the day. I didn't really enjoy the process either time, there's something about browning the noodles, then taking them out of the pan to drain while cooking the veg and seafood that just seemed like too much fuss. But I was eager to try someone else's version of it, and this one was a winner: scallops and garlic sauteed in olive oil, with the pasta cooked al dente in stock seasoned with pimenton and saffron. The top was a bit crusty, as if it had been run under the broiler for a minute. Kind of cozy and exotic all at once. Still, I'm glad someone else did the work. Crusty but light whole-wheat bread, a glass of the house vino blanco and some agua minerale came with our entree.

We finished the meal with the postre del dia, a chocolate sponge cake rolled around fresh whipped cream, topped with a glaze-consistency bittersweet-chocolate sauce, served with vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce. What's not to like?! It was wonderful, rich but light, how did they manage that? And it would have gone wonderfully with a cafe con leche.

Cuines de Santa Caterina bordered on too fabulous in its slick decor, teams of waitstaff, noise level, and unisex restrooms in which the fixtures were more decorative than functional (motion-sensitive lights that seemed to go on and off at random, splashy sinks, tiny wastebaskets). And, we couldn't order cafe con leche at the end of our meal without moving into the bar. Though that felt rather ungracious, up to that point the service was amazing and nonintrusive and we felt comfortable lingering over our food. As was often the case in Spain, we sat down to lunch on the early side, and by the time we finished our meal Cuines de Santa Caterina had a line out the door. We had to ask for our check and didn't feel rushed to pay, unlike at some U.S. venues where the check is presented while you're still eating and talking, and the server hovers till you whip out a credit card. But our cafe con leche craving and our interest in seeing more of the city propelled us out into the sunshine before long.

Random thoughts on Spanish bread

I'm not much of a bread eater. Not because I don't like it. For most of the past decade I've tried to avoid notorious allergy triggers such as wheat, dairy, sugar and alcohol (I know, I know).

In Spain, all rules were tossed aside, and I really indulged, enjoying every bite.


It may be impossible to get a bad -- or even ordinary -- piece of bread in Spain. From crispy-crusted, feather-light baguette-style loaves to long, seeded whole-wheat rolls to a giant savory fruit-and-nut concoction that must have weighed more than a kilo from the international Le Pain Quotidien franchise at Plaza Mayor, Iberian bread is the stuff of dreams.

Although I never eat sandwiches at home, in Spain it seemed like no day was complete without a bocadillo -- a crusty roll layered with garlicky fried calamari or chewy sliced jamon or rich manchego cheese or fragrant oil-packed tuna or spicy chorizo or cozy tortilla Espanola. Every tapas bar and most restaurants and bakeries sell bocadillos, usually for just a few Euros. Eat in or take out, strolling and enjoying the street musicians as you snack.

Whether filled, buttered, dipped in rich green olive oil, rubbed with tomatoes and garlic or absolutely plain, the breads of Spain were a daily delight.

Shake Shack, Madison Square Park

This popular burger joint is a rainy day fave for me, if I'm working in the neighborhood. Rainy day = shorter line. The food is good, but not so good that I would stand in line for an hour.

I like the 'shroom burger, a pair of grilled portobellos fused together with an abundance of melted cheese, topped with lettuce and tomato on a fresh, good-quality bun. It's always a bit of a surprise to bite into the crisp and juicy 'shrooms and discover the creamy muenster and sharp cheddar center.

The fries are excellent, they taste as if they've never seen the inside of a freezer. The cheeseburger is good, but not my first choice. I wouldn't stand in line for it.

Even when there's no queue, the Shake Shack isn't fast food -- everything is prepared to order so it can take 15 minutes for your meal to come out.

Eating at the nearby tables or benches in Madison Square Park is remarkably pleasant. Or get the food to go, eat at your desk and risk the envy of everyone else in the office.

Get there early to avoid the wait, or keep an eye on the website's Shack Cam.

Falafel Hut, Montclair, NJ

Went here with a group after hearing Diane Moser play the music of Mary Lou Williams, great stuff.

The Falafel Hut was closing when we got there. But the young man whom the Grumpy Diner once referred to as "the Enigma Machine" has connections in higher places. The restaurant stayed open an extra hour to accommodate us.

We ordered the Hut Big Combo (chicken kabab, beef kabab, shawrma, kofta), the Hut Sampler (hummus, tabouli, falafel, stuffed grape leaves, baba ganoush), and a salad. I have a feeling they may have added a few extra little things, these huge, delicious and varied dishes would have fed an army.

I love the Mediterranean thing, a dozen or more dishes to try, lots of garnishes and endless combinations: hot and crunchy meet cool and smooth on chewy and warm. Yum!

Isle Thai revisited

I've been avoiding this Bleeker Street Thai restaurant for well over a year because of the noise factor, which I reported on a while back.

We were looking for a hang after after a reading by author Kirpal Gordon from his new book, Ghost and Ganga, accompanied by a band led by bari saxophonist Claire Daly.

