I am a morning person. And a breakfast person. This always seems to prove a problem when travelling. I've been known to carry kilos of oats with me on trips abroad in the hope of finding a hob, some non-UHT milk and some runny honey to create my morning medicine.
Travelling only hand luggage to get to Barcelona allowed for no such treatment. And it was clear that the swanky Hotel Pulitzer (thank you Mr and Mrs Smith for yet another perfect hotel recommendation) was not going to give me a mini kitchen in my sleek, chic, and minimalist room. So the first morning saw a quick gym session and a not so quick shower, before we set out on a breakfast hunt. Heading vaguely towards the Sagrada Familia as we did so.
It was a moment of sheer happiness when we rounded the corner to find Granja Petitbo. (This was a planned stumbling upon - breakfast is not a meal which gets left to chance). The place we had been searching for was there, was open, and was serving proper breakfast. And no, by 'proper' I do not mean the full English extravaganza that many places on the Rambla de Catalunya offer. By proper I mean coffee, fresh juices, oats, pastries, eggs, all a far cry from the 'overpriced buffet in an generic continental hotel' standard fare. With zingy juices in vintage glasses, strong mugs of coffee, and surrounded by the Barcelona Steve Jobs fan club working away, we settled down in the leather armchairs and tucked into brioche with peanut butter and banana for me, and spiced porridge with apricot jam for B. The brioche was bouncy and perfectly toasted. The peanut butter satisfied me in my full time roll of peanut butter addict. And porridge, which people in the UK can't even seem to get right, was delicious, and put our homegrown porridge making skills to shame. Must try harder.
Exactly the stuff we needed to fill those tums in preparation for a traditional tourist filled day.