On Málaga, and Solo Holidaying

I turned 30 last week. It seems like one of those big milestones in life, one of those really important birthdays that everyone celebrates with real gusto, though I'm not really sure why. I get 18 - legally allowed to do all the fun things, like buy booze and vote, and see smutty films. I sort of understand 21, it's that American ideal of being a proper, proper adult. But 30? 30 feels like one of those ages that at least, as a woman, people put upon you that feeling that you'd better get on with it. But when it comes down to it, 30 is important. 30 is the age I got to where I felt like I could really do what I wanted, without judgement. I can eat coco pops for dinner whenever I damn well like. No I don't want to do that. Whatever. 

I had a few days off in between jobs and I wanted to do something with it - it's all too easy to sit at home in your pants watching Narcos and eat pizza - so I decided to go away by myself. I know it doesn't sound like much, but the number of raised eyebrows I got was surprising. "You're so brave!" 

"But won't you be lonely?" was a common question, or "can't someone go with you?" Both fair points, but I didn't want to. I'd had a pretty intense period at work on over-lapping projects, so actually the thought of waking up in the morning and just doing whatever I wanted made my mouth water a bit. Being alone doesn't make you lonely. 

I went to Málaga. Actually, when I booked it I managed to book my flights to Málaga and my accommodation in Majorca. Anyway, Málaga is the dream place for an easy few days. It had everything I wanted; decent flight options, easy transport if you don't want to drive, city, beach, weather. It's a bit like Barcelona, on a much smaller scale. I bumbled around cycling down their wide boulevards, lazing on their beaches, a mere 15 minute walk from my apartment. I ate at market places, tapas bars, chiringuitos. I read books on the beach in between napping, I climbed hills to viewpoints across Málaga, and I stared down pitying gazes from couples in their geriatric years (only really them, weirdly) as I asked for tables for one. I slept for HOURS and I discovered I don't much like Picasso, but I found Jackson Pollack quite entertaining. Anyway, I'd hugely recommend Málaga, and here are some of the places I ate, with thanks to @thaneprice and @sevilla_tapas for their enthusiastic recommendations. 

Casa Aranda is THE PLACE for churros and chocolate while you watch the world go by, and they are delicious; the churros are just the right side of salty, and the chocolate thick and sweet, but I challenge you to go and Do Stuff after a day started like that. I prefer a gentler beginning, like the breakfast at La Recova, a tiny little ceramics shop that doubles as a café. For something ludicrous like 4 Euros you get coffee, bread, tomatoes, a sobresada (spicy, spreadable sausage), and confit chicken spread, as well as honey and banana spreads so you can have mains and pudding. This guide has all the deets. 

My parents, bless 'em, did a 6 hour drive round the coast to come have lunch with me (they moved to Spain last year) and we had a seafood extravaganza at Andres Maricuchi, in a lovely traditional seaside town of Pedragelejo. I cycled there and flopped on the dark volcanic sand in the morning, watching the restaurants build barbecues up in raised boats, for their signature sardines-on-a-stick. Grilled squid with potatoes could have done with a little more oil basting and a little less time on the heat, but prawns, liberally sprinkled with rock salt, were easily some of the best I've had. Sweet, sweet seaside. And they peel their tomatoes for their garlic-heavy salad. I don't know why they peel them, but damn it felt luxurious.

LINK

Back in Málaga proper, Taberna Uvedoble was one of my favourites. The menu offered tapa portions of everything even if you're sitting at a table outside, so I got to try lots of lovely little bits, like this squid ink fideua, with tiny baby Málaga squid and aioli. 

I have a total obsession with Salmorejo - which is a Andalucian gazpacho, made creamier with the addition of bread, and the exclusion of peppers and cucumbers. Every time I visit Spain I buy it in cartons in supermarkets, though they're much fancier with chopped garnishes, here with egg and jamon. Smoked swordfish loin too is rolled in paprika and cayenne, with a loose tomato sauce. Lunch was barely a tenner with a beer. 

In the evenings I wandered around the cobbled streets and stopped off in tapas bars for a little beer or wine, sampling a dish here or there. The prawns at Wendy Gamba were the first time I considered maybe having that again, they were so good. I love the Spanish tapas culture, especially since I'm the kind of person that finds it difficult to stay still - the idea that you can just snack around is heaven to me. I also went to Los Gatos, which was fun to sit at the bar and snack on stuffs on bread, especially since they gave me a glass of cava after I paid my bill. I also enjoyed El Refectorum Catedral, which was one of the more upmarket tapas places I found myself in, though their croquetas are greasy and quite frankly, a bit rank. 

