This morning I had an absolutely wonderful little visit to the Galvany Market here in my neighbourhood. I had gone to the supermarket earlier to get sundries and things and almost didn't go back out for the good fresh stuff but since the weather was nice as it can get for me here in Barcelona (dry air, cool breeze and big clouds), I figured that I had no excuse.
The market is one of the ones in the
xarxa or network that is really thriving. Being located in Sant Gervasi obviously doesn't hurt (this is a very well-off little enclave between Gràcia and Sarrià) but there is a real sense of community and the people here aren't afraid to let you in.
1st Scene:
I had forgotten to have my coffee back at the flat so I figured I'd just sidle up to one of the wee bars in the market. I chose the first one that I saw and sat down on a stool. The little old lady who served me was charming. She must be over 80 but her hair is brilliant blond and in her soft-spoken voice, she asked me what I wanted. She made my
tallat slowly and deliberately and it was really cute seeing such a slight granny go through the practised motions of making an espresso. Credit where credit is due, though! Her arms were muscular and toned and they reminded me of Jenna's at Bar Mercurio as she removed the portafilter, banged out the used grounds, filled it up and tamped it again. The best though was after the coffee had been drawn, she stood and let every single drip fall into my cup... Her daughter, who was talking on the phone, winked at me, covered the mouthpiece and said, "It's done, ma, give the man his coffee!" The older lady, who had gone into a sort of reverie, smiled and took the cup from the machine and presented it to me with the requisite bag of sugar and spoon. "I'm sorry, lad," she said. "I'm getting old..." I told her not to worry, that I was impressed that she didn't waste even a single drop. The old lady smiled even more and said, "You see! Why let those drops go? It's good coffee..." I knew what she wanted to say next, so I gave her the segueway, "People these days," I said, "don't appreciate everything they have." She nodded enthusiastically and it was plain as day that this lady had known poverty in her life and probably hunger too.
2nd Scene
I wandered back towards the Santalò street entrance and some cured meats caught my eye. Last night Andrew, Kirsty and I had finished our ramble through Barcelona at Carmelitas and we had eaten some incredibly good
fuet de Vic. That stuff was buttery and oh-so-good... I figured that I should look for some more and when my turn to be served came and the lady behind the counter asked me what I wanted, I decided to just put myself in her hands. I asked for some good
llonganissa and a cheese from Catalunya. As we went throught the ritual of her adjusting the knife on the products that she had picked out until it reached the amount that I wanted, at least 4 people came by and called out to her. They all said how great it was to see her and expressed surprise that she was back so soon and how young she looked with her new haircut. After the second instance of this, the woman looked up at me and explained that she had suffered a stroke three months ago and that they had to open up her skull. I could see the scar through her hair but couldn't believe that she had recovered so quickly and was back at work already. She shrugged and said that she had been lucky and that after 40 years of working in the stall, she was where she wanted to be. After I had paid and yet more people had come by to wish her well, I looked at her and said "The market is a family, oi?" She smiled and replied happily "I tant!" [you can say that again].
Scene 3
Both of those little episodes had made me very happy; I love markets for the things you learn about people and how small interactions can all of a sudden be imbued with really meaningful resonances regarding how we live, what community means and the role of food in bringing people together. The fact that I'm a confirmed hedonist also means that markets for me are places of caprice and it was with this in mind that I headed to the centre of the building where the seafood stalls are located. I did the cursory tour and did indeed see many things that appealed to me: spitting clams, thrashing Mediterranean lobsters, prawns of all shapes and sizes... but then one thing caught my eye and I knew what I would be eating for lunch (indeed, as soon as I finish this entry!):
cues de rap or baby monkfish tails. The fishmonger saw the glint in my eye and he waved at them, "These are delectable! Just fry them up and there you go! A total pleasure." He knew he had me hooked and from there on it was simply a question of how many I was going to take... We settled on 5 euros 75 for a handful and when I tried to just give him a round 6 he would have none of it (in keeping with the Catalan resistance to tips of any sort) and called me back for my equivalent of a quarter. "Remember," he instructed, "fry them quickly... and then enjoy!"
And with that, I shall do just that... : )
