Posts from the ‘Spanish’ Category

May 2

Café Nebraska & Vips

1/2 I wouldn't recommend Café Nebraska to anyone unless they were nostalgic for the European trip taken with their mom and sister when they were 15. No, I’m not talking about myself. My family's vacations rarely consisted of more than a two-hour drive to the Oregon Coast. (To be fair, there was a 1984 Disneyland excursion where I watched part of Stop Making Sense in the motel room adjacent to my parents, not knowing what to make of David Byrne's oversized jacket, and a trip to Vancouver B.C. where my dad was too bashful and Hank Hill to go into any of the over-18 shops to buy the Duran Duran posters hanging in the window that my sister and I were clamoring for.)

James wanted to see if Café Nebraska, a Denny's-like chain he had been to over 20 years ago, was still chugging away on the Gran Via. It was, and still is thriving in multiple other locations too. Our first morning was the only time we woke up early enough for breakfast so we stopped by to get some café con leche and plan out our day.

Just plain churros, not with thick chocolate for dipping. These crispy tubes actually tasted more savory than sweet, even with the addition of powered sugar.

After 20 minutes we realized we weren't getting our other ordered item, huevos rotos. I’m still not exactly sure what happened but after finally grabbing our waiter's attention and asking again, we still didn't get them. I would've just left but James was intent on getting our eggs, which we did after the third try and angering the waiter who subsequently wouldn't bring our bill after asking for that twice. That’s the Spanish style service legends are made of. Ok then, it wasn't as if I expected Café Nebraska to come with Michelin-starred service…or food.

We asked for huevos rotos, literally broken eggs, because the night before we were mesmerized by numerous people eating fried eggs, ham and French fries from what looked like individual cast iron pans with handles at a tapas bar, and I finally deduced that this was huevos rotos.

This version unexpectedly contained a bed of mashed potatoes drizzled in like a gallon of olive oil, with eggs over easy and fried jamon. This was good in the same way that a giant platter of oozing melted cheese nachos topped with sour cream and guacamole is good. Gut-busting and tasty, but not for every day consumption.

Throughout the week, I spied many variations on this seemingly popular dish. It was a common first course in menu del dias. Quite a few used thick-cut potato rounds, like chips but fatter.

On to Vips. I've mentioned them before out of my own nostalgia. Though I can't seem to find much evidence of the restaurant's existence (just this pin on eBay and a buried mention in this state representative’s bio) and I'm pretty sure they are in no way related, we had a chain called Vip’s (with the apostrophe) in Oregon. I also noticed Vips in Mexico City, which I do imagine is affiliated with the company Grupo Vips in Spain (that also owns TGI Friday’s and is somehow affiliated with Starbucks). But in Mexico, Sanborns is the Denny's-esque place to be so I never checked out Vips.

I had no intention of going to Vips in Madrid, but at 12:30am on Sunday after getting out of a movie, I was starving and concerned about missing out on a dinner opportunity during vacation (James ate a giant popcorn, a.k.a. palomitas so he wasn't hungry but I don't like popcorn. Well, I do like palomitas dulces, caramel corn, which seems to be standard in theaters in Spanish-speaking countries, but I didn’t want to fill up on sweets) our nearby options were limited. Sure, there were a few brightly lit cervecerias with a few older gents at the bar still open but I wasn't sure what kind of food, if any, they might have. And frankly, I was kind of happy to have an excuse to try Vips.

Neither of us had the nerve to try the aros de cebolla, listed first on the paper place mat menu, which I'm guessing was a bloomin' onion.

James ordered ham and cheese croquetas. I don’t think marinara is standard at Spanish restaurants. I guess these were more like mozzarella sticks.

I went totally off the rails and opted for a ham and cheese quesadilla. My expectations were not high. The tortilla was a bit overdone and the middle wasn't thoroughly warmed, instead of melted cheese, individual grated squiggles were still detectable. And the salsa was barely more spicy than diced tomatoes straight from a can. The guacamole might've used real avocado, though.

Café Nebraska * Gran Via 55, Madrid, Spain

Vips * Calle de Alcalá, Madrid, Spain

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Apr 30

La Taberna de la Daniela

Cocido is muy, muy Madrileño and I’ve never seen it in NYC, so passing up the regional specialty would be morally unacceptable (in my book of ethics). It's essentially every meat you can think of boiled with garbanzos and a few other vegetables. Not such a tantalizing description, sure. Luckily, the chilly weather made such heftiness seem appropriate. I don’t know that the lunchtime stew holds as much appeal when it’s sweltering.

