On Dec 8, 2019, an unprecedented 45% of UK power was generated by windfarms. At times the blustery weather created more power than was needed. This energy surplus meant some people with smart meters in their homes were paid to use electricity.
The national grid has to take advantage of these renewable supply booms so that excess energy isn’t wasted. Consumers, too, can benefit with lower bills and smart meters are at the heart of the answer.
Read more in my Smart Renewables blog.
Ronda de San Antoni may not be high on many people’s places to visit, but here at Four Blocks from….we love life’s vignettes.
Look up.
Ronda de San Antoni is one of Barcelona’s important arteries; it runs north to south for 700m, starting at the busy Plaça de la Universitat. The Ronda becomes pedestrianised about halfway along, a stretch of concrete that temporarily housed Mercado San Antoni in tents during the original market building’s refurbishment.
The space left behind is now a thoroughly pleasant place to stroll, with hopscotch and play areas for kids, jumpers for goalposts football pitches and the chance for residents to…
Look up.
Like much of ‘new’ Barcelona, construction started in the 1880s albeit most buildings here are from the 1920s and 1930s. Barcelona’s tight streets don’t always allow for its building fronts to be properly seen. With the temporary market gone, the Ronda opened up.
What piqued my attention immediately were what are now probably vintage shop signs.
Look up! Here are some of my favourites from the Ronda – there are many more in the barrio – and here they are in north to south spotting order.
Seen a sign?
Barcelona is full of amazing shop signs – feel free to share your favourites.
“Mum was busy making croquetas in the pub’s kitchen when her waters broke. That was my start in bars.”
Hipster brands like BrewDog are clever and imaginative but lack a little authenticity. I prefer the visceral essence of a local bar, for local people talking local stuff.
San Antoni resident and Bar Nostalgic pub owner Toni Varon is the croqueta kid. He has run the hostelry on Carrer Vildomat for the last nine years.
The way it was
“I was literally born into the bar industry,” he said. “My family has a bodega in Sitges. The folks still run it and it looks the same. Then this place came up – it used to be a video games’ shop – and I wanted to make something that reminded my of the family business, which is still pretty much the same as when I was born.
“It was that nostalgia that gave me the idea for the name Bar Nostalgic. The sandwiches are named after streets around here, to give it a connection. It’s people from the barrio that drink here, I’ve got mainly regulars,” he explained.
What’s on offer
There is a range of tasty food, ranging from tapas to sandwiches to hot and cold aperitivos. For any expectant mums needing a final push into labour, there are a range of croquetas, too.
It’s as a barman that Toni excels.
“I love making cocktails, that’s my favourite part of the job. Ron Collins, Negronis, Dry Martini. The Brits love one called La Boomba – chocolate and brandy”.
I’ve never heard of La Boomba and La Bomba is another drink. Still, a little bit of individualism goes along way among the pumps and optics of the same worldwide brands.
But wait! What’s this? They say never trust a barman that doesn’t drink and Toni doesn’t touch booze. “I have in the past, I’ve done all the parties and so I know people come here to relax.”
So relaxed that on occasion I head to Nostalgic to cover unpaid bar tabs of my partner, The Plek.
Nostalgic always seems to be open and Toni remembers everyone’s name and poison. He also answers to anything that ends in ‘i’ (pronounced as ‘e’ in English); among our friends he’s been Dani, Toni, Chavi and occasionally Pepe.
In Spain, it’s useful to be loud and boisterous if you want to get served at a bar. In most pubs, I am Mr Invisible and struggle to get a round in – the old eyebrow raise cuts no beef here – but Toni’s always anticipates his customer’s needs.
Take a look around
Inside Nostalgic is best described as shabby chic. The tables are as narrow as the minds of the puritanical and don’t take your cat in for a swing in the toilet. In summer the small terrace is the perfect place to look for some gentle breezes with your ice-cold drink.
There’s also cava, craft beers and an unexpectedly broad wine list, assuming you didn’t know you were in the company of a barman brought up in a bodega.
So it seems our local, Bar Nostalgic, is winning the game by staying the same. “We could do with a few more tourists popping in,” Toni says, “but we live for the locals, really.”
Bar Nostalgic, Vildomat 38
Mon, Tue, Wed, Thu: 12-3 / 6-12
Fri: 12-3 / 6-1.30am
Sat: 12-2am
Sun: 12-12
Welcome, dear reader,
This week, meat.
When The Plek (my partner) and I first moved to the San Antoni barrio, Mercado San Antoni was housed in two enormous tents on Ronda de San Antoni. The food tent was above the Metro station, shoppers and stalls packed in like sardines. Outside the smallest store there was always a large queue of locals ordering a vast array of unusual cuts of meat from three souls slicing while confined to a 3 x 2m space.
We queued. We ordered. We paid. We went home. We cooked. We fell in love with each other (again). Aaah. And with Manel i Elisabet, the finest butchers in town.
