Sunday lunch, still

The room used to be the cellar of a wine shop on Carrer de Montcada. We kept the stone, the low ceiling, and the habit of opening a bottle before anyone sat down.

Lunch is still the meal we cook for. The fire is lit late in the morning. Fish arrives in crates, and rice goes on only when there are enough people to share it.

There is no secret to the cooking. Salt, olive oil, a coal bed that has been hot since noon, and the patience to leave a piece of fish alone.