I LOVED Meson Cortijo de Pepe; mainly because after trying to squeeze into El Tapeo de Cervantes and basically being shooed away (apparently one must book) they were very welcoming, and they served lots of nice little plates of tapas that you could just point at. Also, vegetables! Lovely vegetables. If you find yourself there, get the avocado salad. I particularly enjoyed a totally bonkers Japanese lady who spoke perfect Spanish and sidled up to me. She raised an eyebrow and told me that many single women go to tapas bars to pick up men but she, she assured me, was only interested in the food. I smiled sweetly and told her I was there to pick up men. 

Atarazanas Market, open lunchtimes, is a great place to wander around to look at produce and eat some lunch. It also happened to be practically under my apartment. It was here I learnt to be more assertive. Often when I'm on my own I become a bit meek, trying to be as polite as possible, not to get in anyone's way, avoid drawing attention to myself. If you did that here you simply wouldn't get fed. Fuck it. I elbowed my way in, shouted GAMBAS! BOQUERONES! and I was rewarded. It was fine. It was very fresh. The waiter behind the counter was indeed dreamy. But these are plates made for sharing and the amount of variety I crave means a lot of wastage, or over-eating. I went back to Taberna Uvedoble. 

I came back to London, refreshed and perky, ready to face 30. 

La Pubilla, Barcelona, and More On Catalonian Food

When people talk about Barcelona and food, invariably they talk about where the best tapas bar is, or where to find the best tapas but actually being as it is in Catalonia, tapas isn't actually local to Barcelona. Tapas is native to Andalusia, though adopted all over Spain. Compared with Madrid, whereby anywhere you stop for a drink and you really do get a tapa - be it olives, or marinated anchovies or the like - Barcelona isn't so. You sit down and order from a menu. Catalonian food is characterised by dishes such as botifarra, a pork sausage with spices, or escalivada - smoky, grilled vegetables such as peppers and aubergine. The most common Catalonian dish served in Barcelona is pan con tomate, or pa amb tomàquet in Catalonian; toasted bread, rubbed with garlic and topped with tomatoes, rubbed until the pulp has been spread on the bread and the skins discarded. Topped liberally with salt and olive oil, this accompanies almost every meal. 

Keen to get a try of real Catalonian food, we went to La Pubilla, recommended by Su-Lin. I wasn't expecting such a sleek, minimal room, and being that it was unfathomably early for dinner (8:30pm!) we were the only customers. All the menus are in Catalonian or English, no Spanish equivalent. Some of the words are shared, though by and large we were baffled. 

Having already had a meat and cheese pitstop, we weren't exactly famished so we were rather pleased to find that the starter portion sizes were quite elegant. Marinated mackerel (top photo) with Salmorejo (a creamy gazpacho) was vividly orange, pretty on the plate and the flavours, married with the shaved fennel, were bright and perky. I am so obsessed with Salmorejo I was gulping down cartons of the stuff that you can buy from the fridges in the supermarkets. 

A halved, baked peach stuffed with shredded stewed duck was somewhat richer; the duck was scented with a little anise and the soft flesh of the peach worked so well with it. We pulled it apart with forks, spearing firmer raw peach cubes alongside. What a brilliant idea; I was concerned it might be a bit reminiscent of the (usually) abominable duck a l'orange, but we needn't have worried. Our third starter, a brawn-like shaved pressed meat with pickled chanterelles and herbed creme fraiche was less successful, though not disastrous; just a touch on the bland side. 

For mains, we all went down the seafood route and this was salted cod with cod throats (!) and white beans. I loved this. Though the skin would have been better crisp, I loved the slithery aspect of the cod throats, which were barely discernible unless you were looking for them. The cod was cooked so that firm flakes came away, pearlescent and creamy. This, like the rest of the mains we had, was better shared as what with being salt cod and all, it was quite... salty. 

Monkfish was declared the dish of the night by some of the table, and I almost agreed. The fish was cooked incredibly well, and it was sat on a bed of black rice, squash and tomatoes. It was light though it felt decadent, as most monkfish dishes seem to me; it's such a firm steak of a fish. 

