I know that a lot of people swear by Granada, but honestly, it was our least favorite part of the trip. As much as I took credit for the awesome excursions in Barcelona, I’ll take the blame for not planning this leg out as well as I should’ve. One of our biggest complaints is that all of the restaurants by our hotel had the same. damn. menu. Literally. It was posted up on the wall outside all of them, and every restaurant lining our little alley was virtually identical. And they all had waiters trying to hustle you inside, which came off as tacky (but seems to be pretty common practice in Spain). On our second night, Paul decided to turn right instead of left, and we wound up having our best meal of the trip.
Rosario Varela is an unassuming little divey hipster bar that would probably make a freaking killing in DC. After ordering our initial round of drinks and food, we put ourselves in our server’s hands and trusted him to bring us the good stuff. The ONLY thing that makes me sad about our meal here is that we had the chicken flatbread last. By that time, everything else had been SO GOOD that no poor little flatbread could live up to being the savory finale, no matter how good it was. And it was good. But everything else was lightyears better, and I didn’t bother taking a picture because how can you possibly expect flatbread to follow beef carpaccio with truffles? You can’t. It’s unfair to the poor flatbread.
Beef tataki. Paul spent basically the whole trip craving steak, and we finally got it here.
Salmon crudo with olive oil pearls. OLIVE OIL PEARLS! That’s some molecular gastronomy shit right there, friends.
Beef carpaccio with truffles. You roll them up like little burritos. I can still taste this.
White chocolate mousse. The perfect end to a perfect meal.
I think this is also where we had the best wine of our trip. After the glasses that you see here, we moved on to red and were very, very happy.