After one of us stuck a head into to the door to ensure that the music was at a background level, the Isle staff quickly and cheerfully accommodated a reservationless group of 11 people and an upright bass.

The food was very good, the service was better than I remember, the bill was reasonable and the conversation was excellent.

Isle Thai is back on my list.

Musings on paella

I love the idea of paella, but the reality leaves me cold. How can something that involves several of my favorite things (rice! saffron! seafood!) be so blah and uninteresting, kind of a Seafood Helper? It seems like the seafood is usually overcooked, the rice somewhat undercooked and the whole dish rather bland and underspiced.

Maybe I never had well-executed paella. Maybe I had to eat it in its native land, where it's practically the national dish. With my hopes high, I had paella three times in Spain.

The first was part of the menu del dia at a little cafe near the Plaza Mayor, run by a guy named Alberto. Rating: eh. Our friend the Bill-der finished it for me. Overall, the meal was ok, but the most exciting part of dining at Alberto's was when the light in the basement bathroom went out -- it was really, really dark, visions of horror movies danced through my head. I made my way upstairs safely, before a crazed, cleaver-wielding cook punished me for not cleaning my plate.

The second time was at Barajas Airport while waiting for our flight to Bilbao. It was an act of sheer optimism to even consider getting paella at an airport cafeteria. I'd mentally nixed the idea, then said "paella," when I meant to say "albondigas." It was a huge portion and better than in the cafe, but more expensive. It was one of our most expensive meals in Spain, more than Casa Mingo or Cafe Gijon, which ranked way higher in every way. Bill-der finished that paella, too.

Luis, from whom we rented our cozy apartment in Barcelona, recommended eating at Barceloneta, which he credits with serving some of the best paella in the area. We headed over there on our last day in town and had a luxurious, leisurely lunch, with a view of the marina, the steeples of la Sagrada Familia, and most of Barcelona.

We started with tomato bread and a well-prepared calamari appetizer with aioli, accompanied by cava and agua minerale. The Grumpy Diner had grilled butifarra with two kinds of roasted peppers for his main course. This sausage is a mainstay of Catalan cooking, and it's easy to understand why. As soon as you taste it, you can imagine a lot of ways to prepare it.

And I ordered seafood paella with shrimp, clams, scungilli, langoustines and scallops. It was rich, redolent of saffron, but still not an earth-shaking experience. It was probably the best paella I've ever had. Bill-der wasn't there. I cleaned my plate.

But in spite of the luxe ingredients, even this paella felt like a cozy, down-home rice dish, not an elegant special-occasion meal. It's good, but what's the fuss? I feel like a heretic.

Dessert was the showstopper at Barceloneta: in my case, plum ice cream drizzled with armagnac, unbelievably luscious, sweet and smoky, hot and cold, a world of contrasts in every bite. The GD made a divine choice, crispy layers of pastry filled with a rich custard, topped with tiny, sweet, perfect strawberries sprinkled with powdered sugar, in a pool of creamy, delicate sauce.

But back to paella: Chef Jose Andres believes that paella should be cooking on every barbecue grill in America. Maybe it really is an at-home experience. Maybe this summer I can enlist the GD to join my quest to try cooking paella that will make the earth move, or at least do more than shrug.

Iridium, New York

Nobody goes to a jazz club to eat. There's that pesky minimum, which is easy to max out on a cocktail. But for nondrinkers and designated drivers, it can be very hard to order.

At Iridium last night, literally nothing on the menu appealed. My companion wanted triple chocolate cake and I advised him to make it a la mode, thus fulfilling both of our $10 minimums. However, the waitress told us food from the regular menu wasn't available, we could only order from the "late night" menu. Is there anywhere in this world where 7:30 is considered late night? Not even Disney World, says the Grumpy Diner.

We decided to split a burger, violating my rules about eating underground and eating ground meat, but so what. It arrived well after the music started, and rated an "eh," at best. It put the meat in mediocre, to steal a phrase from my pal Doc Habib, the Egyptologist from the Institute.

So during a sublime solo by pianist George Cables (is he capable of any other kind?), a waiter crouched by my companion's side to explain that the burger had been missing some of the promised toppings (no cheese, bacon, whatever). To make up for that lapse, the club wanted to treat us to coffee and dessert. Their peace offering? The chocolate cake that was the only thing we were interested in ordering in the first place!

The previous night, my friend who from this moment onward will be referred to here as "Bananas Foster," ordered the dessert of that name. She described it as a few hunks of battered, deep-fried bananas that brought to mind a plateful of deep-fried testicles. The dish had some tasty garnishes, which she enjoyed. "I ate everything but the testicles," Bananas Foster reported. She sent those wrinkled bits back to the kitchen practically intact.

Regardless of the vagaries of the kitchen and the waitstaff, we got what we came for: The Charles Tolliver band was slammin', and how could it not be with those great eccentric charts and soloists like Cables, Billy Harper, the mighty Bill Saxton, and my ol' fave Howard Johnson!

