This place and the crimped laundry hanging off balconies – old Barcelona, alive and well in an age of Nomophobia and mobile phone induced neck pain. There are lots of people taking pictures of plates piled high with whipped cream but there are more people talking, watching and dunking tear dropped churros into thick chocolate.
The waiters are dressed in black trousers, white shirts and black vests and move with an efficiency that betrays years of consecutive employment at Granja. The rich detail of the place is reassuring, the intricately painted floor tiles are enough to get lost in before you look up and spot ancient Cacaolat packaging mounted on the walls. (This place was where Cacaolat was invented, after Marc Viader Bas visited a wedding in Budapest and tasted a similar drink.)
There are plates of cheese to be had or even eggs but I tend to come here to revisit a memory, to time travel back when nothing was instant or fast. I might bring a book next time, a real one – maybe something by Carlos Ruiz Zafón.
See this and more addresses on my Foodie in Barcelona Map
Carrer Xuclà, 4-6