On my last day in Istanbul I crossed the Bosphorus and I did so to get a good lahmacun. Why did I sail to Asia three hours before my flight instead of going somewhere local near the hotel? Because I subconsciously hoped to miss the plane and to stay in Turkey a while longer. Because the crisp, blue waters beckoned…
It gets cold in Istanbul in December. Walking from mosque to mosque to the occasional sultan residential complex in a jacket that’s just not warm enough is a good way to catch the bug. I was in no mood to get sick on the first day of my trip, as I still had 3 days of questionable…
I arrived to Istanbul with an open mind, with no prior research on what to eat and where. Instead, I allowed myself the opportunity to be surprised by a city that I’ve heard does not cease to surprise. I knew there would be kebabs, the Turkish forefather of gyros, or meat on a spit sliced into pita. I…
I dined not long ago at a relatively new restaurant on the Rambla del Raval, a place called Suculent I had heard only good things about. It’s a project shared by owner Carlos Abellán and young stud/head chef Toni Romero in the kitchen of a converted wine house. Next door is a vermuteria that shares the restaurant’s…
I’m going to Budapest for the holidays this year and I’m pretty excited about a handful of things. The villamos trolley-cars will be decorated with strings of sparkling Christmas lights. Wine mulled with winter spices will be available at any time on virtually any street corner. The sun will set well before Széchenyi bathhouse closes and steam from the…
It wasn’t a night for calling ahead, for calling in favors or waiting in line. It was a night for dropping in lucidly without stress or a reservation. We didn’t go to Tickets. We went to Bodega 1900 across the street. The name of the restaurant celebrates the birthday of the building that houses it and the…
We stumbled out of a costume store, the Basque and I, gripping shiny cellophane packages and an orange balloon he had snatched from the counter “sinpa”. It was Halloween in Barcelona and I was ready to play, as I do each year regardless of where I happen to find myself. In the past 5 years…
On weekends we used to go town-hopping; poking around the Priorat, lookin’ for trouble. Sometimes we’d climb the rock walls of mountains near the medieval town Siurana. Other times we’d walk through Poboleda, Cornudella, Prades, looking for cultural events with which to breathe life into our barren social calendar. When there was a dance, a festival, a bar opening we’d…
Floro also happens to be quite the wiseass. One time my colleague (rhetorically) asked him how he is capable of baking such consistently delicious breads without anyone’s help and he responded, “Well, how do you put your underwear on in the morning without anyone’s help?” I’m still not sure I understand what that means. Maybe his riddles take time to untangle.
In the Priorat comarca of Catalunya, “Spain” there’s a town called Ulldemolins in which there’s a bakery run by a woman named Pepi, who makes these things called bunyols de vent. Yesterday was my last day in the Priorat and I woke up thinking about them. Bunyols. Bunyols de vent from Pepi’s in Ulldemollins, 20 minutes from Cornudella,…
That Best Bite 