La Bodegueta
Monday, April 28, 2008

Lets face it: someone who comes from London has very little credibility to write on Patatas Bravas.
First of all, English people are so loyal to the mashed and jacked versions of this tubercle that the last thing related to potatoes that the Brits imported from Spain was, actually, its name: Patatas. Secondly, even its denomination, sounds funny in English: Patata Brava seems like the nickname of some Rebel Irish during the Great Hunger period.
Last, but not least, you can’t have patatas bravas anywhere, with any thing. It’s a deep experience that needs the proper set and that needs to be done with the company of nice people, to share the delight, and of some other nice food or drink. Try as you want, but pubs, Guinness and Bravas will never match.
Following the ‘ed tradition (Jacked, Baked, Mashed, Boiled, Fried…) that goes on with the English cusine manners (God bless imagination!), I will try to establish the ‘Braved Potatoes’ in this island. Meanwhile, I am quite happy to find a good excuse to travel to Spain and treat myself with some delicious Bravas! My friends decided that, after living in London for two (long) years, I was already a ‘guiry’, and so they took me to Rambla Catalunya. Easy. Very typical. Very pitoresque. Very suitable for guiry turists like me, in fact.
But they were wrong: the place was clumsy and packed. Waiters were not nice. We could catch a glimpse of the cook, a poor woman locked inside the kitchen, struggling between tons of boiling olive oil, kilos of pimentos padròn and hundreds of orders per minute. And, above all, everything was so good and tasty that any unprepared tourist would have died of cholesterol at his first bite! I survived, and here I am, to tell you my Patatas Bravas experience.
They arrived. Golden, in perfect chunks, with a nice and abundant sauce of the top, which is a good way to start. Then there was that sound: ‘crunch’, followed by another, softer and longer ‘mmmm’… Crunchy outside and soft (but without being like boiled potatoes) inside. Very good. For someone like me, who hates plain mayonnaise, the Bravas experience can be quite frustrating, especially when the guy of the bar decides to do yellow and red stripes with the salsa picante and the mayonnaise, instead of mixing them together before giving them to you. These ones had that lovely salmon-coloured sauce that can make your day. Or your evening, as this one did!
They could be perfect, if they had a tiny little bit more of picante. But maybe that’s because my taste is getting used to the spicy cusine of East London. Still, they were one of the best things I had in a long time. Thank you Bravas. You are still filling my English routine with lovely memories
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Rambla de Catalunya 100
Escrito por Patata Ramos








