Pillow Talk and Ensaladilla Rusa
It’s just a little crush…
Or is it?
Rewinding to exactly one month and three days ago in Barcelona, where I had one of those basic-but-magic dates that only happen when you’re running on too little sleep and just enough vermouth. I’d been texting with a cute Catalonian Cancerian (yes, double the feelings), and despite our chaotic schedules, I told him we’d make it work. Spoiler: we did—at 11:30 pm, in a hotel lobby buzzing with energy, sipping white vermouth with an orange slice and a green olive. It’s the kind of drink that gives you just enough time to decide if you’re going to flash your most charming “want to come up?” smile.
Nine times out of ten, my hotel room is some absurdly over-the-top suite, often giving me Pretty Woman vibes, except I’m the underpaid writer version of Richard Gere…and it’s very temporary. The whole thing is comical, but that’s often what makes it so exciting—and never boring. My life is always a mix of part rom-com, part “how is this real?”
2025 dating note: I have a strict vetting process for all dates, with sneaky checkpoints on politics, humanity, and women’s rights. This happens before the date, as life’s too short for misogynist losers.
“You’ll drive me to the airport in the morning?” I ask, in a gentle way, to approve a sleepover. This time, my suite had an oversized bathtub and a bedroom with a sky-high view of Barcelona. Honestly, I was nervous because the date was so… normal and real, so I put my vixen to the side. “Do you want to get in bed and watch a movie?” FFS, it’s midnight….who am I?
There was no movie. There was a lot of perfect intimacy and connection for a first date, which is rare, followed by pillow talk—one of my favorite things in life. It’s that cozy, no-filter chat when you’re tangled up in bed post-sex and nothing else matters. And, because I have zero filter, I found myself thinking about ensaladilla rusa post-sex. I scrolled through my camera roll to show him photos of the ensaladilla rusa I made for a party a couple of years ago. Weird pillow talk? Maybe. But honestly, this potato salad is so good I dream about it, plus he’s Catalonian, so maybe sharing food pics in bed is just cultural immersion?
The alarm came too early. The cute Catalonian man made me a double espresso and brought it to me in bed (top-tier move, IMO). He helped me carry my bags to his red Volkswagen. On the way to the airport, “Born to Be Wild” played, and it felt like the start of a new chapter. I love the airport kiss goodbye, but I always dread the “see you next time.” Would there be a next time, I wondered.
Last night, I finally admitted that I had a decent crush. But with time and space playing hard to get, who knows if there’ll be a September sequel, just before sweater weather begins.
Ensaladilla rusa, who?
Ensaladilla rusa, a.k.a. the potato salad that’s been living its best life since the 1860s, was born in the bougie Moscow restaurant, Hermitage. Think crayfish, caviar, and all the edible fanciness in one bite. Once it made its way to Spain, the country ditched its luxe appeal and gave it a glow-down, swapping out the fancy for humble potatoes, peas, tuna, and a mayo situation that just works. Now it’s the MVP of tapas bars, and once you know it, you’ll see it everywhere, often as a free tapa with your drink.
Ensaladilla survived wars, crossed borders, and still manages to show up at every Spanish table. It’s the creamy, nostalgic, unpretentious kind of dish that proves food is at its best when it’s simple and it’s simply delicious. Pass the mayo, please (and when I say mayo, I mean Duke’s, of course).
My question remains: Why aren’t we making ensaladilla rusa a holiday staple in the South? A couple Thanksgivings ago, I brought a giant crystal bowl of this bliss to a friend’s Friendsgiving. It’s so easy to make. My friend Scott and I gobbled it up—two Southerners with a deep love for Spanish eats. Everyone else was suspicious (tuna and mayo, y’all?), but honestly, we put mayo in everything in the South, including with questionable tins of Starkist. I’ll work on the promotion of ensaladilla rusa in the South more….
🍒 Cherry-picked ensaladilla rusa in Madrid:
Hermanos Vinagre
Hermanos Vinagre is like a love letter to vinegar-soaked bar snacks, where bluefin tuna meets pickled piparras in what they boldly call “the most expensive Gilda in the world.” Relax, it’s only 4,50 euros (they use bluefin tuna). This tiny tavern keeps it real with killer cold tapas like anchovies, cockles, and mussels, all crafted with obsessive care by the Valentí brothers. It’s a modern take on an old-school Spanish bar, and I can’t visit Madrid without stopping by for their ensaladilla alone—served in a Russian matryoshka doll. (It’s the shredded egg yolk that does it for me.)
La Caníbal
Find natural wine nerds and snack fiends drinking and feasting from a menu all about celebrating Spanish producers. It’s an ideal way to dive into the best small producers in Spain, including some super close to Madrid. From house-cured charcuterie to wild-fermented everything, and a cheese chariot with the best Spanish cheeses. Ask them for a stellar ensaladilla rusa wine pairing and you’re good to go from there.
xxJenn
Hitting "just enough vermouth" is one of life's gifts
Italian version: Insalata Russa. So good.