Spanish Diary. Barcelona. ‘Cal Pep’ – Tapas Bar.

Cal Pep, eating tapas at the bar.

It’s day two in Barcelona and I’m psyching myself up for a visit to one of my favourite restaurants in the world.

It’s called  Cal Pep. Just north of the Placa de Palau at Placa des les Olles 8, Cal Pep doesn’t look like anything special from the outside. I’ve eaten here many times. The owner, Pep Manuben, takes command behind his counter, issuing orders and instructions and advising his new and regular clients on what’s tasty.

Now the thing about Cal Pep is that there is only one place to sit, and that’s up at the counter. There are fifteen stools and you can’t book. Oh yes, there is a little room out the back, away from the action and you can book there, but what would be the point in that? That would be sacrilege; the whole point of Cal Pep is the counter action.

So you know what that means? Yes. You have to queue. The shutters go up at 7.30. The queue starts to form before 7pm but I’ve known it to start going at 6.30. Ok it’s 6.15 and I’m in the tiny square. No queue yet. I sit at a table and chair at another spot around the corner but with visibility to the entrance. I drink and chat. Then the queue starts. By 7.10pm I decide better get in now or else I will not get a counter seat. By 7.30 there are over 30 people in the

Pep Manuben's son, Jorge.

queue.

In we go. We get the last counter seats. That was too close for comfort. I don’t see Pep the owner, his son tells me Pep’s at a party but it doesn’t matter because the staff are on form and his son is on the ball.

Then it starts the magic. Food being dished out, shouting, plates changing hands at high speed, the ding, the energy, the show.

Wines bottles are placed along the counter. Fish are being fried, chefs strut up and down. Other chefs are chopping, mixing, plating, and right under our noses.

All the people who didn’t get a seat are now standing behind us. They must wait for us, the blessed ones, to finish. But you can’t let that get to you. You have to concentrate on your food and your time there. Let their eyes drill holes into your back. Do not rush. The place is jammed with tourists from all over the globe. This doesn’t put me off. Cal Pep is no longer a secret. That’s just the way it is. Word got out a while ago and now foodies religiously make the pilgrimage.

My fried fish arrives. Small, little things crisped up served with lemon. Oh wow. Cockles in an amazing broth. Crusty bread to mop up the juices. Next, baby squid, fried to perfection. I sip my Albarino white wine. Waiters are moving up and down behind

Razorshell clams.

the counter making sure everyone is happy. Pep’s son is chatting to me. Warm smiles, helpful faces. Cal Pep has done it again. I feel at home. I get up and the eager stalker of my stool is an American. She is delirious. She now gets to worship at the altar of Signor Pep.

I walk out into the warm balmy night.  It’s a dangerous thing to repeatedly go back to a place that you rate very highly and expect everything to be brilliant each time.

But I do keep going back to Cal Pep and I have never been let down. It’s a wondrous thing to see a restaurant in action which works like clockwork with such passion.

Viva Cal Pep.

Restaurant Cal Pep,Place Olles 8,

08003 Barcelona,

Spain.

0093 3 107 961

Clams.