Thursday
We stayed in all day and then popped up and got dressed quickly to get to the cofffee roasters in time. Past all the upscale cafes and designer furniture stores of the Eixample, we hustled up the street. Cafe el Magnifico was not as intimidating as I’d imagined it. It was modern but warm with wood and the smell of coffee. Mims asked the woman to give us something “marvioso” (marvellous.) We left with five hundred grams of Brazilian expresso (e-ch-press-o) just as they turned the sign on the door from obert to tancat.
Intoxicated by the smell emanating from our tiny shopping bag, we’d stop, sniff, and walk a little faster. We decided to explore the neighborhood a bit and see if we could find a famous bar we’d read about called, Gin Martini. Sweaty from rushing to the coffee roasters and a wearing tee-shirts and jeans, we assumed we weren’t in any position to actually go inside the bar if we found it. We imagined a secret door that opened to a sophisticated lounge full of smartly dressed men in ties and shirtsleeves and tipsy women with pearls and cigarette holders. What we found instead was what looked like a classy hotel bar full of wealthy tourists and old men. We kept moving.
We stood outside of a seafood restaurant aptly named, “Mariscos,” and tried our hand at translating the Catalan menu on the chalkboard. They had an array of fresh seafood on ice so you can just point to your dinner. Octopus, hake, baby eels, shrimp, mussels, whatever your heart desires prepared in whatever way you like. We made a mental note to return with empty bellies.

Every time we see a Japones (Japanese) restaurant we rush over to scan their menu for ramen. Sushi restaurants abound, and there are take away wok shops everywhere, but ramen is a tall order. Our first meal out in our new neighborhood in Barcelona was ramen. It was at a hole in the wall Japones restaurant called, “Wasabi.” The ramen was made with chicken broth (always a bad sign,) packaged noodles, and chewy pork slices. A sad affair but we asked for it.
So on this night the search for ramen continued. We spotted an authentic looking Japones grocery/take away restaurant and skipped across the street to check it out. It was a tiny place with a cooler full of mochi ice cream balls and fridge stacked with sushi and fermented soy beans (muy authentico!) Mims didn’t miss a beat and started chatting up the old woman at the counter in Japanese about where the best ramen in town is. Her answer, “There isn’t any,” wasn’t very hopeful. But in a mixture of Japanese and Spanish she started to give us directions to a restaurant around the corner. Her husband came out of the back room to help and they drew us a map that looked like a game of tic tac toe.

Mims was able to decipher the map enough to get us to Koyuki in about five minutes. The sight of it was encouraging. There was a discreet sign and the entrance was down a few steps off the street. The place was small and warm but when we asked the old man at the front for a menu, he seemed really offended. We had to ask sheepishly in Spanish a couple of times until he threw one at us. His attitude seemed like a good indication of authenticity to me. We again vowed to come back when we were good and hungry (as well as to give this guy time to forget us.)
The days are long here in Spain and you don’t even begin to think about dinner until at least eight o’clock. We were hovering around seven so we kept answering our impulses and headed to the local brewery for a drink and a snack. Having been here once before we felt like old pros and knew exactly what to order and how. We sat at the bar and ordered una negra y una miel cervezas (one dark and one honey beer.) We sat there for a long time talking about languages and trying to guess where the waiter was from. His face was too soft to be Spanish. When we were good and tipsy we walked home to have a simple dinner of hummus on toast with courgettes (zucchini) and salad.
In Barcelona you can stay inside all day in your pajamas and still have all night to have an adventure out in the city and be home in time for dinner…at ten o’clock.