But for me, this lobster rice was the dish of the night. A giant casserole came to the table, with it's own board to protect the table from its ferocious bubbling. Underneath the broth was soupy rice, creamy and rice from cooking in lobster bisque. This could have served 4 alone but we gamely ploughed on, eating the lobster-soup-rice, until all that was left was the lobster itself. Implements were requested, and viscera flew as we extracted all the sweet lobster meat from the shell. Meanwhile, this being our second dinner, I was full to bursting - my waistband was protesting - but onwards I continued, until there was nothing left to be eaten. 

We were so incredibly full that we had to go for an forty minute walk before we felt anything close to being normal again. 

La Pubilla, Plaça de la Llibertat, 23, 08012 Barcelona, Spain

I still can't tell you exactly what Catalan food is, but La Pubilla gave it a good go. Word has it that their lunch menu, at €13 for 3 courses, is one of the best value in town but actually I think that might go to Granja Mabel.  I went there three times for lunch when I was working (I did actually do some work in Barcelona!) and the menu del dia was merely €10 for three courses, that changed every day. It was absolutely rammed. I hadn't expected much but actually the 'secreto' pork was one of the best pieces of pork I've eaten in recent memory, and on another day, the pigs cheek served on the bone with rice was beautiful simplicity. 

Granja Mabel, Carrer de la Marina, 114, 08018 Barcelona, Spain

Entirely on the other end of the scale was Els Pescadors, probably one of the most expensive (and reputably the best) fish restaurant in town. I mention it because here I had hake cooked in 'suquet' - another traditional Catalonian dish. The restaurant itself is a cab ride away from the centre of town, the waiters wear starched white shirts, and they wheel a trolley full of the day's catch for you to be tempted by. I sat and watched a local jazz band play in the square outside, while an Italian couple next to me streamed the football, and a pair of Chinese lads chain-smoked their way through a steak tartare. But the suquet itself was rich with seafood flavour, heavy with potato and a large piece of braised hake, cooked just under so the flesh resisted a little against the bones, took centre stage. It's not a pretty dish. I asked for some vegetables - might I have a side salad? - and they looked at me like I was crazy. For €27.50 one might have thought some vegetables might be included. But no. I skipped starters and dessert.

Els Pescadors, Plaça de Prim, 1, 08005 Barcelona, Spain

Tapas 24, Barcelona

Tapas 24 is right in the middle of a bustling Barcelona, near Passeig de Gracia. I usually associate these kind of areas, the ones right in the middle of town, with our own Leicester Square; a culinary wasteland, unless you know where to look. Thanks to the good people of Twitter, I had plenty of recommendations, peppering my map of Barcelona, ensuring I wouldn't be far from a decent meal or drink.

Tapas 24 is owned by an El Bulli alumnus, bringing us traditional tapas with a modern take to them. There's a small terrace, but the main bar is in the basement, around a central cooking area. When I went my friends were a little tardy but even at the unfashionably early hour of 1pm, I was having to sheepishly save the seats next to me. They didn't like me much there.

The 'bikini' sandwich - I have no idea why they're called that, as it's probably the least bikini-friendly thing - is white bread stuffed to the gills with cheese, ham and truffles. How do they get that uniform toasty brownness? It's magic, that's what. Tasty, tasty melty gooey magic. 

The man next to me insisted we must get the gambas, so gambas we got and very good they were too. They were simply packed in salt and grilled, which made for some very salty finger-licking when we got down to de-shelling them. At this stage of the trip I was 99% salt anyway - the Spanish really like their salt, huh? - so I just shrugged and carried on. 

I was at the stage of the trip now where I was jumping on any vegetable available to me. WHY Barcelona, WHY U NO SERVE VEGETABLES? Anyway, this tomato salad was decorated with slivers of jamon, nestled in a cream that might have been influenced by tahini and topped with little orange salmon roe that popped in your mouth. It was wonderful; the tomatoes were sweet and juicy, the jamon and roe salty. I could feel my blood absorbing the vitamins. I am not being over-dramatic.

Chargrilled octopus was interspersed with big, wibbly wobbly chunks of Iberico pork fat. Sometimes the fat had a little bit of meat attached to it too. It was advertised as such on the menu, but I still felt it a little overwhelming. The flavour was incredible, but all that fat really coats the mouth. We needed a glass of rosé to steady ourselves. 

