First, New Year’s Eve (fun). Then, New Year’s Day (not so fun).
Finally, work reentered your life. For three whole days.
This calls for wine. Tons of it. Tonight.
And maybe suckling pig, just because.
Unleash a flurry of flamenco guitar notes for Barcelona Wine Bar, a sexy slice of España via dry-cured ham and rampant wine worship, now open in Brookline.
Like your fantasy mistress, this is a dark-featured Catalonian sexpot. Meaning: floor-to-ceiling reclaimed wood, an imported marble bar and a cheese-and-meat display accented by an 80-year-old hand-cranked charcuterie slicer. Oh, and the bust of a bull vanquished during an actual bullfight in Spain (to do in 2013: learn matador-ing).
You’ll gather here amongst friends. Or with a second date (two words: dimly lit). Then decide if you’d rather dance with some six-month manchego, jamón ibérico and braised rabbit tapas at the bar to the left, or maybe in the dining room to the right (the table under the giant black-and-white candid of Hemingway at dinner feels right).
On either side, you’ll notice a large outdoor patio through the collapsing windows. “That’ll be great when it’s nice out,” you’ll say over a Brookline Sour (thyme, grapes, rye) or one of 300-plus wines from Spain and Argentina.
You tend to blurt things out after whiskey and wine.