Ordering-wise, the smart move is probably to stick to water and just pay the minimum. Keep the focus on the music and skip the nonsense.

Dateline: Bilbao

I could have used two days in Bilbao, and I would have happily spent one of them without budging from our room in the Silken Gran Hotel Domine. We had a view of the Guggenheim from every part of the sleek, simply appointed room, including from the enormous bathtub. Between the beckoning bathtub and the amazing view, I didn't want to shut my eyes. I slept like Lazarus nevertheless.

We ordered coffee and hot chocolate as soon as we got up, and I spent at least a couple of hours just staring out the window. The strong coffee arrived with a pitcher of warm milk, for DIY cafe con leche. I blended it with the thick, rich, bittersweet chocolate, and gazed out the window. I could barely tear myself away from the view to write my morning pages.

Some of the lines of the titanium-sheathed roofscape mimic the curves in the roads swooping around the hills beyond the museum.





An outcropping of the facade is my favorite color, a shade of cobalt I call "Egyptian laundry detergent blue." Workers -- are they curators or gardeners? -- were reflowering Jeff Koons' terrier.









The museum interior has vaulting, arching shapes, catwalks and stairways and ramps that brought to mind Wright's Guggenheim in New York.








I was more interested in the architecture than in the collections, but I was attracted to the Serras as never before. Entering the curving, embracing structures was like riding a horse into a canyon, not sure what you're going to find inside, a feeling of anticipation with a touch of wariness. The colors of the metal were amazing. There was a lot to see in the discolorations and striations, whole stories told by huge pieces of dull steel.

But what did we eat? The guidebooks, which we considered totally off the mark as to what there is to see and do in Bilbao, all strongly recommended the museum cafe. The pasta salad we had there was not just the worst meal we had in Spain, it was the worst meal we've had in memory: Several pieces of pasta, ham, cheese and eggs decorating a bowl of slimy greens. Two of us shared the salad and didn't come close to finishing it. Gross.


After we checked into our hotel the night before, we wandered around downtown and went to a couple of tapas places that I enjoyed very much: cheese, olives, tortilla Espanola, bread, pintxos (tasty combinations on toothpicks such as anchovies or sardines with olives, tiny onions, mild chilis and the like). Tapas meals are like what I call a "sneaker dinner": you drop in somewhere, have a drink and something to eat, chat, walk down the street and do it again. Repeat as desired.

We finished our visit to Bilbao with a couple of bocadillos at the absolutely gorgeous Calatrava-designed airport. They were very good. Thin slices of savory jamon serrano and manchego cheese on a light but crusty roll. I could eat that every day. Wait, I did.

Cafe Gijon, Madrid

We built up an appetite spending the morning wandering around Parque Retiro, exploring el Palacio Cristal, its impressive conservatory; enjoying a great cup of cafe con leche near a small lake with a monument to Alfonso XII (el Estanque de Retiro), checking out the Palacio Velazquez, named for its architect, Ricardo Velazquez Bosco; and dodging any number of reed players throughout the park playing the same awful version of "Autumn Leaves." (How could they all be so bad in exactly the same way? Maybe it's a union thing or a mafia thing.)


Walked through the Salamanca district,

window shopped for shoes on Calle de Agusto Figuroa, discussed lunch options and ended up at
Cafe Gijon.

The cafe, which has been around since 1888, has a nice, warm atmosphere. I think I would eat here a lot if I lived in Madrid. It's on the Paseo del Recoletos, near the Plaza Cibeles. Dozens of open-stall book sellers have set up shop along the tree-lined paseo, I like the atmosphere even if I can't read any of the Spanish-texted tomes.


We ordered from the menu del dia, a fixed-price, multi-course meal that restaurants in Spain seem to be required to offer at midday. Waiters seem to automatically bring the ala carte menu to the table, but will provide the menu del dia if you ask for it. Also known as "la comida," the menu del dia is often posted on a chalkboard outside restaurants and usually costs between 8 and 15 Euros for three courses, bread and a beverage.

Our first-course choices on this chilly Monday included smoky pimenton-seasoned gazpacho and roasted potatoes stuffed with rich bonita in a lovely, homey, golden sauce with subtle touches of saffron and curry. The soup was very good, but the potato dish was divine.

My main course consisted of two big pieces of flaky white fish in a saffron-scented sauce with mussels, shrimp and tiny clams. My companion had entrecot (a boneless rib steak), grilled medium with a side of grilled eggplant and fries. Multiple thumbs up. Mineral water, a flask of mild red wine and a basket of excellent crusty bread were included.

We finished the meal with quartered fresh pineapple, a nice balance to the previous rich courses. It was one of the best meals we had in Spain and felt like a real bargain at 12 Euros, service included.

I've already tried to replicate the potato dish at home, scooping out the center of raw Yukon gold potatoes, and filling them with a light stuffing of bonito, paquillo peppers, onion and parsley. I clustered the potatoes in a baking dish, added an inch or two of stock and baked them in the oven for an hour or so. When they were tender I seasoned the stock and thickened it a bit. Very nice.