Quim de la Boqueria, Catalan Market Food, El Raval

Quim de la Boqueria

I would guess that Quim is in his early fifties, mid-fifties perhaps? He is one of those rare humans who has improved with age. His head is shaved bald and shiny, his nose points down forcefully, and deep grooves radiate from the corners of his eyes, emphasizing their intensity and aliveness. He has tattooed sleeves that stop at his wrists. He speaks fast, all at once and then he stops, lowers his head and peers intensely from under his brows. In the absence of words after the onslaught, his character radiates out like heat from a fire. A friend who used to work in Direkte Boqueria tells me how she and her colleagues and her used to watch him while doing prep work. “He’s so hot!” she laughs. I get what she means. It’s not the physical man; it’s the resoluteness of energy contained in the temporary form of a man.

That’s the potency of the person necessary to be in the name. El Quim de La Boqueria. In the market, everyone who visits Barcelona will come to and at the centre of it all. A stall with as many chefs in it as a Michelin star restaurant. Wrapped in bright yellow slats at the top. A fried egg incorporated in the logo. Like mine, coincidentally.

This is my first time eating here. Pre-covid, the clamour of bodies around this spot was offputting. Like a crowd of pigeons, jostling and squawking, all trying to pick at the same thing. I live here. I know enough places that do this.

But as we continue to live through this original time, this too has changed. Today the only people waiting to eat are Catalans. (Quim doesn’t accept bookings) It wasn’t my idea to eat at El Quim de la Boqueria. It was my friend Marwa. Who after 5 years in Barcelona is moving away. She is the third good friend to throw the towel at the city. Quim de la Boqueria is on her bucket list.

We are seated at a hight table looking into the kitchen. Quim’s son takes our order. We have to have the baby calamari with the fried egg (19.75€). A Quim made botifarra sausage curled around fingernail-sized Sant Pau beans (10€). A plate of rovellon mushrooms is carried past us, the national mushroom of Catalunya that bleeds green/blue when bruised. We order that (18€). Today is about acting on every desire. Waiting is for people who have infinite time, and our collective lesson of 2020 was we never know how much we have been allocated.

Next to us is a Catalan family. The maximum of 6 in Covid restrictions wrapped around a table for 4. Eight knees jutting out at awkward angles. A pigeon up in the Boqueria’s rafters shits on one of the plates, prompting peals of laughter from the table because that is such a perfect encapsulation of now. The commotion draws Quim out, and the shit becomes a catalyst for more laughter and dedicated attention from him.

We catch his eye. Well, Marwa does, she’s like glass in the sand that concentrates the sun. First, Quim gives us a shot of mojito sorbet. Then he comes over with glasses of Cava for the three of us. He tells us his revelation of 2020. Cooking for people in need. I forget the numbers they were feeding, but it was impressive. “I got to know my people. I got to know the people I have always stood shoulder to shoulder with but never knew. I was lucky to be able to help.”

My favourite dishes at Quim’s turn out to be the simplest ones. Bravas with its bands of mayonnaise and red sauce (4.5€). The sausage with the beans. The most famous dish, that of chiperones is impressive only in the tiny size of the calamari. I would have preferred them battered and fried.

The thrill of eating in the heart of the Boqueria and perhaps getting lucky enough to attract Quim’s attention is a pandemic silver lining.

El Quim de La Boqueria
Local 606, Mercat de La Boqueria
Rambles, 91, 08001 El Raval
elquimdelaboqueria.com
instagram.com/elquimdelaboqueria