Bar Bocata

Elbows on the counter, coffee machine hissing, a man to my left deep in the sports pages over his bocadillo: that is the whole scene, and it is enough. The bar seat is the right seat, close to the griddle and the quick hands working it. Nobody here is chasing finesse. What they chase is the plain end of simple: bread, filling, no nonsense, out fast, and at these prices that plainness is the argument. Keep your hopes level and the place meets them exactly. I pass once a year or so, usually mid-morning, and leave fed and unfleeced. There is a second address over on the Diagonal if you are caught out that side of town. Sundays it stays shut, which feels in character. Take the stool, order the simplest thing on the board, and be on your way.