What do I miss most about living in Barcelona? For me, it's a small plate of "Patatas Bravas," golden wedges of potato, fried and salted and served with a sauce that ranges from mayonnaise to spicy red pepper or a combination of the two. At their best, they are soft and fluffy inside, crunchy on the outside and smothered in creamy goodness. Damn! They are good.

The weirdest version of Patatas I saw were at an Irish Bar (why was I at an Irish Bar in Barcelona?) that featured a menu with a drawing of "The Horny Irishman" who was sporting a giant boner through his green overalls. Very strange. Anyway, these potatoes were covered with some kind of sweet chilli sauce and then striped with cold sour cream. Not bad. Just strange. And definitely not Spanish.

Every restaurant in Barcelona will have Patatas Bravas. The ones pictures above were from one of my favorite spots called Taller de Tapas. I would sit at my own outdoor table in the dappled sunlight, next to an ancient church and order a cup of vino rosado, a plate of Patatas and a plate of Pimientos de Padrón (another food love story) and watch as tourists, locals and performers floated around me.

On my last day there, my mom called and said, "Go to Taller de Tapas and eat peppers and potatoes until you puke... I'll pay you back."

That's the spirit, mom.