The biggest question was where to try cocido since we’d only have one shot and it’s not something you decide on spur of the moment; most restaurants that feature it require advance reservations. Malacatin concerned me with their too mammoth portions, though I loved their logo of some kid with an ax (or maybe it’s a hoe, I’m pretty sure it’s not a bindlestiff as I initially thought). La Bola, I'm certain would've been fine, but I really wanted to get away from the tourist track environs of our hotel.

We chose Taberna de la Daniela, which I later discovered has three locations. We inadvertently picked one further away that we needed to in a neighborhood that ended up being near the big soccer stadium. The subdued area reminded me vaguely of the Upper East Side, and had a proliferation of children’s clothing stores in addition to a mini mall with a TGI Friday’s and Tony Roma’s. Cocidos is spelled out right on the restaurant’s yellow tiled sign lest you had any doubts.

Taberna de la daniela cocido accompaniments

Initially, you are brought what appears to be two versions of romesco. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between the two other than that one was thicker. Long green peppers (odd, since Spaniards are notoriously spice-averse) and pearl onions accompanied the sauces. Were these appetizers meant to be nibbled on or intended to go with the main meal?

It’s times like this when I realize that I actually have more culinary knowledge about Asian obscurities, which I’ve read about and eaten more extensively. My experience with traditional Spanish fare, and European cuisine in general, is much more limited. In some ways it’s more freeing to travel in places like China or Thailand because Americans aren’t expected to speak the language or know shit about anything. The bar is low for us so it’s not as embarrassing to make mistakes. But Spain? Spanish is a common second language in the United Sates; it’s not too much to expect Americans to be capable of communicating. Not making cultural faux pas is another story.

Soup is first. This broth is neither light nor subtle. I swear it tasted like mutton but that's the one meat not present in cocdio. Must be the pork. Barely detectable beneath the orange surface are fideos, broken vermicelli. This was a lot of soup for two. I wavered between not wanting to waste and seeming unappreciative and not wanting to fill up on liquid knowing the bounty that was in store for us. I sipped two not-quite-full shallow bowls worth.

This cocido was listed as three courses; two and three are presented at the same time. The meatless plate was primarily garbanzos with one potato, two dumplings, bits of carrot and cabbage. I just dug in, mixing as I pleased with no idea about the proper procedure. The bib-wearing businessmen next to us ate vegetables first and mushed them down with the back of a spoon. Then one of them cut up a green pepper with a butter knife and added rounds to the meat. I don’t think this was normal.

No lamb, but just about everything else. Chorizo, morcilla, chicken, brisket, pork fat (I think that’s tocino, though I was under the impression that was more bacony), marrow bones and the cross-section of a pig’s foot. I wasn’t that excited about the chicken and pure pork fat blocks made me a little nervous, but it was hard not be impressed with the selection. There are no fireworks with cocido, everything tastes as it is, no wild seasonings. It’s peasant food that people have grown to love, kind of like corned beef and cabbage (another bland dish I enjoy) times a thousand. Though I don’t think I could eat this on a frequent basis. Once a month, no problem.

Diners are sent off with bracing, supposedly fruity but really more herbal, shots of liquor. I really wish I could work that two-hour lunch with wine and digestifs into my daily routine. The practice doesn’t seem to fly, stateside.

La Taberna de la Daniela * Calle de Gutiérrez Solana 2, Madrid, Spain

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Apr 30

Tapas Round 2: Casa Toni, La Casa del Abuelo, La Venencia

Numerous times we ended up in another popular tapas enclave near the Puerta del Sol. I was reluctant to take chances on places I hadn't written down (or rather copied, pasted and printed) or heard of because who knows if they would suck or not. I’m not a risk-taker.

One of the many sporadic bursts of rain that punctuated the week hit while I was out trying to stroll instead of power walk. Desperate for a speedy respite, we popped into the first inoffensive, non-packed place we could find. I had wanted grilled pig ears at tiny La Oreja de Oro (on my approved list) but the tavern was prohibitively full both times I attempted a visit.

Casa Toni, the bar we randomly entered, advertised pig ears too, though the skeptic in me was suspicious of a sparsely populated room with an open table, no less. Too crowded? Too empty? There's just no winning. I don’t think anything was wrong with Casa Toni and we soon realized after easily getting a seat that there was an upstairs dining room people regularly headed to, potentially diffusing mobs.

