PicoBlog

One of the quirks of my day job is that there are a few cities I return to again and again, driven by the vagaries of the tech trade show circuit. Three trips to Las Vegas, four to Berlin, a few to Los Angeles, and more besides.

But my first, and most frequent, is Barcelona, a city I’ve now been to six times, exclusively consisting of 3-5 day visits in late February. I’ve never been to the beach, have made a single trip round La Sagrada Familia, and have been to more conference centres and ‘event spaces’ than I have museums and tourist spots.

But what I have done is eat. Not always well, but I do my best. Between all the trade show sandwiches, open bar canapés, and weary airport Burger Kings, I’ve done my best to build up a healthy roster of restaurants, bars, and cafés I love. 

I’m not sure I’ve gone a single trip without visiting Eixample’s BierCaB, where a sprawling craft beer menu is matched by drunk-friendly tapas and the best (read: only) pig trotter sausage sandwich I’ve ever eaten. Taberna Cu-Cut was my first introduction to true Catalan tapas; La Pachuca and El Pachuco a pair of recent discoveries for indulgent nachos; and Boadas, with its black tie-clad bartenders, would glide serenely into any list of my favourite cocktail bars worldwide.

Bar Cañete is one of my latest finds, and admittedly not a unique one. I first picked it up off Eater’s 38 Essential list for the city last year, but it’s near-ubiquitous on best-of guides elsewhere too.

I first visited last year, when my first night in town found me alone and with nothing better to do than go eat two dinners: a few tacos at El Pachuco while I waited for a table to clear at Cañete. 

It was revelatory, enough to guarantee a return visit last week, and I hope to cement an annual ritual. Elsewhere I’ve eaten good tapas, bad tapas, great tapas, and even once a singular tapa — but nowhere else flawless tapas.

The menu is traditional enough, and if anything is discouragingly sprawling. Like most of Barcelona’s best restaurants, it’s dominated by pork, seafood, and fried things, which probably says more than I’d care to admit about why it holds so much appeal. But Cañete simply stands out by doing it all bloody well.

A lobster croqueta could be a showy ostentation, but here it’s subtle and restrained, steam pulling gently against a crisp, golden shell that shelters pillowy potato with just a hint of cream and crustacean.

If you’re more patient than me, the trick is to grab a seat at Cañete’s extensive counter, order a croqueta or some jamón with a little wine, and sit back to watch what hits the pass. A whole fish, de-boned at the counter with its eyes turned upwards, earns hushed gazes from all around. Generous chunks of octopus, gleaming red under the bright kitchen lights, are laid out immaculately in a row. The best fried egg I’ve ever seen appears, sitting by itself on a small plate; I’m not even sure this was on the menu.

I’m in a rush to squeeze things into the bounds of a working lunch though, so don’t have the luxury of eyeing up everyone else’s food before ordering. I put my faith in a pile of fried artichoke hearts, seasoned only with a touch of salt, trusted to stand on their own terms. This heap costs me €8.20, and I can’t help but think that I’d pay about that just to buy a similarly sized jar in the shop.

You can do one better than that though. The squid sandwich is undoubtedly the best way to spend €6.50 in Barcelona, and the main reason I couldn’t resist a return visit. It’s small enough to serve as a snack but big enough to share; a crisp, floury roll giving way to freshly fried calamari and a reassuringly generous dollop of garlic-rich aioli. 

This is comfortably the best squid sandwich I’ve ever eaten, outpacing any in Barcelona, and a far cry from the dry, stodgy Madrid take that may be the original, but can’t claim much more than that. I can’t imagine going to Cañete and not ordering this, I can’t quite imagine going to Barcelona and not finding a way to fit one in. If I had 15 minutes and a tenner to burn, I would have a Cañete squid sandwich and a small glass of wine and consider my day immeasurably brightened.

Pricing is, admittedly, a little unpredictable. €29 feels comparatively steep for a special of blood sausage on fresh peas, a portion that would seem dainty as a main. I almost didn’t order it; I count myself lucky I did. Black pudding can be too rich, too intense, so here the moderation suits it. Contrasted by the peas — fresh and light, despite glistening with oil and pork fat — this is a near-perfect plate of food, virtue and vice balanced in a bowl.

The dessert menu is eclectic enough that I admit I have retreated twice to the safety of a crema Catalana, the local chilled take on a crème brûlée. At the risk of sounding repetitive, this is the best I’ve had, though from an admittedly small pool. It’s large enough to slow you down a little if you’ve already eaten as much as you should have, served with a single strawberry and one of those mediterranean biscuits that’s hard enough to break rocks with. If I had twenty minutes and a little more money to burn, I’d follow my squid sandwich up with one of these and consider my day well and truly at its peak.

I certainly can’t claim to have ‘found’ Bar Cañete. It’s situated embarrassingly close to the city’s tourist hotspot La Rambla; boasts an annoyingly Instagram-friendly ‘Fuck Your Diet’ sign near its entrance; and is clearly as popular with tourists as it is locals. At my lunch I’m flanked by an English couple and an American backpacker; two Chinese tech execs sit a little further along the bar. But the last time I came, securing one of the last seats at 10pm on a Saturday, the crowd was all Catalan, so I at least hope not quite everyone was tipped off by Eater.

My Barcelona rituals change a little every year, as I stay in new parts of town, visit with different colleagues, get wined and dined in different spots. 

Maybe I won’t quite make it back to Cañete every year from now on; if nothing else it’s too popular to pop by for an impromptu dinner unless you’re willing to wait. But I sure hope I will, hope that there’ll never come a year in my life where I need go without a €6.50 squid sandwich and a little glass of white.

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