Angelus K.
Yelp
So first things first, this place is in an terrible neighborhood. The southern end of La Rambla has its share of pickpockets and stoned college kids to begin with-- but to get to Bar Marsella, you have to take a side street for about 500 meters while weaving through women in face veils, south asians trying to sell drugs, and a multicultural assortment of prostitutes. Finally you get to Bar Marsella--but if you get there before 10:30, you will be greeted by a closed corrugated steel door.
So you come back at 10:30 and the bar is open. Undeniably, the ambiance is drenched with Lost Generation cool. The tile floor in exquisite pattern, the marble bar, the cabinets filled with decades old bottles of gin and liqueurs (all of which, if still holding their original contents, must be ruined by the heat and improper storage--nevertheless, the cabinets are locked), the dark brown ceiling, even the hokey chandeliers that look like they came from your grandma's house circa 1975, all of it makes you feel like Hemingway or Fitzgerald-- but let's face it other than a few locals showing off to their friends, most of the other patrons are ridiculous American sorority girls or cosmopolitan elites who are doing the Erasmus program.
Nevertheless, those people can't spoil it. They might be talking about the next bar their going to (American girls are never happy where they are--there always has to be a next bar that everyone is planning, and that will be SO much better) or discussing articles in the Economist, but if you make it to this bar, you should try to be a little more American Mercury than American Idiot. (and if you're European, be German or French or Greek and not European)
Sorry for that descent into elitism, but you'll understand when you meet the people behind the bar. There is a rotating cast of Spanish bartenders who are very friendly. There is also a heavyset guy who wears a baseball cap there every night. He seems to be an American, though he claims to be from Barcelona. He may or may not be the owner of the place. He isn't very forthcoming with information about the bar, other than that it is 194 years old. Maybe he'll like you more than he liked me.
It goes without saying, the reason people come here is for the famous absinthe drip (una absenta in Spanish). The glasses of absinthe are already poured, and the absinthe comes out of a big glass jug with a spout at the bottom. Rumor has it that the bar makes the absinthe or has it custom-made. (As an aside, absinthe was banned in the USA and much for Europe for most of the past 70 years. Until very recently, it was only available in Spain.) The absinthe here isn't mouthwash green, which is a good thing, because it probably doesn't have artificial coloring. The taste is pleasant enough--strongly anise with a slightly bitter aftertaste. You pay 5 euros for a glass of absinthe, two cubes of sugar, a fork, and a bottle of water. The bottle of water has a hole punched in the top with an ice pick. What you do is put the sugar cube on the fork (which suspended across the rim of the glass), and drip the water through the cube until it is dissolved. This serves two purposes: 1) the dissolved sugar sweetens the bitter drink, and 2) the water throughs the wormwood and anise and other oils out of solution with the alcohol and brings out their flavor. An appropriate amount of water should be no more than the amount that will make the drink cloudy (I like a bit less water than that). Finally, there is some debate as to whether the sugar cube should be first dipped into the absinthe and then set on fire on the fork. Some say it is a gimmick. I say it looks cool--go for it.
