Barcino Six
Barcino Gourmet, actually. But then there were six of us who gave it our personal stamp so whaddahey, it’s Barcino Six! Coming from a traffic snarl that was Edsa, I barely made it last Wednesday to Shangri-la where I caught up with Diane — fresh and sparkling from Ethiopia and an unexpectedly longer stay in Dubai (hmmm, was it cos she missed her plane?). Off we went to Barcino where the rest of the gang (writer Ginny, banker Rica, fashion designer Andrei, editor Glenn) was in-waiting but definitely not thirsty.
It’s been a while since I last visited Barcino and I’ve been looking forward to a plateful of cistorra but boohoo they ran out of stock. After a big abrazio and bisoux to all, we seriously got down to the business of delighting our palate with Spanish cuisine and imbibing their wine. This latter part I leave to Glenn’s expert handling as he commemorates our Barcino night in the following post…
"… It happened in Barcino in Julia Vargas, where we celebrated the homecoming of Diane Veloso, come back from her interesting trip to Ethiopia, of which details may not be divulged here. Tatine, Ginny, Rica, Andrei and moi partook of the delectable because not-too rich seafood paella (Spanish cooking, according to chef-in-the-making Ginny Mata, takes care not to overpower food with sauces and spices, and instead works to preserve the original and raw flavors of the ingredients), and the incredible tapas.
Tasting something for the first time is always a memorable experience, and one which succeeding samplings of the same food is measured against. So when the manchego (cheese), olives, cold cuts (bacon), and this other longganisa-tasting dish were served up with 500-peso wine, I promptly forgot about how far deep into my pockets I knew I was going to reach later on, and allowed myself to enjoy the good food.
Anyone with an aversion for cheese will change her mind after the manchego. Gourmet cheese isn’t too salty as in Che Vital, soft and non-sticky, but textured.
It helped that there was actually one cute Andalusian in the house, the part-owner I was told; and as one friend observed, almost all of the male patrons were not wanting in the looks department, as well. In a manner of speaking, good food was everywhere.
The red wine wasn’t bad at P500 either, full-bodied and rather strong, in view of the drunken stupor it induced in almost all of us– no, me. In spite of my inner protestations at the ghastly bill later on, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. They said this was the first time they saw me have so much fun.
Andrei was drop-dead magazine fasion-spread gorgeous as usual, and the old tongue of Rica’s was resurrected: naughty and bold. Ginny had to watch her drink because she had to drive, but did she love her cigar. Oh yes, they did not forget that one. After dinner, we transferred to the smoking area and lit the thin strawberry cigars as we sipped our wine, Sex and the City written all over the night.
Some heaving texted ensued too, in vino veritas, but it wouldn’t be until morning when the embarrassment of smiling from ear to ear while doing so as pointed out by one perceptive friend would sink in. Truly, to eat and drink occassionally with friends because one is, not, to become, happy is my kind of bliss."
