Barcelona, Day 3: Brunch, Flamenco, and the Brutal Betrayal of Spanish Buffets

 November 13, 2024

We started our third day in Barcelona with the most millennial breakfast possible: avocado toast. But, in my defense, the place was really cute. We were at Billy Brunch Headquarters, crammed into the tiniest table you've ever seen—on a propped up platform against the wall—next to a boisterous group of Brits having the time of their lives. Honestly, if you didn’t hear the phrase “cheeky pint” at least once, were you even at brunch?

From there, we wandered through the Gothic Quarter for a bit of shopping. Cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, the occasional whiff of incense and leather—it felt like we were strolling through a medieval Pinterest board.

Our main event of the evening was a flamenco show at Tablao Cordobés right on La Rambla. We’d booked the dinner + show option, which came with a buffet. I approached it with my usual strategy: try a little bit of everything and hope my stomach is feeling cooperative. (Foreshadowing.)

We somehow landed front row seats for the performance—close enough to see the sweat fly off the dancers as they pounded the stage with impossible precision. The male dancer was especially intense. He looked like he was either expressing centuries of Andalusian soul or trying to stomp out a kitchen fire. Either way, mesmerizing.

After the show, we tried out a bar called Three Cats, which had been recommended by one of my 'My Buddy’s' regulars. It was fine. The vibe was kind of sleepy, so we nursed a drink, gave it a respectful nod, and moved on.

Naturally, we returned to La Flauta—the restaurant from Night One that we loved so much—for a nightcap snack: jamón ibérico and patatas bravas. Perfect way to end the night… right?

Wrong.

About fifteen minutes later, I turned to Evan and said, very calmly and very seriously, “I need to go home. Now.”

What followed was seven hours of horror. I’ll spare you the gory details (you’re welcome), but let’s just say I became intimately familiar with the bathroom floor tiles. 

Evan, poor guy, had never witnessed food poisoning in the wild and kept asking if he needed to rush me to a Spanish hospital. (Bless him.) Fortunately—or unfortunately—I’ve had food poisoning multiple times, so I knew exactly what it was. Still didn’t make it suck any less.

So yeah, Day 3 ended not with a bang, but a barf.