Patatas Bravas


I went to Barcelona with Kristen – one of my best friends – when I was 16. We spent the whole week sitting on patios, drinking Coke from glass bottles, and staring at cute Spanish guys. Today, I would do no such thing.

When I travel now, I spend all day of every day either eating or on my way to the next place at which I will be eating. Cute Spanish guys can surround me and I won’t notice anything except the plates of food in their hands (but really, for some reason, the waiters are particularly good looking).

Back then, in Barcelona, however, I had yet to discover my obsession with all things that taste good. I hadn’t done any research on what to eat. After we mistakenly ordered anchovies instead of nachos (“anoches” is a deceiving word), Kristen and I were terrified of menus. From that moment on, when we did eat…

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