The first thing listed on the menu is oreja a la plancha, which was my intended dish. I already knew I liked pigs' ears (as you may have noticed, I'm no grammarian, and now I'm having trouble deciding between pig ears or pigs' ears because I've seen it both ways) but you never know what you're going to get. Resto's pig ear salad is awesome but the pigs' ear salad I had in Macau was pure crunch, no chew, too garlicky and not compelling.

To my surprise, these grilled pigs' ears were the underdog hit of the entire week, even according to James who's indifferent to offal. Quite possibly my favorite thing. These rough ribbons of meat and cartilage had the perfect ratio of fat and softness to tough bits and lots of flat surfaces for maximum crispy char.

Half-way through devouring this plate like the drenched, starving beasts we’d become, we noticed two of the cooks looking at us and laughing, possibly thinking that those American gluttons must not know what they're eating. (I don't doubt that's an uncommon mistake if you couldn't read Spanish and just pointed to the first thing on the menu). Believe me, we knew what we were doing. All I could think was that if this was the ho hum version, Oreja de Oro's must be insane.

These patatas were specifically brava, spicy (I use that descriptor loosely) sauce only. Often you see patatas bravas served with aioli too; at Casa Toni that rendition had some made up name like patatas bravaioli. Thank goodness they were crispy because I hate all-mush steak fry-type preparations. Portions of both the potatoes and ears were larger than anticipated.

Casa Toni * Calle de la Cruz 14, Madrid, Spain

Casa del Abuelo is directly across from Oreja de Oro, and both bars were perennially packed. When we spied a gap at this gambas specialist we jumped. For lunch we dared to try food court gambas al ajillo (oh so much more on that later) so for variety we had our prawns a la plancha here.

Saline and moist, similar to Chinese salt and pepper shrimp, these crustaceans were fun bar snacks. And there's nothing more fun (ok, I can think of a few others) than tossing heads and shells onto the floor. We were standing at a tiny marble table but the bar had a garbage trough along its front. It’s also not unusual to see cigarette butts stamped out and tossed to the ground indoors. I not only feel weird smoking inside restaurants, but ashing on the ground feels criminal.

Apparently La Casa del Abuelo and La Oreja de Oro are more than just neighbors, they are affiliated. Upon paying the bill for our shrimp we were given a coupon for a free chato across the way. I didn’t know tapas bars gave out coupons; it was almost carnivalesque. I felt like Charlie with his golden ticket, though a tiny €1 glass of wine isn’t the grandest prize. I intended to take them up on their offer after seeing Watchmen, but at 12:30am on a Sunday night the gates were down. I never did get to taste those golden ears.

La Casa del Abuelo * Calle Victoria 12, Madrid, Spain

With dusty bottles and sawdusted floor, La Venencia is a classic sherry bar–and like much of Madrid, seemingly straight from a '20s movie set. I do like the specialization aspsect of many tapas bars. Casa Labra is another, known for things made with cod, and Las Bravas, is always teeming with patatas bravas eaters, obviously. I just don’t see a tapas bar that only served variations on the same few ingredients thriving in NYC.

The back room was fairly empty because it was near to closing time, if I'm correct either 1am or 1:30am. Despite what people say about Madrid being a late night city, that didn't seem to be the case. We've encountered this phenomenon countless times on vacation. We're still bright-eyed at 3am and nothing's open. Sleeping till noon is the downside to not being tired in the middle of the night. I think it balances out; it just means that I rarely eat breakfast in foreign countries.

I didn’t experiment, only sipping a single glass of dry manzanilla and picking at some olives. I'm no olive connoisseur but every single type we were offered, and we were given many in every shade of green and brown, tasted different. So many olives. These were salty and richer than ones I'm used to in the U.S. or maybe the sherry was enhancing the olives’ flavor.

No skimping on the Manchego here.

La Venencia * Calle Echegaray 7, Madrid, Spain

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Apr 29

Tapas Round 1: Cañas y Tapas, Txirimiri, Casa Lucas

If people only know one thing about Spanish food, it's tapas. (At least I thought so until the person who sits six feet from me at work stared blankly when I uttered the mysterious word in response to his "What did you eat in Spain?" question. I'm a speed talker/mumbler so I thought I wasn't enunciating properly and repeated "you know, tapas.” Then again for good measure, “tapas?” Uh, no. I thought that was the easy answer, not wanting to get into pig ears, percebes or 12 miniature courses employing, yes, a little foam.) Or maybe paella, damn, I should've just said paella.

