BARCELONA, Spain — Into the madding crowd I plunged, stalking the dreadlocked hippies in search of cod fritters; shadowing the glamorous Italian tourists decorating the cafes like Fellini characters; spying on the sly, wizened Catalan revolutionaries huddled over bottles of Rioja.
Here I was at La Boqueria, the oldest and largest public market in all of Europe, the heart and soul of Barcelona, at first a locale where peasants sold their produce outside the city gates but then expanded into an ancient and glorious supermarket when the city’s medieval walls fell in the early 1800s.
I had come at the prodding of friends: You love food, so to La Boqueria you must go. I had spent the better part of my adult years traveling in search of caloric epiphanies, those unexpected foodie moments — the bowl of udon noodles slurped after a meditative walk through Nara, Japan; the dolmas offered by a friend in war-ravaged Mostar in Bosnia-Herzogovina; the obscenely rich pain au chocolat eaten from a bag on St. Germain Boulevard in Paris. Yet none of those signature moments had prepared me for La Boqueria.
If you visit La Boqueria, plan on spending several hours immersed in the cacophony of fruits, vegetables, wild mushrooms, cured ham, sausages, shellfish, chile peppers, gelato and random Brazilian canned goods because in Barcelona, time slows, and everyone lingers. No express lanes here. After all, it’s a city of art, design and gastronomy, not to mention sin and sensuality.
A friend had recommended the grilled razor clams at the tapas bar named Pinotxo (Catalan for Pinocchio), and indeed I felt like a wooden puppet, standing behind the customers seated at the small counter. I was waiting for someone, anyone, to vacate his or her chair. Then I began to feel like a creep, and I imagined a young lady pointing her finger at me and saying in Catalan: Mother, that man is eyeing my squid in a way that’s giving me discomfort.
Homer Simpson-eyed squid
So I moved on to other tentacles. In the seafood section, located in the center of the market, I found some tiny squid on a bed of ice, staring back at me with Homer Simpson eyes. Approaching the butcher shops, I found fresh goat heads — “Boqueria,” in my mind, roughly translates to “place where goats are decapitated.”
I found a place selling a whole piglet that, if it hadn’t already left this world, could have been dreaming peacefully of better days. (“Oh bother,” said Pooh.) I could tell that many of the stall operators were dead serious about their food. Take La Masia de la Boqueria, which has been serving deli meats and cheeses since the mid-1990s. I later discovered this proclamation on the company’s website: “We attach great importance to pleasure, and the emotional experience of all those who are particularly fond of sausages.”
As my senses were being assaulted, I quelled the urge to flee down La Rambla (the famous central strolling avenue) and, evading the hustlers and pickpockets, jump into the Mediterranean Sea. But I calmed myself and thought of what my editor told me: Tom, you must wander La Boqueria and, like a pig that’s about to become a slab of jamon iberico, find the gemlike acorns in the forest. Well, no, she didn’t exactly say that, but she did say to graze through the market and come up with a nice, inexpensive picnic.
And so that’s what I did. I bought a bocata, also known as a bocadillo, a sandwich made of baguette-style bread, cured ham and Manchego cheese, from a stall named Pa Calent-Bolleria. I washed down the bocata’s salty earthiness (or earthy saltiness) by munching on a Valencia orange from the Hernando fruit stand. I wandered by Graus Olives i Conserves and bought a small bag of primavera olives with pearl onions and cornichons. I made myself a dessert of fresh cherries and apricots from the Sprim fruit stand. My final bill came to 5 euro, or about $7.
My lunch at La Boqueria, eaten while walking down the aisles and browsing from stall to stall, reminded me of what Joan Miro, one of Spain’s greatest artists, once said: “For me, to gain freedom is to gain simplicity.”
My meal was nothing fancy or elaborate, but it was beautiful in its simplicity. Its fresh, intense flavors helped me find a clear path through the chaos.
Don’t forget Barcelona on foodie-city list
When it comes to foodie cities, Barcelona deserves to be mentioned in the same conversation as Paris, Rome, New York, Tokyo and Hong Kong.
A visit to La Boqueria public market is a highlight, but here are several other food-centric corners that merit your attention.
Caelum (Palla 8) is at the confluence of two alleys in the Barri Gotic, Barcelona’s Gothic quarter. The shop, which consists of a food store, a tearoom and a basement cafe, sells honey, preserves, marzipan, cakes and biscuits made in convents and monasteries. The store has a sacred and precious air to it — perhaps even holier-than-thou.
As I snacked on an almond tart in the lower level, I took a photo of the menu on my smartphone. The hostess walked up to me and said, “We don’t like what you’re doing.” I apologized and felt like the Ugly American. I imagined what it would be like to steal Caelum’s ideas and start a pastry shop in America called “Get Thee to a Nunnery.”
At any rate, I bought an assortment of jams made by Benedictine monks. Upon my return to America, I declared the jam at U.S. Customs, and the agent asked me, dryly, “You say it’s jam, but are you sure it’s not jelly?”
Casa Gispert (Somberers 23) is a dimly lit store that sends you back in time. Its website says it was founded in 1851. The store roasts coffee and nuts in a wood-fired oven and also sells dried fruit, oils and vinegars, herbs and spices, chocolates, honey, jam and preserves. It’s behind the Santa Maria del Mar church in a neighborhood called La Ribera.
La Botifarreria de Santa Maria (Santa Maria 4) faces the Santa Maria del Mar church. It has the vibe of an intense French bakery, except that the youngish artisans in the shop are focused on handcrafting botifarra, or Catalan sausages. They also sell fancy cheeses, salami and other deli meats.
While recovering from my Ugly American moment, I experienced my Awkward Tourist moment at the sausage store. I created a stir by not knowing how or what to order (I don’t speak Spanish or Catalan), and I didn’t know how to say, “Can you cut a little piece of this one so I can try it without buying the whole sausage?”
There was also some sort of numbering system that I had not followed. After some commotion, a sympathetic sausage salesman showed me some vacuum-packed salami, which I happily took back to my hotel room.
Thomas Huang
Barcelona Insider’s Guide
STAY: I booked the Hotel Cram (Aribau 54, ), a boutique hotel in the L’Eixample neighborhood. Service was friendly and helpful, and the hotel has a fabulous (though pricey) restaurant, Can Gaig (Arago 214, ).
I liked being away from the crowds on La Rambla, Barcelona’s main strolling boulevard. At the same time, Cram was an easy 15-minute walk to La Boqueria and other sights in the heart of Barcelona.
DINE: L’Eixample is home to many of Barcelona’s great restaurants. I had memorable meals at Can Gaig, Hisop (Passatge Marimon 9, ) and Gresca (Provenza 230, ).
Be aware that many Barcelona restaurants open late for dinner — around 9 p.m. — with most customers eating at 10 p.m. or later.
MORE INFO: La Boqueria’s website: . Tourist Office of Spain: . Barcelona Turisme:
