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photos by Danilo lo Santo, F. Otero Perandones and Leanne Cordingley

(The power of the chick pea)

Maoz

C/ Ferran, 13 y/o Las Ramblas, 95

There’s a rumor that Maoz, your dependable city-center falafel haven, gives away free food at closing time. I was skeptical. It seems nothing is free anymore in this cruel, capitalistic world. But as it turns out, all I needed to do was ask. One worker confirmed that at 2:30 every morning they do indeed fill the empty stomachs of Barcelona’s drunken youth. The amount of leftovers varies depending on the day, but there’s always some sort of vegetarian goodness to leave you satisfied. Leftovers may include falafel, cauliflower, hummus, garbanzos, peperoncinis, corn, pickle, carrot, onions, couscous, beets, and tabouli. And, with two locations within a 5 minute walk of one another, you can afford to hit both without spending money on the metro or exerting too much physical energy. Talk about freeloader heaven. Bring some tupperware, fill it up, and eat for days.

(You won't starve if you're legal)

Menjador Social Paral.lel

Av. de Paral.lel, 97, bis

For those in dire need of food on a daily basis, here’s a soup kitchen. The place was packed when I arrived and with a line to get in. The woman at the front desk wouldn’t answer my questions, so a friendly transvestite gave me the low-down. Open every day from 12:30 – 14h, they serve a variety of elaborate dishes creatively named soup, salad, vegetables, chicken, fish, tortilla francesa and española, and dessert. The food received mixed reviews spanning from "fatal" to "buena para mi". I wasn’t able to see or try the questionable eats before getting kicked out for being too inquisitive, but I know for sure that you won’t leave hungry. You can help yourself to seconds, thirds, even fourths, but you need a social security card. If you have one, try it. If not, you can still diversify your social group by hanging out with regulars at the entrance.

(Find me on the floor)

Bread Dumpster

Carrer de les Escoles, 1 (cross-street C/ de Clot)

I used to live in Clot. Every day I would walk by the same trio of dumpsters and find them (in those days) overflowing with the delicious, unsold goods of an unknown local bakery. That bakery, it turns out, is called Sisó, and is generally quite crowded during the day. But outside, at nine each night, they throw away the barras de pan and postres that their customers have failed to buy. I was told that there’s usually not an abundance of leftovers, so get there at closing time for the biggest selection. If you don’t like to eat soiled goods, I suggest you get there early to intercept the workers. But if you don’t mind a little dirt, try the loaves on the ground. There’s always enough to keep you full until the next round arrives in 24 hours. Bring some Xibeca, some friends, and start scavenging.

(Your best special friend)

Bablu

C/ Botella, 2

You’ve met a new “special friend” and all you want to do is keep warm under the covers and “get to know each other” a little better. What are you, a fucking animal? You need to spend some quality time together; have a few drinks, polite conversation, maybe even a bite to eat. You’re broke. You’re fucked. CRISIS. Not to fear, Bablu is here: a new sitio in the heart of the coolest part of the Raval. Happy Hour everyday from 6 til 9. Wednesday, the coup de grace, free aperitivos (food, my friend) from 9 til 10. Chill out at the bar and converse with the laid back dueños italianos, or make yourself comfortable on one of the 2 floors, all tastefully done up in relaxing pastels of blue and red, with exposed wooden beams for that little toque of authentic barrio history.

(Kickass fucking kikos)

Manchester Bar

C/ Milans, 5 y/o C/ Valldonzella, 40

Drinking in Lowry-style, post-industrial grimness may not be everybody’s idea of Barcelona but, fortunately, Bar Manchester takes the urbane rather than the urban from its namesake. Its walls are covered in revered icons of this music powerhouse and beyond – Joy Division, the Stone Roses, Bowie – along with the distinctive styling of Manchester’s legendary Haçienda Club. And if you’re poor, like those musicians before they graced bar walls, and more into spending the money you have on drink than, say, dinner, here at Manchester your feast will be placed before you free of charge. A white ramekin of bar mix might not seem like much, but only til that first fistful hits your...oHHh! Delicious morsels of fried corn kissed with salt from their peanut colleagues. And then those peculiar, elongated and orangish sticks. What they are, no one knows, but we and the bar staff agree: shit is deadly good!