From thereon in, we were delighted to join the throng – old folk, young folk, restaurant owners and anyone with a good eye for meat shops.
Shopping is changing to a ticket system now, but many places in Spain still adhere to the rule of bowling up, asking ‘Who’s last?’ (El ultimo?) and finding your place in the queue. Albeit there are always a few ready to jump the line if you don’t make yourself known sharp.
The stall is housed in the magnificent, reformed Mercado de San Antoni; this iron structure built in 1882 is once again the centre of our neighbourhood.
Manel i Elisabet is a third-generation butcher who first started serving the good citizens of San Antoni in the 1930s. Manel is of true butcher stock, learning at the knee of his grandfather and father after completing military service aged 19. Elisabet is from a line of poultry sellers whose shop was next to Manel’s – they met, and the rest is history.
Once married, they joined the two shops together and now sell a delicious range of beef, lamb, chicken, poultry and pork products. The majority comes from nearby Girona or Vila Franca de Penedes, and the rest from Catalonia.
Elisabet said: “We know where everything comes from, which farmers, and we get fresh produce every day.
“We eat the produce we sell and the smell of proper, well-kept meat opens up the appetite and the stomach.”
Locals are fondest of the homemade burgers – prepared right in front of your eyes – along with chicken breasts. “I prefer to cut pork ribs,” said Elisabet. Manel prefers what the Argentinians call ‘la arañita’ cut, or pedaset in Catalan. It’s a small cut of meat, usually beef, near the thigh socket.
He explained: “Not many people ask for it, and it’s really tender when you fry it. Many years ago, it was only men that were butchers and they would do all the cutting early in the morning and then leave the women to work and serve for the rest of the day.
“The men would then go and fry up some pedaset and drink red wine. It’s changed now.”
Arguments (rightly) rage about the quantity of meat in the modern diet, the industrialisation of production and its effect on animal welfare, but Manel i Elisabet know their farmers. What hasn’t changed is people’s desire for good food.
Elisabet said: “We have a lot of loyal, local customers. We see a few new faces. We see a lot of parents stocking up the freezers for their kids, those that have come to Barcelona to study and want to make sure they are eating well.
“People know we know where our stock comes from, that we have good quality at good prices, and hopefully that’s why we’re busy.”
Now you know – Fridays and Saturdays are always buzzing, as are mornings. You can always order ahead and then just pick up and pay.
The Plek and I will no doubt be wandering around there next weekend, then off to the bodega to find a nice red to go with the pedaset.
Opening hours and contact
Manel i Elisabet, parades 1-2, Mercado San Antoni
Tel: +34 934 263 378
Mon, Tue, Sat: 8am-3pm
Weds-Fri: 8am-3pm / 5pm-8pm
Welcome, dear reader,
I’ve been living in the San Antoni barrio (neighbourhood) for three of the nine years I’ve called Barcelona home.
Along with my partner, known as hitherto as The Plek, we seldom need to walk more than four blocks from our front door to find almost everything we enjoy.
This blog is about what we love about our part of this city; the people, food, bars, shops, animals and whatever else we encounter.
There’s a lot of life to be seen from our 10m2 balcony that looks over the Jardins de Cándida Pérez – and that’s precisely where we start.
The Plek and I reckon, Rear Window style, there are about 200 other flats that peer into this central courtyard along with Biblioteca de Sant Antoni-Joan Olivé.
Some trees and bushes line and dot what is essentially a kids’ playground and outdoor gym, with some benches and seats.
It’s named after the singer Cándida Pérez, a master of warbling ‘cuplés’ (variety songs) who lived in Brazil, but was born and bred (then dead) in Catalonia.
Fortunately there is no audio homage playing here.
Afternoon siestas are often accompanied by a lilt from our resident blackbird who also likes to toot at sundown, sometimes sat on our washing line. The tax we pay is the occasional dropping on what were freshly-washed towels.
There is also a whopping great chimney in the middle of the park, the remnants of the Tarda Dolcos (sweets) factory. Locals reliably inform me that Tarda produced boiled sweets, chocolates and turron and closed its doors some 40-50 years ago.
Our lead singer is not alone. Flop down into one of our balcony’s street seats – furniture left in the street by neighbours for others to use – and a fine supporting chorus appears.
Swifts’ distinctive chatter greets us every morning in the summer. These migratory birds fly in and out of the balcony like charged alien spacecraft. They launch from the nests they’ve built in walls and crevices around the Jardins.
At night, bats compete to snatch a mosquito meal. Such rapier flight is essential; Peregrine Falcons have been reintroduced and we’ve seen one scouting for a swift meal.
Pigeons roost here, too, always watchful of seagulls who think nothing of attack-and-kill tactics. There are often a set of wings on display on a roof, folded out like an angel but lacking any body.
There are also a dozen or so domestic cats that scour these plains, looking for a kill. They are, however, absolutely awful hunters and we’ve never seen a successful chase.