I kept seeing 'bomba' on various menus, and this is it; a giant ball of mashed potato, stuffed with minced meat, breadcrumbed and deep fried. It is topped with a spicy tomato sauce, and sat on a mayonnaise-like one too. Yes. Very yes.

Lastly, Iberico presa with chimichurri sauce had to be ordered. It's still a bit of a rarity in London, this special type of pork - reared on acorns, it's of such a high standard that one can eat it rare. Here it was seared lightly, insides still ruby red, and topped with a herby oil. It was so flavoursome it could have been mistaken for beef.

Service was fine, they were there when we needed them but otherwise completely indifferent. At around €40 a head with booze it certainly wasn't one of the cheapest lunches, but we found it to be good value - maybe I'm so used to London prices?

With that, we went to walk it off around the Sagrada Familia. Top tip: book online. It's so easy. Don't even think about turning up without a ticket, unless you really love queuing.

Cal Pep, Barcelona

When researching restaurants and bars for my Barcelona trip, Cal Pep was probably the one recommended to me the most. Bar some naysayers, I was told it was the best tapas in town, and I should get there early if I wanted a coveted seat at the bar. Indeed, I believe Barrafina's owners took inspiration from Cal Pep when opening their own place. 

Barrafina is better. 

That's not to say Cal Pep isn't good though. I rocked up on a Monday 15 minutes before opening time, and slotted into the queue at fourth place. As I was alone, I was instructed down to the far end of the bar; meanwhile larger groups who had booked carried on through to a dining room with tables. I will never choose a table over bar seating if I can possibly help it. 

My waiter asked me a flurry of Spanish, at which point I gathered there was no menu. He barked words at me - "fritto misto?" "almejas?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Tortilla?" I made a face. The older chap sitting next to me was also alone and caning the white wine like it wasn't a Monday, and so our dishes came out in tandem. Clams, cooked with tiny slivers of jamon, white wine and garlic were gorgeous, plump little things. A chef working behind the counter tsked at both of us, ordered us to put our forks down and slurp directly from the shells. I did as I was told. 

I very much enjoyed watching the chef behind the bar constantly tossing seafood through seasoned flour and dumping it into the fryer - toss, toss, fry, dump, repeat - and I wondered if that was his job all day. The fritto misto itself was fairly unremarkable; well fried, sure, but some of the small fishes I assume you're supposed to eat whole, like anchovies or sprats, were too big and after almost choking TO DEATH on a fish bone I came to deboning each with my fingers. It was a bit of a drag. 

So despite the face I got the tortilla anyway, and I'm glad I did as it was really delicious. The top was smeared with ...mayonnaise? And the insides were creamy and ever-so-slightly liquid. A whole tortilla for one was a bit much though (which I anticipated, hence my face) and I wish I'd been able to share it with Grandpa to my left who was ploughing gamely through his, onto his fourth glass of wine. 

By this point I was roundly stuffed as well as feeling incredibly vegetable-deficient but I wasn't quite ready to call it quits yet. Around me people who weren't alone had tuna tartare and sausage with beans (botifarra, not Heinz) and I wanted just one more thing. When asked, I told them I liked prawns, and I was offered two. What then ensued was a good fifteen minutes of what looked like the head chef attempting to weigh them, take the battery out, bash the scales around a bit, find another battery, weigh them again... I suddenly became slightly nervous that I had no idea what these (or anything else) cost, and if they're weighing them then... 

The answer is €17. Two big red prawns (not carabineros) were €17. Baked in salt on the plancha, they were juicy and just cooked - a second less would have rendered them undone. As I peeled the prawns the chef approached, ripped the top of the prawn's head off and proffered the brains to me to eat up. Luckily I was going to do so anyway - anyone more squeamish might have quailed under his expectant gaze. An espresso and a bill of €55 later, I gave up my seat to an extremely pushy woman, sad that I wouldn't be able to watch the spectacle of her ineffectual rudeness. Tourists, eh? 

Cal Pep
Plaça de les Olles, 8, 
08003 Barcelona, Spain

Bar Del Pla, Barcelona

I've just spent two weeks in Barcelona for work; you'd think in a city so full of restaurants you'd try to get to as many as possible, but actually I enjoyed Bar del Pla so much, I went twice. 