I have mixed feelings on Spanish tapas. I love the concept of lots of little things spread out over an evening yet I’m crowd-phobic and don’t enjoy eating while standing (or walking, for that matter). But it must be done. I can concede that our American style of tapaing (I also love that tapear, to eat tapas, is a verb) with full table settings is a mild aberration yet still be ok with it.

We ended up in the thick of two tapas hubs (at least for tourists, and I will always wonder how Europeans are already drunk by 11pm and chanting what I imagine must be sports anthems outside in large groups) on our first two nights.

Ok, I'm not ashamed to admit that our first stop, hours off the plane, was a chain. I love franchises, so there. Sure Cañas y Tapas is tourist friendly, positioned right on the Gran Via, but I wouldn’t call it a trap and Spanish speakers were in the majority (not that all Spanish-speakers in Madrid live there. I don't imagine many of the English-speakers I see every day taking photos with the Financial District bull live in NYC) even at the early hour of 9pm (where it's still jarringly light out in Madrid, for contrast the sun set at 7:35pm in NYC on April 15).

This is where I acclimated to being enshrouded in cigarette smoke, how to maneuver and finagle spots at the counter and the level of assertiveness needed to get served and pay the bill. Not that anyone is rude, eh, some are brusque, but mostly they are just inattentive. If we were in the Applebee’s of Spanish food, I was none the wiser because the food was far from crappy. Then again, I’ve eaten a few riblets in my day.

Morcilla de Burgos isn't the intense sweetish blood sausage that I'm used to. This was crumbly and contained a good amount of rice. I think a blood sausage hater would like this if you didn't mention the word blood when serving it to them. Madrileños seem to enjoy dry crackery things, and all sorts of them turn up in breadbaskets along with non-dried out slices of bread. Simple ham croquetas are hiding in the background.

Cañas y Tapas * Calle Gran Via 71, Madrid, Spain

We moved onto La Latina, three metro stops away, and as we accidentally discovered later, less than a 20-minute walk from our hotel. Madrid was surprisingly compact. Barely walking the distance from Houston to 14th Street puts you into a totally different neighborhood. We kept ending up in La Latina without even meaning to. Cava Baja is the main tapas strip in the area, and the side streets are equally plentiful.

I was torn on Txirimiri. The front bar was jammed predominantly with under-30s drinking cañas, smoking and not really eating any of the pintxos (as a Basque place it's all about things on bread and lots of K’s and X’s) displayed in cases while the restaurant in back was sparsely populated with over 40s. Who to emulate? Was it stodgy to eat a real meal? Instead, I blindly picked two pintxos and found open space on a ledge to house my plates.

Despite being told what this was, I couldn't tell you exactly what it as called. I think it's a tortilla sandwich. Served room temperature, it contained potato but as you can see, also ham and crumbles of cheese. Caramelized onions were also tucked in. It might not have been my first choice, it’s simply what caught my eye immediately and I was reluctant to ask about every last thing on the counter in my so-so Spanish. This ended up being a minor problem the whole week. I read Spanish, particularly food Spanish, very well but if I’m only verbally told what's available it garbles in my brain. Luckily, there isn't anything (other than melon) that I won't eat so I don't mind being surprised with what I end up with.

This was a jamon-wrapped nugget of goat cheese topped with mushrooms and garnished with basil oil. A lot of flavor is packed into these little bites. I would've tried a few more offerings but we needed to explore more. I vowed to return for proper dinner another night but that never happened; we ended up at Kulto al Plato, another creative Basque tapas place instead. So many regrets.

Txirimiri * Calle del Humilladero 6, Madrid, Spain

Small and boxy Casa Lucas felt more traditional, with an amicable older counterman and a quieter vibe. It's not a scruffy taberna. We had a few glasses of red wine. I couldn't tell you what because I don’t always pay the same attention to what I’m drinking as to what I’m eating (though I’m trying to be more astute). But this definitely wasn't a cheap house wine place—there was a thought out list written on the chalkboard and best of all, nothing was over 3 euros (ok, so that’s cheap). I'm accustomed to spending as much, if not more on alcohol than on food, so it was a pleasant surprise to find perfectly nice glasses of wine for $3.25 rather than $10 for a change.

What added to my notion that this was a more traditional or at least genteel tapas bar is the fact that this was the only place we encountered the entire week that gave us a freebie with our drinks, as I think is more commonplace in locals type places. I won't say no to salchichon.

