lunches and lunches
There are lunches, and then there are lunches to write about.
Today I started to think I was in one of the latter when the patxaran came out; but I knew it when I decided to go to the park afterwards and lay down in the sun. Tomato & oil, chard & potato, rare beef, sweet fried things, vermouth, wine, "rancid wine", and yes, a shot of espresso.
Also: Barcelona's Ciutadella is its Dolores Park. No bi-rite creamery, nor tartine bakery, but the park itself has that same feel, sometimes. Wafting guitar, bagpipes, plucked violin, tightrope walkers, and jugglers, hand and foot.