Forn de Pa Fortino has been around for 90 years, which is the length of an eyelashes breath in the country of Spain and the city of Barcelona. The smallest, wishful fragment in a place that has lasted forever.

This is the founder’s great granddaughter, who was never taught to make bread because her father “wouldn’t let her keep those hours.”

This is the last, true wood-burning stove in the city.

“Do you want to come and see it?” she asked, shyly.

“Si!”

When nobody is looking she loads a metal tray with knobby sweet potatoes and foists them into the heat. They come out woozy and leaking sticky juice. She gave me one, warm, double-wrapped in wax paper, palm up, accept, close fingers.

“Te gusta hacer pan?” she asked, shyly. “Te gusta batatas?”

“Si, si.”

I suspect I am not the first girl to see the wood stove (she poses easily and comfortably in front of its heat), but I don’t mind.

“Un mas batata, por favor.”

I think that we’ll be friends, now, Barcelona and I.