We experienced both sides of the spectrum; perched at the bar, and sat down properly in the back dining room. No prizes for guessing where had the better ambience, but since both times they were full and we had a short wait, we weren't being picky. Pan con tomate, a staple of the Catalonia region, was rich with pulp and twinkling with salt crystals. A squid ink croquette was startling in colour, but as good as any I've had; melting inside, crisp outside. Long, thin peppers, blistered and hot replaced the usual padrons. These were spicier than their more squat counterparts, and we spluttered often. 

I'd never have ordered the 'mushrooms and wasabi' if I hadn't been so vegetable-deficient by this stage of the trip. Man I am glad we did. Chestnut mushrooms, shaved incredibly thinly and served raw, mingled with pieces of strawberry, curls of a sharp cheese that might have been manchego, and slivered shiso leaves - all drizzled with a wasabi-scented dressing. It sounds completely bonkers doesn't it? It was so, so good. A simple tomato salad featured firm, large chunks of the sweetest fruit, heightened by great olive oil and sherry vinegar. We flicked more salt crystals off.

Asparagus were grilled until tender, a smokiness imbued within them. Romesco sauce, made with red peppers, almonds, bread and olive oil blitzed to a coarse, red paste is another Catalonian speciality, and added richness to the vegetables. We devoured this. I'm not sure the cress added much (does it ever?).

From the larger 'granny's cuisine' dishes, I only ordered this dish because @jmdale01, who'd recommended me the restaurant, said to; on the menu, it was labelled 'Iberican Cheek Café Paris' and it didn't sound particularly exciting (more baffling...), but the perfectly cooked cheeks, fork-tender and gelatinous were in its' braising juices that tasted lightly curried. Almond-scented croutons topped the dish which added a surprising, slightly sweet dimension, while the potatoes remained al dente, ideal for swiping up extra sauce. This was a real highlight of the whole trip. 

I don't normally go in for foie gras. I find it a bit too much and it finishes off what remaining appetite I might have, but I wasn't eating alone and I can't always have my way I suppose. True to form, the foie gras was incredibly indulgent, but cooked well with a crisp caramelised crust and custard-smooth inside. The 'crispy beef' was slow-cooked shredded beef, wrapped around a thin filo-like pastry and deep-fried. Rather astoundingly, this dish was only €5.90.

'¡¡¡A Tapa of Tripe!!!!' was how the menu described this cast-iron dish of, well, tripe. Cooked with chorizo, the pieces were gooey and frilly in the mouth. I liked it, though less so when it repeated on me through the night. My companions were apprehensive, crying off with mumbles of being overly full to take it on.

Both times I was surprised how cheap the bill was; with ample of their delicious white rioja and tip, we barely scratched £25 a head. Well worth a visit. Or two.

Bar Del Pla

Carrer Montcada 2,
80030 Barcelona

Eating and Drinking in Madrid

I very much feel like Madrid might be my spiritual home. It's a culture and a city where standing around drinking cañas (little glasses of beer) or a glass of wine warrants a small, free dish of food coming alongside it. If you want something a little more substantial, you can order from a menu, sometimes in half portions (media), or you can move on to another bar. There's no stress. In a more formal restaurant environment, often there's still a bar you can perch at if you don't want to commit your entire appetite to it. And then! Then you go down for a nap between the hours of 5pm and 8pm, before you start it all again. I mean, what's not to love? 

The streets are wide, clean and tree-lined; its a very green city. We spent a very enjoyable Sunday cycling around Retiro park and going across the lake in a rowing boat. The services like the Metro and the buses are cheap and frequent, rarely crowded, certainly not to London's standards. I fell in love. 

We had a lot of restaurants, bars and markets all marked out on a map; there was no way we'd ever have ben able to visit them all, but my theory is that it's good to have options. Here are our top eats: 

1. Mercado de San Miguel: 

Day 1, and how better to orient ourselves than this market is bang smack in the middle of Madrid's city centre, by the Plaza Major. It's in a big shiny building, and is full of food producers' stalls. We particularly liked the shop selling things on cocktail sticks for a Euro a go - usually olives, with anchovies or sun dried tomatoes, skewered together. We also tried melba toast topped with a generous wodge of smoked salmon, or a quenelle of bacalao, creamed together with potato. Bocadillos stuffed with Iberico jamon went for €3 a pop, and people wandered the alleys absentmindedly picking pieces of jamon from a greaseproof paper cup. We stopped off for a little beer, bolstered by tortilla which we had cold as we hadn't learnt what 'caliente' meant yet (hot). I discovered salmorejo in Seville and fell it love with it; it's just like gazpacho with the addition of bread to make it creamy, and it would turn out to be the only vegetable we'd eat in days. 

