Late Saturday morning, I walk into Barcelona, a popular tapas restaurant near me, skip the host and the line, and make a left for the bar. I treat this place as an extension of my kitchen. I walk into a room full of people, not knowing anyone or looking for any and that doesn’t bother me. Most people are with someone. Mostly women. I grab my favorite seat near one end of the U-shaped bar. I am lucky that it’s available. I recognize the two female bartenders who smile at me. Scanning the menu, I order my brunch. Pancakes and bacon. No-fuss. I am in a good mood because of the sun. Let’s have a mimosa too.
Eating Out
Eating Out
Eating Out
Late Saturday morning, I walk into Barcelona, a popular tapas restaurant near me, skip the host and the line, and make a left for the bar. I treat this place as an extension of my kitchen. I walk into a room full of people, not knowing anyone or looking for any and that doesn’t bother me. Most people are with someone. Mostly women. I grab my favorite seat near one end of the U-shaped bar. I am lucky that it’s available. I recognize the two female bartenders who smile at me. Scanning the menu, I order my brunch. Pancakes and bacon. No-fuss. I am in a good mood because of the sun. Let’s have a mimosa too.