We shared ventresca, tuna belly atop roasted red and green peppers. Tuna, and canned seafood in general, is huge in Madrid. I didn't take a photo but entire grocery store aisles are devoted to clams, mussels, anchovies and what seems like every iteration of tuna imaginable. This was lively, vinegared in an escabeche style. So much better than water-packed Chicken of the Sea.

Casa Lucas * Calle Cava Baja 30, Madrid, Spain

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Feb 24

Mercat

It seems that Mercat sporadically invites guest chefs from restaurants in Catalonia. I’ve never paid much attention but the latest crew, Paula Casanovas and Felip Planas, compelled me to pay a visit for no other reason than I’ve been on a Spanish food kick this week (I know, I was just obsessed with visiting the Yucatan, and now I thinking about a March trip to Madrid).

Unfortunately, there was no prix fixe as advertised; instead everything was listed a la carte. I don’t know if this was just poor execution or a genuine switch and bait (as a miffed Grub Street commenter double posted). For instance, our server obviously had been instructed to tell diners about the chefs and to explain what El Bulli to the unknowing, but didn’t seem prepared for anyone to actually order from the special menu.

We picked two items from the diy tasting menu and supplemented what I assumed would be small portions with cheese and cured meats. Yes, the canelons de rabo de toro/oxtail-stuffed pasta with langoustine was tiny. So fleeting, I can scarcely remember my few shared bites.

The coca was more substantial. I liked this a lot. Four slices of rare duck were served atop puff pastry with a pear compote tinged with cinnamon. I initially assumed the creamy crown was melted cheese but now that I think about it, it may have been aioli. Duck with pears is a traditional Catalan combination and definitely less candied than the l’orange style fruitiness that ducks seems to get saddled with here.

This was quite a bounty of charcuterie, or rather embotits. The selection included—morcilla, jamon serrano, lomo, sobrassada, xoriç, llonganissa—everything Mercat has at their disposal minus jamon Iberico. They throw you off with all of the Catalan, it's all those Ks and Xs. At first I was puzzled by xoriç until I deduced that it was simply chorizo. Sautéed to oily, crispy perfection and mounded on a slice of bread, it was my favorite cured meat of all. I’m also still convinced that Americans would love the lush, also cinnamonny, morcilla, as long as no one told them it was blood sausage. It’s not even in the same league as other Bizarre Foods fodder.

Garrotxa, la peral and idizabal, goat cow+sheep and sheep. I wasn’t expecting la peral to be a blue, though I’m glad it was. The flavor was strong and salty with a creamy texture. Not overpowering at all.

Ok, produce. Doesn’t Spanish food get knocked for the seeming absence of vegetables? I love Brussels sprouts, especially this charred version that I imagine was meant to mimic calçots. The vegetable is grilled to blackened sweetness and served with a rich, nutty romesco for dipping.

And dessert: simple churros and chocolate.

Mercat * 45 Bond St., New York, NY

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Jul 16

Burzako

There’s nothing I hate more than a straggler, so my final brief missive from last month’s Argentina vacation must be posted now or it never will see the light of day. And I know everyone’s dying to hear about Basque food in South America.

Despite speaking Español (or Castellano, as they say, you know, just to be different) Spanish food is scarcer than you might think in Buenos Aires. Italian culture is definitely more pervasive.

Burzako is near the San Telmo market, a big Sunday afternoon draw. I’ll admit that I only gave it a quick stroll through because I’m not wild about outdoor markets (I went to Brooklyn Flea for the first time Sunday and was kind of eh about the whole thing, though I enjoyed my slightly pricey Jamaica-flavored shaved ice sweetened with agave syrup from Chida).

I was expecting a more rustic restaurant, but the room was more elegant with white tablecloths and floral arrangements. Being lunch, we only ordered tapas, which I wouldn’t say were particularly Basque. The entrees leaned that way, though.

It’s hard to resist a croquette/croqueta/kroketa (American-approved French, Spanish or Basque, whichever you prefer). These non-oily fritters were filled with a gooey langoustine mixture and topped with an aioli type sauce.

I couldn’t tell you everything on this cheese plate, but I’m fairly certain the blue was Roquefort as that was by far the blue cheese of choice in Buenos Aires.

I have no idea why the octopus was so expensive. At around $18 if I’m remembering correctly (there’s no Menupages to refresh my memory) the plate of pulpo a la gallega was pricey. I felt compelled to try it, though. It was definitely tender and I like anything spiked with pimenton.

