TASTES THAT BIND

They say you should never go back to a place where you have been happy. Sam Woulidge disagrees. The secret ingredient at a legendary tapas bar in Barcelona makes every visit as magical as the first

The magic ingredient at Bar Pinotxo is always there, you just won't find it on the menu, says Sam Woulidge

Jacques and I fell in love with the tiny Bar Pinotxo in Mercat de la Boqueria 18 years ago when we discovered it by chance on our first trip to Barcelona. We ate there every day of our holiday and years later, when Jacques worked at sea and we were sailing around the Med, it was always our first port of call when the ship docked in Barcelona. We would order condensed milk coffee and a xuixo – a featherlight, deep-fried pastry filled with crema Catalana. Because the mornings were sweet and we wanted them to stay that way. Much cava and many small plates of regional dishes always followed.

Last year, we took Seb there. For us, introducing our son to Bar Pinotxo was as important as showing him Gaudí’s architectural masterpieces. We were afraid that things would have changed in our 10-year absence. But they hadn’t. Everything – the food and the spirit – was exactly as we remembered it.

Eighty-year-old Juanito Bayen, the beloved face of Bar Pinotxo, was still there. His mother, Caterina, started the bar when he and his sister, Maria, were children. She made food for those working in the market and was always accompanied by Pinotxo (Pinocchio) a small dog, hence the bar’s name. Eventually Juanito and his sister took over and were later joined by Juanito’s nephews Albert (who died in 2011) and Jordi, along with Jordi’s wife, Maria, and their son, Didac. Four generations devoted to this small bar. The non-family members of the team may as well be blood relatives such is their shared affection and dedication.

It was a joy introducing our five-year-old to the Pinotxo experience. Seated on my lap, so as not to take up precious space at the counter, Seb charmed the team in a way that we never could. By the third morning, his fresh orange juice and pastry were put in front of him without us having asked. Every meal, every day, that we shared at Bar Pinotxo was beautiful. Food made with love and passion. And eaten in the same spirit. On day four, Javi, the team’s go-to guy, drew a portrait of Seb between preparing langoustines and taking patrons’ orders. When, on day six, Seb pleaded for “a normal yellow egg, not a green one”, they were understanding, realising that having eaten adventurously for weeks, our son simply had no desire for the delicious spinach and pine nut omelette on offer.

So he ate a simple omelette beautifully prepared by Albert, another wonderful member of the team. And then, revived, Seb proceeded to eat half my plate of cigrons amb botifarra negra i ceba – the legendary Pinotxo chickpea and pork sausage dish, with pine nuts, parsley and sultanas, a drizzle of good olive oil and a smattering of salt.

When we finally said goodbye, having spent more time there than we ever did in any museum or gallery, the team presented Seb with a Bar Pinotxo chef’s hat and allowed him to snoop around in the tiny kitchen. “Sebastiaan,” the gorgeous Didac said, lisping his

S’s and C’s, “Remember, in Barcelona you now have the brothers.” And then I knew. Much more than the sheer goodness of the food I had been eating for 17 years, and it was the kindness I had tasted. The kindness had kept us coming back for more.

The team presented Seb with a Bar Pinotxo chef’s hat and allowed him to snoop around in the tiny kitchen”