Sangria Sunset in Barcelona

¡Hola desde Barcelona! Your favorite prickly traveler has landed in Catalonia, where the sangria flows like water and the sunsets paint the Mediterranean in shades of orange and pink. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Carl, sangria is tourist juice. Real Spanish people don't drink that." And you'd be partially right. But also partially wrong. The truth, as always, is more complicated and much more delicious. Let me explain over a pitcher or three.

Yes, the sangria you find in tourist traps on Las Ramblas is often cheap wine drowned in sugar and fruit that's been sitting out since the Franco era. I made the mistake of ordering some on my first night, and it tasted like fruit punch that had given up on life. Lesson learned. But real sangria, made properly with decent wine, fresh fruit, a touch of brandy, and time to let the flavors meld? That's a different story entirely. And Barcelona has plenty of places that do it right—you just have to know where to look.

I found my sangria salvation in a tiny bodega in Gràcia, the bohemian neighborhood where tourists fear to tread (and therefore where the good stuff lives). This place has been run by the same family since 1927, and they make their sangria fresh each morning using wine from a vineyard owned by the owner's cousin. No pre-made mix, no mysterious additives—just red wine, orange juice, a splash of Spanish brandy, sliced seasonal fruit, and a night in the refrigerator. The result was refreshing but complex, fruity but not sweet, perfect for a warm Barcelona afternoon. I stayed for three pitchers and a long conversation about Catalan independence. (I'm staying neutral on that too.)

What surprised me was the variety. There's sangria tinta (red wine-based, the classic), but also sangria blanca made with white or sparkling wine—lighter, crisper, perfect with seafood. Some places make it with cava, Catalonia's famous sparkling wine, creating something that's essentially fizzy fruit-wine magic. At one modern tapas bar, I had a sangria made with vermouth, which is having a major moment in Barcelona. It was more bitter, more herbal, more adult—sangria for people who read literary fiction. I felt very sophisticated drinking it. My spines practically gleamed with culture.

The best sangria experience happened at sunset on Barceloneta beach. I found a chiringuito (beach bar) with rickety tables in the sand, ordered a pitcher of the house sangria, and watched the sun drop into the Mediterranean. The sangria was good but not exceptional. The setting was exceptional but not unique. But together, at that moment, with salt air and distant laughter and the sky turning colors I don't have names for? That was perfect. Sometimes the drink is just the excuse to be present somewhere beautiful.

If you're visiting Barcelona, my sangria advice is this: avoid anywhere that has pictures of sangria on the menu or signs advertising it. Seek out neighborhood bodegas and ask what they make in-house. Or skip the formal establishments entirely and pick up ingredients at La Boqueria market—good Rioja, fresh oranges and lemons, some brandy—and make your own on your apartment balcony. Sangria isn't about perfection; it's about enjoying wine, fruit, and sunshine with people you like. Even if those people are just you and your reflection. ¡Salud, Barcelona! 🌵🍷🇪🇸