Choosing dishes for their meal was like choosing blindly. Different categories, different flavors, different influences, all led to a different experience, but in some ways more of the same.
Squash blossoms were set ablaze by their little candle, warming the table and overhearing all of their conversation. Each organic package was bursting with eggplant, fresh, crunchy and creamy, fried and delicious.
But the “original” bäco held their attention. Soft and buttery flatbread folded over to conceal stringy beef carnitas and tender pork, alive with salbitxada sauce and textures. Beautiful greens, sparkles of vegetation, and two meats to tide them over until the next bite.
Like slippery blistered green okra, warm with tomato and fenugreek. Herbs and heat.
Or crusty, flaky pastry, crisp around decadent duck, crowned with a glossy pretty fried egg. A heavy mix of luxury and familiarity, with the spice of honey mustard and pebbles of pistachio interwoven.
Or the silky and sumptuous slow roasted pork shoulder, drowned in tangy sweet pale kumquat tang. Hearty and homey, meaty and fatty, a balance completed by the fruits and the greens.
But the decadence of the pistachio cheesecake, deep, salty and green, clashed with the warm and cold syrupy sweetness of the rustic baked semolina, even though they were both studded with the meaty gems of pistachios.
Their dinner felt like an odd mix of heat and invention, tradition twisted to make something new yet familiar.