take it all, it comes cheap

Food. Without it we cannot live. For some, eating is an indispensable part of life – and if, somehow in the future, it is made obsolete, life for these people of principle may no longer seem worth the living. It is a necessity for some, a burden for others – a captivation for a few. But it is a thing we all must do.

Food. Some hop from meal to meal as if from stone to stone in a pond, with everything between a vast and drenching mess. But there are good meals, and there are bad meals. The bad leave us with regret, and dissatisfaction – and often pain. The good leave us with memories. So what, then, is it about a really good meal that – even years later – brings a smile to our faces?

The wine, perhaps. The lighting. The music playing softly, softly seeping from the walls. The flavors, the colors, the presentation. The service. I have had several really good meals so far on this trip: the duck in Prague, pasta night in Cinque Terre, that café in Montmarte. I will remember each for years with fondness.

But at the same time I have to wonder if these same meals would have been as memorable experienced alone. I have to think not. I have to think that there is no good meal not bettered by good company. In my opinion, sharing a good meal with good company is the third most intimate thing we, as humans, do. It is a great and beautiful thing.

Barcelona is a lyrical place for food. The streets sing with a vibrant energy, and after eight everything takes on an air of carnival. But eating here is not so much idolized – not so much an art, as it is in France, or a sanctuary, as it is in Italy: it is more of an extension of the human body, and as such it is as necessary and natural as breathing. Tapas bars are lively, and good social fun, but the food is fast and cheap, greasy and filling. And you eat, and move on – eat, and move on. And though each night may be in good company, and each meal satisfying – I think this method, in some way, detracts from the beauty and intimacy of the meal.

But I don’t know – who am I to judge, half the time I’ll eat if you put something in front of me. It’s a reflex.

And I do like tapas – it’s a fun way to do it – but if I had my choice, I’d take the duck or the pasta or the café in Montmarte over that bar any day.