More bluggy drunkables?*

I have officially fallen in love with Colmado Quilez, a dangerous (to the wallet!) store I walk by almost everyday on Rambla Catalunya. Last week, I wandered in for the first time in months and came across a bottle of Loriñon, which has always been difficult for me to find. I first encountered this voluptuous wine while working at El Farol in Santa Fe, and was charmed by its name, there is something so woeful about it, forlorn…But as for a Rioja, it is one of my favorites as it has a fuller body and a bit more spice than most. The only other time I have found it was when I came to Barcelona years ago, and believe me, I searched New York high and low for it.

Today, I wandered into Colmado Quilez and tasted a high end beer produced by the Estrella Damm company. Called Inedit, they describe it as “a unique coupage of barley malt and wheat with hop, coriander, orange peel, liquorice, yeast and water. After bottling and capping, a secondary fermentation in the bottle occurs, leading to a more complex product.” Delicious, proving to me that Spain CAN make good beer.

I also discovered that they carry the La Guita label of Manzanilla, recommended to us in Carmona by an on-duty officer drinking his lunch at a local bar (yes, he was armed). The clerk was impressed by my choice and said he is a big fan. For those of you who have never tried Manzanilla, it is a type of dry sherry made in Andalusia. I think it tastes like a salty plum, and others have described flavors of chamomile (where the name originates).

Oh, and they also have every kind of delectable little tidbit of food, condiments, and accompaniments imaginable. I am intrigued and frightened by the saffron gin, you will be hearing more about that, I am sure.

a horrible example of free thought.*

In my quest to transcribe thousands of pages from old journals, I came across this entry that struck me as rather Joycean, though more in its insane jumble than its brilliance. It is interesting to travel in time back to my days in New York. My life there was very different, very difficult. I have included a photo of downtown Manhattan taken from the Manhattan bridge in the wee hours walking home from a party in Chinatown.


"9-24-03 8:42pm
To what land do I go, trot with a head of gibberish, to and fro through the trio of muses I call men but they are but boys and I lost among them only a smattering of woman. Black and white paisley skirt devours Lolita, ah Nabokov you sick bastard to make me think such love is kind to all of our tattered morals. I leave the city downtown in the East river rippling in a fallen autumn air. Who are these beautiful people sitting in orange plastic boats on voyages to lives I can barely guess, even the effort makes my guts crawl. Two liters of seltzer water and I still haven’t burped away this illness, the ravishing vomit bug that creates new back and stomach muscles to scream when I laugh or cough. Excellent weight loss regimen, this. Great for my intellect as well, creating new words stuporific and swelling with more than normal nonsense like a sticky piece of leather, sodden and bloated on a nail. Ah my sense, where hast thou gone? Dreamt of travel last night, France – Paris, boats, villages, dank mysteries. Cast iron belly coils a stew fit for two, myself and a porcelain friend. Skin crawling misery. Why? Not cursed, just free. Must rhyme for some reason (‘tis the season!) (but no reason at all from rhyme) wow where am I, have I journeyed?"

A black crack of noise in the street here, alack, bawled, back.*

It was another incredibly windy day here in Barcelona. Perhaps not as terrible as the wind a while ago that caused walls and buildings to collapse and kill people in the city and across Spain, but something to be reckoned with nonetheless. Spanish buildings just aren’t made for wind, as I write this, the lamp above me is swaying, even though all of our windows are closed…there is enough of a draft coming through somewhere to cause this heavy, ponderous globe to sway. I am afraid to take the elevator on days like this because the wind howls down the shaft, seemingly pushing the already scary old contraption downward. Our hot water heater in the kitchen has an exhaust pipe into which the wind blows and puts out the pilot light, causing gas to fill our kitchen every time I try to use hot water on windy days.

Today, I was walking back from taking the glass out (to the green vidre recycling kiosk), when the wind blew a chunk of soil from one of the planters on the plaza into my eye. I was about to bemoan this fact when I walked into the health food store on the corner and was cheered by taking candy from a stranger. Well, it was a customer purchasing his favorite thing in life, second only to music, eucalyptus and pine lozenges. He offered one to me and the shopkeeper while espousing the merits of Pastora, apparently the daughter of a famous Catalan musician is in this popular band. My eye stopped hurting after that.