Barcelona Mi Amor.
So… when is Spain, Right? Was on the world tour with Nike and was able to spend 18 hours in the fantastic city of Barcelona, so basically I saw the hotel, and got to eat one great meal.
The hotel was the firstname.lastname@example.org – yep. I stayed at an email address. See:
I believe the hotel is called the SB Icaria, but staying at an email address is so much more 2015.
The hotel is nice. It’s like staying at a drug dealer’s mansion in 1982, sans the high hipped bikini clad coke whores, and the drugs. So I guess its not much like that at all, maybe its the red laqueresque details that threw me for a loop. The lobby is spacious, they have a sweet little bar in the back that you can Cava yourself to death at, and the rooms are clean and modern, and super comfy. They also have C.O. Bigelow products which I found super cool as I used to live above them on 6th avenue (they’re like a super old school pharmacy, er, apothecary. Like you can still get health tonics and cocaine drops).
Dumping my gear I made a B-Line (more like an “i” line, eh Dane Cook?) to dinner cause I had heard about Bar Mut from about everyone that I told I was in Barcelona. Convo went like this:
Me: Hey, I’m in Barcelona.
everyonelse: Oh cool. You going to Bar Mut?
Pretty much like that. And it didn’t disappoint. I mean, the joint is perfectly Barcelonian meaning they don’t give a shit in a way that makes you feel free, the food is simple and exquisite, and you drink as much as you can sweat. It is a dark, compact, sexy little space that does pretty much everything right, and if you have one thing you have the polpo as if I had to tell you that. If you’re suuuuuuper nice and ask suuuuuuper cool they might even tell you how they make their marinade. After hearing how you will either love it more, or love it a lot less. As for me, the stranger the better.
Of course after a full belly of delicious Spanish morsels and gallons of Rioja, its best to head across the street and throw some pesos in the casino, then stumble into the Stinger The Bar (as opposed to Stinger The Musician) to have, well, a Stinger, which is a drink that time forgot and shouldn’t have. Besides Angel’s Share in NYC this joint makes them perrrrrrfect.
By now, we are well loose. A quick triptych with photographer Billy Kidd and it’s definitely a wrap. Oh Barcelona, we were lovers for just a few hours, but you get it done cause you know exactly what you are doing. SWAK.