I read the news that the furniture from the recently disappeared Bar Brusi del Gòtic in Barcelona has been rescued by the Museu d'Història de Barcelona (MUHBA). The Brusi was, since its opening in that spring of '68 whose dreams and illusions seem so distant today, a social infrastructure that articulated working urban life like so many other neighborhood and town bars whose disappearance we witness today with scandalous indolence.
I have long had the privilege of collaborating with the MUHBA in different projects to recover flavors, aromas, textures and knowledge that are part of the city's history; new heritages that help us understand who we are and where we come from. I therefore know the clairvoyant museum vision shown by this institution and its managers. I call Joan Roca, its director, to inquire about the fate of the chairs, tables, the sign, part of the bar, the coffee maker and other original objects from the 70s that they have rescued from El Brusi. He explains to me that they will be part of the innovative Museu del Treball that they are orchestrating.
The exhibition proposal will deal with the importance of work in all its forms for the formation of citizens, from domestic work to the factory, school, hospital or commerce. He also comments that it will be a vindication of the importance of this type of establishment, of the human and professional dimension of people like the family that ran it, with the owner at the helm, Montserrat Sabadell, who at eighty-something remained at the foot of the cannon cooking until the last day his famous tripe, the sausage casserole with mushrooms or the potato and zucchini omelettes that brightened the lives of his customers.
The power of the director's speech makes me want to visit the exhibition as soon as it opens in a few months. I confess my concern about the fate of our independent restoration and that I also see the initiative as an opportunity to make visible the true function that these businesses have represented for so long in articulating the life of their neighborhoods or towns.
I have read several articles here about the disaster that the closure of bars and local eateries represents for people's social and emotional health.
After the talk I am left thinking. I write the script for a family visit in a few years...
-You see son, this represents a bar, a place where neighbors met to share and socialize.
-It reminds me in some way of Fast Food where we go to look for food every day, mom, but without the interactive electronic panels to order and pay for the menu.
-Nothing to see, my son. Drinking was previously done directly at the bar or ordered at the table from people called waiters.
-Humans?
-Yes, those who everyone knew by name without having to wear it on their lapel, by the way. And he not only interacted with them in a cordial manner. Also with other neighbors and friends with whom, at breakfast time, when leaving work or at any other time, they met to talk and improvise social gatherings on a daily basis.
-Like a chat?
-But live. In fact, before you were born there was a pandemic that prevented them from being done in person. Bars had to close for weeks and, although people chatted online since their confinement, in the long run there were repercussions on the mental health of society.
-Caramba! So, mom, authentic bars were much more than places to get nourishment or hydration, right?
-Yes, son, I told you, in reality they were very different from the current clone establishments of depersonalized restoration where we order our prefabricated combo every day. Although we didn't realize it until it was too late.
Okay, I have gone too dystopian, don't take that into account, but the truth is that the continuous bleeding represented by the closure of this type of establishments throughout our geography does not seem to subside. Something will have to be done to prevent rural hospitality desertification and fight against gastronomic gentrification, right?
Luckily there is also some good news like the one we read this week to my friend Daniel Vázquez Sallés about the 50th anniversary of Dole Café.
Luckily spring is stubborn. It always blooms again, despite everything.