Mercado San Anton is also looks to be worth a visit; unfortunately we went on a Sunday after lunch when more snacking wasn't possible, purely to have a drink on the roof terrace. 

2. Álbora:

We came to Albora, a recently Michelin-awarded restaurant, only because we were promised that this place would have some incredible jamon. It's not my usual vibe on holidays - it was a bit sleek and snazzy, but the bar area was more casual than it looked. We had the 3 types of jamon, the Joselitos trilogy that came in three tiers and featured jamon across the ages. For €30 this was no trifling matter, but indeed it was some of the tastiest ham I've eaten. For good measure, we tried some croquetas but I fear nothing will beat Barrafina's; these were a little cold in the centre. 

3. La Venencia - Calle de Echegaray, 7: 

No pictures here, as they're not allowed. I'm not sure why. This is a sherry bar, and it's so typically Spanish. A dish of olives and a plate of peanuts were devoured as we worked our way through the Manzanilla and Fino options. 

3. Casa Gonzalez:

As soon as we walked into Casa Gonzalez we both went "OOOF". The pong of cheese hits you full in the face as you walk in. The front of the place is a deli, selling cheeses and meats. Out back, tables and chairs to seat around 30. Unbeknownst to us, the menu is 70% cheese. We were overwhelmed with choice. A Galician cheese with honey came slathered on crunchy bread, while another fonduta-type melty cheese, studded with quince jelly, was pure comfort. All the bars we'd been to before were absolutely rammed with men, so much so a drunken stag placed his face in my hair in order to give it a good sniff - I KNOW - and we discovered where all the Madrilenian women were hiding - they were eating cheese on toast. 

4. Street XO, El Corte Inglés de Callao, Calle de Serrano, 52

I wouldn't recommend staying out till 5am, dancing like a dickhead in a dodgy club, and then attempting to go to Street XO for your first meal of the next day. It's everything it could possibly be to be the most unfriendly to those with a hangover. But Asian Spanish fusion curiosity got the best of me. Firstly, it's tricky to locate - Google Maps says off the Gran Via, and Google also says is closed. After a bit of digging, we found it on the tenth floor of El Corte Ingles in Calle Serrano, a posh part of town. We walked into a queue at 3pm - no big deal, we're Londoners, we know queues - except banging beats are blared at you while you wait. 

Once in, diners are sat around a large bar. In the middle of it, the chefs cook the dishes. I love this type of dining, as you get to have a good nosy at what everyone's cooking. Mirrors lining the bar above your head facilitated having a peer at what everyone had ordered, too. 

Weirdly their chefs whites are held together with fastenings as how might get on a straight-jacket, which made me feel all sorts of uncomfortable. Woks are flaring, grills are flaming and it is pretty hot. Everyone is SHOUTING too. Hangover at DEFCON 9. 

It was our ordering, I'm sure, but the first thing served to us was this still-warm razor clam with coconut cream and ponzu jelly. It was challenging. We slurped it down bravely though. 

We were back in more familiar territory with Iberico pork belly ssam, and it was glorious, though I would have liked more lettuce and I'd have chucked the tartare-like sauce out. Less successful was the Kentucky fried quail, which was completely overpowered with flavour, mostly left untouched. 'Singapore laksa' made using those big, juicy red prawns, carabineros, were 'fusioned' by using large pasta shells instead of noodles, though to what better effect I'm not sure. More of an Asian bouillabase. The chef pulled the head from the body of the prawn to dish it up and held it up with his chopsticks, gesticulating towards us. "You must suck this." HANGOVER. 

We paid the not inconsiderable (for Madrid) bill and went straight to the nearest park for a lie-down. It doesn't sound like I enjoyed it much, but I did really - I liked the idea behind it, I liked the madness of the menu. It was just all so... flavoursome. 

 5. Sala de Despiece 

After a solid nap, we headed back out, still mildly out of sorts and delicate of self. Sala de Despiece turned out to be the second 'experimental' meal of the day, sent to taunt and challenge us again once more. The walls were lined with Styrofoam, and a long central bar housed both diners and chefs. When we were told we had to crawl under the bench to get to where we would eat, our laughs were cut short when we realised they were serious. 

