Barcelona

We were celebrating a faculty member's birthday tonight so a group of 10 of us headed to Barcelona, a tapas bar, in South Norwalk.  (Or, as it is affectionately called by the locals, "SoNo".)  I went with my (one) friend from school and her boyfriend and we met the rest of the group there.  (Sidenote: my friend's boyfriend is fantastic.  It started to rain on the drive so he dropped us off in front of the restaurant then went to find a parking spot.)  We ordered a couple of drinks while everyone arrived and then we started ordering the tapas.

This is where the night got crazy.

The menu is in spanish so while I was pretty confident what the "chick pea puree" and "empanadas" would look like I was less sure about the "Coca del dia."  The plates started arriving and they just kept coming so when something was in front of me that I wasn't sure about I asked everyone around if it was their's and everyone said no.  So?  I dug in.  I didn't remember ordering anything with meat, but it was really good so I just kept eating until it was gone.  Then?  The waiter brought out one lone dish... the Coca del dia.  Sh*t.  I tried to play it cool, but at this EXACT moment the girl next to me realized that she was missing her (some really spanish named) lamb.  LAMB.  It was at THIS moment that I realized that what I mistakenly thought was the Coca del dia was some kind of SPANISH. LAMB.  SPANISH!! LAMB!  That! I! ATE!  I ate the lamb.  Not only did I eat LAMB I ate SOMEONE ELSE'S lamb.  I was mortified.  

Luckily for me, the waitstaff didn't remember bringing out the lamb already so they brought out another, but omigod.  I could have died.  

Then?  The bill came.   I could go into a ton of details about it, but the bottom line is that it was $90.  On my card.  That I cannot, unfortunately, afford.  I'm going to have to deal with that tomorrow but for now?  I'm going to take this sangria'd up girl to bed.