The first night we ate at a restaurant called Salamanca. The employees were almost exclusively men.
They wore ties and the place was swarming with these waiters.
Some also guarded the perimeter because pickpockets might approach. There was a very assertive female employee that went to town verbally on a group of six men with a dog. They appeared to have been under the influence of something, and they had questionable hygiene.
They sort of worked as a team, but there seemed to be a strict social hierarchy. The lower waiters fought among themselves. Victor overheard one telling another he was going to kick his ass.
They wore towely things over their shoulders, and instead of brushing down a chair or table that had tree debris on it, they whacked at it like boys in a locker room towel fight.
(As an aside, they seem to smoke a lot of pot in the beach area. Maybe it's legal.)
They worked hard to usher the people into the restaurant. Everyone who walked by, they would hold up fingers to indicate how many people and try to pull them in.
Victor spied fresh seafood and fell into some sort of trance.
Here's the menu:
Yep, I was officially going to starve in Barcelona, too. *sigh* And just look at those prices!
They brought this soggy pinkish bread. Turns out it is a delicacy: tomato rubbed on lousy white bread with olive oil and salt.
But Victor was happy!I asked for "plain tap" water, and they brought me a 1.5 liter bottle of water. I was embarrassed and started laughing, but then I noticed that a few other table had the outsize water bottle, too.
I ordered the alleged house recommendation: potato, egg, and ham.
Ugh, ick. Greasy, squishy french fries, two fried eggs, and some sort of heinous red bacon-y fat disgusto meat sort of product.
I ate most of the french fries, and the waiter brought me "plain" bread.
Look at this view from my seat!
And I got to watch the mobsters work, bring food to customers who hadn't even ordered it, and fight over the bill.
And everyone smokes and smokes and smokes. It's inescapable.
The meal was 113 Euros. Yikes!
Don't you worry 'bout me, though. By Saturday night I had found something to eat.
Oh yeah, that's me. At a beachside bar called "Ona Beach". (Get it? On a beach?)
I'm drinking a "sex on the beach" cocktail and eating...that's right...a grilled cheese sandwich!
Here's another meal.
Baby octopi! He really misses seafood when he's in land-locked Porkany...I mean Germany.
Victor's dinner: seafood paella.
Why yes! That is spaghetti with shaky cheese on top!