I’ve spent three weeks in Barcelona and had one good meal. Just one. I never went solely for the food but I’d certainly hoped for better. I presumed the culinary nous of Ferran and Albert Adrià, chefs who had made the city famous for its cooking, would have trickled down through kitchen culture to even the most modest of eateries. But it wasn’t until the last night of my most recent visit I was finally wowed by a Spanish restaurant. Fed up of wandering gothic alleyways and tourist-filled promenades for somewhere that didn’t have sad pictures of their food on laminated ‘cartas’ – phonebook-thick with 50 different languages – or pick pockets and street sellers probing you with more wandering hands than a hungry…