Fun With Carbs

OK, sue me. I ate McDonald’s while in Spain.

If it makes it any better, it was during an airport layover, between Mallorca and Barcelona. And I was eager to see what they had on offer in a different country. AND I had avoided the triumvirate of KFC, Burger King and “Dunkin Coffee” on Las Ramblas.

As we stood in line and tried to make sense of the all-Spanish menu, I spotted the specialty “McIberica” burger: a beef patty with jamon iberico, Manchego cheese, olive oil, lettuce and tomato. I was fascinated, and took out my little point-and-shoot Canon to document the sign. Immediately, a teenage employee in a black visor shut me down. “No. No fotos, por favor.”

As an American journalist, my first thought was “Oh, HELL no.” And I was tempted to take the shot anyway. But I knew I wasn’t dealing with the First Amendment here, so I put the camera away, not wanting them to confiscate the memories of my trip. Not without more than a little bitchface, though.

If you don’t speak Spanish (and I barely do), the video notes that the McIberica special was introduced to celebrate McDonald’s 30th year of business in Spain. Hey, we’re the same age.

I didn’t order the McIberica, since we’d just eaten our weight in jamon while traveling through Barcelona. But now I wish I had. You can get a “cuatro de libra” (Quarter Pounder) stateside.

Barcelona was awesome. We spent four days roaming the city – taking in the culture, the world-renowned architecture and all the tapas, wine and sangria we could possibly consume.

But it was exhausting, both physically and mentally. Walking miles and miles (sometimes aimlessly, often confusedly) to each attraction. Trying to navigate street maps and the Metro. Attempting to string together Spanish sentences and conjure vocabulary words I haven’t spoken in more than a decade. Not to mention the raucous crowds that passed through the alley each night near our hotel off Las Ramblas, noise that lasted until 5 or 6 a.m. (Barcelonians. Know. How. To. Party.)

While the experience was unforgettable, I was ready for the next leg of our vacation – something much more my speed. We’d booked two nights in a waterfront hotel on the island of Mallorca, taking advantage of off-season prices and diminished crowds. After a 30-minute flight from Barcelona and a 20-minute cab ride to Illetas, we were standing on our 9th-floor, full waterview balcony, taking in the majestic views of the Balearic Sea. I took that picture from our room.

Beach vacations are so my thing.

Mallorca isn’t really a food paradise – or at least, we weren’t near any phenomenal restaurants. It’s an island that caters to British, Irish, German and Scandinavian tourists, so the cuisine tends to reflect that. But we did wander into town and pick up some handmade empanadas at a small market. And our hotel served up a more-than-decent paella, even if their sangria was clearly premixed and served from what looked like a large tank.

My camera did me proud. The water really is that stunning.

Sunrise over Illetas. A very sleepy Rob captured this shot. I'm framing it.

Our view. We never should have left.

The island was the ultimate antidote to the four crazy days in the city. I wish we’d stayed longer.

It’s going to take me a while to curate our trip to Spain, but here are a few snapshots of the mind-boggling deliciousness that is Barcelona.