I still don’t understand the resilience of an invention like poke. When it became fashionable, all indications placed it in the same league as others gastro-rashes instagrammers, like cupcakes (or to a lesser extent, cereal bars). There was an era you could roam Barcelona jumping from cupcake to cupcake, but time was relentless with these infectious cakes, and all the cupcake shops that emerged in the heat of fashion ended up becoming low cost bakeries, SandwiChez or mobile phone case stores. End of the Christmas story.
I thought the same would happen with poke, and although the number of restaurants specialized in this format has dropped dramatically, the happy Hawaiian salad continues to show signs of life in Barcelona. Yes, even today you come across casual and carefree-looking locals (what was previously known as hipster), selling you tons of health concentrated in one bowl.
The condolences of the delivery man
The poke is a mess of elements that seem to have fallen from a psychedelic Enola Gay. It is the combined plate of the cool peña. Lots of rice and carts of edamame. Tuna dice with the same pigment as a chronic smoker’s lung. Jet avocado and red cabbage. Carrot bag in strips. Some have nori and wakame seaweed, and have very striking Japanese names & mldr;
Well, no matter how colorful it is, poke gives me a supine boredom. I have always seen him as the boot-twister that nobody wants to choose for their team at playground time: you accept it because you have no other choice, but you can think of a hundred thousand better candidates. The delivery man hands it to you as if he were offering you his condolences. And when you’re done, you freak out on the couch, wondering why you paid 11 bucks for a salad that looks like it came out of a centrifuge.
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