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Map of dishes and bars against the hangover

The penance of the trasnochado, the walk of shame from the pub to your bed, the hangover you see coming, the sun rising after the courts ... Hell? Yes, but with a divine toll: the squid sandwich (for example) that you are going to eat in one of those essential bars of which we speak so little.

Gastronomic pleasures. Exactly of that goes Tablecloth & Knife; of pleasures such as the Plankton and iodine waves of Ángel León in Aponiente, the bull tartare with angula and truffle of Kabuki (President Carmona) or the cheese cart of Santceloni. Also from simpler pleasures like the mushrooms of the Blue Angel, the croquettes of Askua or the shrimp tortilla of Casa Balbino in Sanlucar de Barrameda. Even if they hurry me, guilty pleasures such as chips (bag) or a quarter pound with cheese.

But there are other gastronomic pleasures at the height of any of those up there. Put yourself in a situation: Friday night, the night has gone away - a little - from your hands: you drank to the water of the vases and for dancing until you've danced to Pitbull's with J.Lo (what the hell, especially that one). You leave the club. Sunrise You look at the floor. You look at yourself. You cry It's time for the hard and sad homecoming: "The walk of shame", but before - oh, yes - you're going to put a greasy veal nugget between your chest and back, the following. Or a slice of pizza or a kebab or maybe all three. And God knows that there is nothing about Noma that feels as honestly as that first two-handed bite that will cradle us until the time of the hangover.

Because maybe it is dawning and maybe a p *** taxi doesn't pass all over Castellana and maybe tomorrow's hangover is insane and those runners preparing "the average" you look badly back to civilization, but that piece of sandwich was well worth a weekend of Ibuprofen and regret. Do not look the other way: you know it.

It has many names: "The Onion Menu", “From lost to the pizza”, "Are we going to Celler de Can Pepito de Venera?". But only one end: pleasure without nonsense.

GREASE © Trini Bocatería


The drunken furnace (Swedish, 3). You, gang of hipsters, do you think that Ruzafa -which is the Malasaña de la terreta- has always been there with its cuquis cafeterias, beards and rusty bikes. But no, nothing is further from reality; and not long ago it was a Decadent neighborhood that we only approached at 5 in the morning for our 'toma, champi or espi' empanadilla. Mythical.

The Trina (Gran Vía de Ramón y Cajal). Who has not dawned shrugged at a table on the terrace of the Trina, with a tenderloin sandwich with cheese in one hand and a coffee in the other, neither had life nor had anything. Here comes the worst (rather) and the best (there are, there are) of each house, the most diverse fauna of Valencia devouring greasy sandwiches on high heels and Zara dresses. Wonderful.

Sirloin sandwich with green pepper jam (?) And a 0'0 © El Trini


If you are in the center (Raval, Gòtic, Born) your thing is to go to breakfast at La Boqueria. They open at 7 in the morning and in addition to being one of the best markets in the world they hide the jewel in the crown of the onions: Pinotxo bar sausage sandwich.

The Velodrome (Muntaner, 213) the place where the hangovers meet with possible. Amalgam of posh children who never get off the Diagonal; creatas that come out to work at six and morning radio announcers wetting the cupcake before the microphones.

Vallvidrera viewpoint, after passing through the workshop of the Foix Pastry Shop. And it is that if in Madrid the sunrise is owned by the Temple of Debod, in Barcelona there are more to climb a mountain and enjoy how the sun floods the city from the armed heights to the side of a bag of croissants and a temperate coffee. Anyway, seny stuff.

Pinotxo bar butifarra © Pinotxo


The Melo's (Ave Maria, 44). Legendary Galician Lavapies Tavern where calls are served "sneakers", a monstrous double toast with several layers of tetilla cheese and lacon. Thin thing.

Mythic are also the sandwiches of The brilliant, the pizza slices with jug in the Maravillas Pizzeria or the skewer of tortillas with cane in The corner (May 2), the vermouth of Camacho House and the market kitchen of Achuri on the seafront in Madrid, Argumosa.

Do you dare with a 'shoe'? © Melo's


The capital of the best land with the name of wine could not be less, obviously. Mythical are the chocolates with churros (after a good night of farra and jazz in the Biribay) of Chup Chup (Avenida de Navarra, 2) next to the discos, perfect for the morning pilgrimage because it raises the blind at 7am. Meeting place for night owls, currelas and some clueless tourist - if I told you.

If you are more than hello, you better move your ethnical innkeepers to the bar The Golden Spike.


The Trini, in the historical round (María Auxiliadora, 45) and if you end up in El Trini -de farra in Seville? you will end up in El Trini- you have to ask his mythical "Serranito", one of the key pieces to understand Seville, Andalusian and even European cuisine.

The Bilio's (Avenue of Innovation, 3) fast food club lost where Christ gave the three voices but with a couple of key details: Free Wi-Fi, hull and good fat, 'Bilio's the Most' (Aha, that's what it's called) a double hamburger with bacon, extra cheese and many sauces that you know.

* PS: my sincere thanks for your invaluable collaboration to my beloved María Sánchez Díez, Lorena G. Diaz, Esther Pinyol (who also leaves us with some notes of New York night), Cristina Arroyo and Marina Coronado. Although well thought out, it is not that this thanks says anything good about you, no or what.

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