The menu is pretty full-on. Ingredients are listed with provenance and cooking technique. It really tested my (lack of) Spanish, so happily the waitress did the ordering for us. 

A signature dish, this tomato was peeled and topped with deep-fried basil. What you can't see is an absolutely phenomenal amount of salt buried under those basil leaves. It was delicious, but WOW it had some salt. 

Another signature dish was the carpaccio, sliced like someone had taken a sliver off a sirloin steak. It was demonstrated to us by the chef - you smear the truffle paste down it, followed by a tomato pulp, and oh yes, a giant sprinkle of salt, before you roll it up. Our own concoctions, salt excluded, were far sweeter and more flavoursome. 

Mange tout! Oh, dear vegetables, I hadn't seen you in a while by this point. Hello, greenery! Here, they were charcoal grilled and then drizzled with ponzu and chilli pepper. We reached up to a swinging basket above our heads, avoided showering ourselves with knives, and furnished ourselves with chopsticks to pick away at them. 

Chiperones are some of my favourite creatures of the sea and now I'm not sure I can ever eat them again because here they are, so lightly seared on the grill, that when you pull the tentacles from the body what can only be described as 'goo' soon followed. Hangover.

I wish we'd eaten more here, or had more of us to be able to try more dishes, because they were really interesting; a beef dish, served tableside with raspberries and blow-torched in particular was brilliant, and we saw other couples having a dish of incredible-looking steak. They seriously like their salt though. 

6. La Tagliatella 

Yup, we went to an Italian restaurant in Spain. Once we'd left Sala de Despiece we realised we hadn't eaten any carbs, and once we got near our Air BnB apartment we saw the word 'carbonara' and we became rabid for a second dinner. Hangover. We didn't know it was a chain, and actually we never got that vibe. The prices are pretty punchy, coming in at around €13 - €15 per pasta dish. We soon realised why though, and we were relieved we'd been restrained and decided to share - the portions were enormous. The taglierini carbonara was just brilliant - hand-made pasta, cooked al dente, with plenty of sauce. I think it might have been once of the best pasta dishes I've ever had. Hangover. 

7. Chocolateria San Gines

Down a small alleyway near the Plaza Major, Chocolateria San Gines is famous for the best churros and hot chocolate in town, as well as being open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It's large - you queue up to order, take your receipt and sit down, giving it to a waiter to then fetch your order. It's a nice system. Two people don't need two orders of 6 churros, and one hot chocolate is enough. After four each we were more than done. But they are heavenly, crisp sticks of light and airy dough. A perfect breakfast. 

8. La Castela:

La Castela reminded me of Barrafina in atmosphere. After a solid morning flea market shopping at El Rastro (Sundays only), we headed here for some sustenance. Marble-topped high tables were ideal for perching around, and on a Sunday afternoon it was packed. We had the best tapas here; not just your usual olives (I was a bit over olives at this point), we also had fried truffled arancini balls. There is a restaurant out the back but the front bar was where it was at.

Clams cooked in Manzanilla, creamy with asparagus, were served with a hunk of bread to mop up the juices. Oxtail stew had been deboned, rich and sticky, with boulangere-like potatoes on the side. More extravagantly priced than your standard, we nevertheless declared this one of our favourite places to spend an hour, slurping on glasses of wine and eyeballing fellow diners' pork belly skewers until they take pity on you and gift you one. Yup. 

9. Casa Julio 

On a Sunday night, somewhat bereft of dinner plans and discovering quite a few places were closed, we headed to La Latina. So THIS is where all the young people hang out. Out in street corners, tables and chairs are set up outside bars for dozens of people to see the weekend away with. Behind drawn white curtains, Casa Julio turned people away time and time again for being fully booked. We propped up the bar with a beautiful plate of jamon and a tapa of boquerones, a crisp glass of white wine, topped up gratis. 

10. Hotel Emperador 

City breaks are hard, SO HARD! Sob wibble wail. After 4 solid days of sight-seeing, eating and shopping we decided a day of slobbing around was needed, and the rooftop pool at Hotel Emperador was ideal. (I'm also told this place is good, but doesn't open till July) Sure, it's €35 a head for the whole day. SURE, they charge you through the nose for drinks and food. But the pool is large and refreshing, the sun loungers are reclined, and the view is wonderful. 

Madrid, te amo. 

(With thanks to @jesusfdezprieto and @hermanoprimero for the tips!)