The gardens are incredibly important to the community. They are a space to hold a birthday party or concert and somewhere to let the kids blast off steam, to name but a few social functions.
OK, some Sunday mornings the screaming at 10am is a bit much, but apparently these children are to be considered as newts – and newts are good.
“If you can see children, it’s probably a healthy and happy city.” says Liz Zeidler, chief executive of the Happy City Initiative, a research centre based in Bristol. Read more here.
There’s a boules/petanque group, teens who come to learn dance moves, people training and keeping fit plus a plethora of dog walkers and the occasional drunk.
Candida would perhaps be proud of the karaoke parties, hear a rhythm in the pot-banging that has accompanied Catalonia’s political ups and downs of late, and, like us, want to shout at the folk who let their dogs bark at all hours.
Oh, and did I mention I saw some very impressive meteors burning up in the atmosphere one evening, just over the Med.
Hardly any neighbours use their balcony for meals, drinks and enjoying the breeze, so we get this almost all to ourselves.
Oh, and hats off to the guys who watch TV all day, every day, too. We know you won’t be reading.
When is the best time to visit the Galapagos Islands?
Well, it depends on what you want to see and do, animals you wish to encounter and what types of seas you wish to find.
I’ve visited Galapagos four times and use this Galapagos blog to give you all the inside travel tips.
There lived an old man who couldn´t remember,
His name, his age or ´twas May or December.
By day he walked mountains, at night swung in the trees,
He´d sleep in an instant, or cuddle up with bees.
So happy was Nimmy he could always be found,
With a smile like a rainbow painted upside down.
His weeks were spent throwing rocks into streams,
Or singing sweet lullabies to chocolate ice-cream.
With nothing to trouble him Nimmy´s eyes knew,
Things no-one else did, like fairies drink dew.
And Imps eat custard straight from your spoon,
Or eyes are made white by the light from the moon.
Nimmy saw clouds were the foam of the sea,
Which made soft, soft beds for a dragon or three.
In the mountains lived trolls whose wind made the wind,
Sweetened by flowers whose perfume felt kind.
Witches are lovely and made Nimmy food,
With lashings of his favourite; tea, well brewed.
Some folk knew not, that they looked like big moths,
While others lay about all day, like big lazy sloths.
And because of this Nimmy decided that never,
A thing on the earth would he choose to remember.
Keep a good lookout for Nimmy’s other world.
Chance is you’re a panther, a flower or a pearl.
A rusty bell’s sound
Wound down to a rasp.
Sliding grips and horns
Slip from a grasp
And chains
Whose revolutions are near
Done.
The cables need more grease.
There falls another piece.
Today I’ll need a fleece.
A pannier full with tools
I no longer know how to use.
Pay someone to take good care,
Shame of going there, there. There.
Light gears and brake more fear.
It’s all down hill from here.
I’ve charged the batteries dear.
Enjoy those larger curves
Rocks I’ve learned to swerve.
A rusty bell
Whose sound’s a rasp.
The sea’s always nibbling at our crumby city walls.
Yet the wind, oh that wind, sings merry dance for the gulls,
And drifts endless blossoms of minty tea and salts,
With a dash of tasty fishes which sailor men have caught.
We watch as people babble about their paper and their gold,
They swap it for trinkets and the smile at the road.
While we beg for our breakfasts, our dinners and our teas,
But like the alms seekers, no people need we.
True, some kick us, some chase us, but like smart city rats
We’re so good at hiding, folk think we’re just one cat.
All over the city comes that familiar call:
“Oh scabby old moggy, why live here at all?”
Well……
When the church bells stop chiming it brings on dark o’clock,
The people rush home to bed, slamming doors, bang click lock.
All day we’ve eaten rubbish, but we’ve been talking to our fleas.
We’re going rock ‘n’ rolling. “Who’s rolling out with me?”
It starts in the plaza – there’s Billy, there’s Tom!
Who’s that stretching their paws out? It’s Kate, come along!
Link front legs and back legs and tails now…….woooooaaaaahhhh!
Steady the giant cat ball. Now grow grow grow!
Move round. Form a wheel, for these narrow old town streets,
Rolling faster than the birds fly, oh what a treat.
With no one to see us we roll around the boats,
We pause at the tower top and we number six dozen coats.
In the market we make hair clips from fishy little spines.
Lap oils from old fish heads before warm dawn’s chime.
We knock the barrow of the man who’s cheating with his prices,
Bounce on the canons. BOOM BOOM BOOM! Once, twice, thrice!
Final lap on the city wall, the sun’s upon the brow….
We’re too big for the city gates! Crash bang, meeeoooowww.
Run home, run fast all cats, each moggy to its mat.
And that’s why we love here; the world of rolling cats.
Booked a trekking holiday, but not a regular hiker?
I’ve spent many months hiking around the Andes of South America. Read my hiking expert’s top tips on how to get in shape and make the most of your once-in-a-lifetime trip, published by Wanderlust.
Tom Shearman | Writer 