This is me, teetering on the edge of a trap I have set for myself. I’m the one to react firmly and vocally to statements like ‘Asian food’. How can one possibly bundle the cuisine of the largest continent on our planet into a catch-all statement? From Tehran to Tokyo, and from Siberia to Indonesia, the continent’s food varies so widely that there can be no greater insult than to assume you can add a splash of magic sauce and serve it up as the dish that represents the continent.

So this is not a page filled with words meant to describe the food in Spain. I only spent a day in Barcelona and another in Valencia so read this for what it is.

Valencians are proud to claim paella as their own, among others. Catalunya will proudly stand behind anything from bread with tomato on it to the Adrià brothers (of El Bulli fame). I’ll only cover Barcelona with a couple of tips from Valencia.

Starting with Barceloneta, right down on the coast and a neighbourhood I used to like because it was dodgy and hardly anyone in their right mind would visit. Now it’s been tidied up and mostly gentrified, so eating fish at the restaurants along the coast is a good idea and widely recommended. But the neighbourhood has its own, non-fishy, speciality in the form of what’s called a bomba.

A tiny place called La Cova Fumada claims to have invented the dish out of necessity. The bomba is a ball made of potato and stuffed with meat, covered in breadcrumbs and then fried and topped with a fiery sauce that earns the bomba its name. While you’ll find this on many tapas menus, you owe it to yourself to head to Barceloneta half way through the morning and fill that awkward gap between breakfast and lunch with one of these and any of the other little dishes served by La Cova Fumada.

The place doesn’t seem to have changed since the 1950s. There’s sawdust on the floors, drinks are served in tiny, narrow glasses, and you’re sat on ancient wooden stools. Men in their 50s run the floor with the efficiency of a Toyota engine from the period and with just as little drama. In spirit, it is what Crystal Palace is to Rabat in Malta and what Tapie’s Bar is to Victoria in Gozo.

The dish that is on every list of tapas is the patatas bravas, potatoes that have been chopped into small bits and fried, then served with a slightly spicy sauce. It is a dish I often avoid because I can’t be bothered with the ones where matching cubes of potato are served with a commercial sauce.

But, if you decide to walk away from the craziness that the old town is and venture out towards more tranquil residential districts such as the more upmarket Sarria, you can land yourself what is probably the holy grail of bravas. El Tomás de Sarrià, once again a spot that hasn’t bowed to the pressure to modernise its interiors, is known for the patatas bravas to beat.

It’s nothing to behold, with white Formica tables, chairs that appear to have been stolen from deconsecrated churches, and that beige on the walls that was used when smoking was allowed in restaurants to mask nicotine stains. Service is gruff and, as ever, efficient. Their potatoes are cut roughly and irregularly and no attempt has been made to deliver a pretty dish. They’re fried to the perfect point where there is a slight crunch to the outside and a proper potato taste and texture inside, and the sauce is rich and buttery and has the right amount of chilli to give a present heat without it overpowering even the delicate taste of potato. Of course, while there, order a couple of other dishes but prepare to be underwhelmed.

Habitual

It is not that food in Spain is cheaper, it is that we are routinely ripped off for sustenance in Malta

I completely messed up dinner plans that were focused on Barri Adrià, a neighbourhood that’s marked by having five different restaurants by Albert Adrià, brother of Ferran of El Bulli fame. The one called Ticket is what I was after but they have a 60-day rolling reservation and I missed the window so I wound up walking through the more fashionable Passeig de Gracia in search of dinner.

El Nacional is a lazy choice and I was feeling lazy. Think of a food court and imagine it were done really, really well. Four eateries and four bars inhabit a rather beautiful space. There is no system that will allow for reservations so the best way to eat there is to turn up before 8 or after 10. Once inside, you pick the restaurant you feel like and, if a table is available you’re in business.

La Llotja is probably the best restaurant in there and is designed like a fish market, so you pick the fish from a display and have it prepared for you. For a more unusual experience, try the Taperia. It’s a tapas restaurant that I don’t consider particularly special but there’s the novelty of having dishes brought around by waiters who announce them loudly, auction style. If something they’re carrying sounds good, draw their attention and enjoy the dish. Luckily, their esqueixada, a dish of shredded cod, oil and tomatoes, is on the menu, so there’s no need to hope it turns up.

If the way a place looks is important to your Instagram feed, El Nacional is one to visit. It might also be an idea to brave El Raval, one of the less gentrified neighbourhoods so it scares most tourists away, and head to Carrer del Parlament for a meal or a snack at the extremely hipster Federal Cafe, followed by ice cream at Orxateria Sirvent. Your Instagram will thank you, as will your taste buds.

That, and a steady stream of craft beers to fill the gaps, is all I had time for in a day. It was time to slightly change terrain in Spain and what better way to do so than by train? Valencia is just three hours away and it’s the third biggest city in the country.

Rather than leaving Valencia for another time, I’m dropping a couple of tips here that you can bolster with research and intrepid exploring. For paella, visit Casa Carmela, located just off the beach, where you can expect informal service and paella cooked on huge metal pans that balance on top of an open wood flame. The paella is spread across the huge pan, so it barely rises more than the height of two rice grains above the heavy, metal base. Your options include spiny lobster and prawn, so you’re spoiled for choice.

The central market is one to visit for a staggering range of food that’s arranged in a clean and organised market that sits under a massive structure in the very centre of town. There is a more recent market (read fancy food court) called Mercado de Colón inside a splendid modernist building and Ricardo Camarena’s restaurant Habitual is buried in there. If you’re close, it is worth a visit for service you’d expect of his Michelin-starred restaurant but in an informal environment and with a very attractively priced menu. The food is clever, meticulously executed, and shows hints of technique that play to the man’s ego.

Given a choice, however, I’d focus on his Canalla Bistro that’s located a little outside the old centre of town in a more residential area for a lovely blend of Valencian dishes with influences from kitchens around the world.

The Valencian oyster ceviche, for instance, is a happy marriage of two continents that took me completely by surprise. Just as unlikely is a Mexican taco filled with slow-cooked oxtail. They even do a 10-day pastrami of their own that’s served as a main course in the form of a rather traditional deli sandwich.

That’s all I have room for really so I’ll wrap by saying that should you travel to either of these cities it is worth dining on the more widely recommended circuits first but then having the determination to stray from the beaten path. Expect to pay less for food than we do across the board. It is not that food in Spain is cheaper, it is that we are routinely ripped off for sustenance in Malta. May you return with full bellies, new experiences and a prettier Instagram. Buen provecho!