I ate a lot of jamon crudo on vacation. I also drank quite a bit of tinto, and was always surprised at how high they filled wine glasses when ordering by the glass. I’m more value-minded than concerned with my wine being able to breathe so this was a fortunate quirk to me.

Burzako * Mexico 345, Buenos Aires, Argentina

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Jun 18

Reds Produce

1/2 Knew this was bound to happen. Reds is no more. (1/10)

At some point–I couldn't tell you when–the name changed to the more fitting, Reds Tapas Bar. (5/09)

I do appreciate new dining options in Carroll Gardens because I have a fantasy of one day getting excited about eating in my own neighborhood. I was curious about this supposedly authentic tapas bar on Columbia Street, though I couldn’t find much written about it other than a few not terribly positive mentions on Yelp, a site I don’t trust for shit.

Maybe I was just in a good mood because even without well-functioning air conditioning (I don’t like my air au naturel when it’s sopping with 90% humidity) I enjoyed the place. It’s what it is; very simple and inexpensive (most items are $5, the most expensive are sharable $8 salads). This isn’t fanciful Spanish food served preciously. What you’ll find are mostly room temperature pre-prepared snacks displayed at the bar. Little bites to eat with drinks like at old-school taverns in Spain.

I did make a meal of it. Jessica and I ordered a bottle of Albariño. The weather was just too sticky and gross for something red and tannic.

Though it might not seem so, I’m relatively easy to please and was up for anything on the menu, but to be fair to the vegetarian dining companion I couldn’t be too meat-centric because I like sharing. Stuffed vine leaves were her idea and not something I would order because I’m not eating rice, not that fond of dolmas (with the exception of sushi, I think cold rice is creepy) and well, they’re not terribly Spanish. I did eat one, though. The creamy feta was nice.

Manchego

Murcia

I wanted to try two cheeses so I ordered an aged Manchego and what they call drunken goat (I’m pretty sure it’s Murcia) but that was a lot of cheese for two so I got leftovers wrapped as a midnight snack (afterward, we watched Cloverfield enhanced by homemade cookies not made by me. Let’s just say that those cookies make you hungry later). I’m still stuck on all the New Yorkers grossed out by leftovers. If you only ate half of this cheese, you would really just have it thrown away? I preferred the crumbly Manchego.

The jamon serrano was mine only and I thought it was quite good, much less salty and more substantial than the jamon crudo I’d been eating in Buenos Aires recently. I wasn’t paying attention to see if they were hand-slicing it. They did have a hoof-on pig’s leg on display but I wasn’t sure if it was just for looks. I tend to think it was machine cut because it was so uniform and thin. Anytime I’ve ordered jamon in Brooklyn it turns out chunky and mangled.

I like membrillo with my Manchego and did order some. This is the one thing I might say was overpriced. It seemed weird to pay $5 for the ham and only one dollar less for some thin blocks of quince paste. All of the accompaniments like fig cake and marcona almonds are $4, which isn’t outrageous but worth noting.

We split the beet and Cabrales salad. Jessica complained that it was too tart and didn’t contain golden beets as advertised (true). She also thought there was too much cheese, which I couldn’t disagree with more. We have different tastes. The sherry vinegar didn’t bother me so much but I think it was because I had been interspersing it with bites of tortilla and the starch neutralized the dressing. Once I did get a big mouthful, swallowed quickly and I choked from the acidity, so perhaps they could’ve eased up a bit on the vinegar.

Tortilla always seems dull in theory: eggs, onions and potatoes? Eh, but they always meld into something more.

I do plan on going back, and not just because it’s only five blocks from my apartment. I’d like to try the pan con tomate, another deceptively simple dish like the tortilla, but it really only works if your tomatoes are super ripe and it’s not quite their season yet.

Read my write-up for Nymag.com

Reds Produce * 289 Columbia St., Brooklyn, NY

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May 13

La Mancha

La Mancha’s the weirdest place. It almost feels hidden in plain sight or at least ignored, not innovative enough to ride the Spanish new wave and lacking the history and rundown charm of the West Village holdouts. The food is straightforward, hearty, a bit stodgy and not inexpensive (though portions are generous). I felt kind of bad for not returning in over three years, though I never have such guilt over avoiding also nearby Smith Street restaurants.

And after having lackluster dining experiences the past two Saturdays, I was determined to have a pleasant evening this weekend and thankfully succeeded (three glasses of Tempranillo might’ve helped--I did notice my photos becoming progressively blurry, a final interior shot was completely unfocused and useless). James is the one who declared Ghenet and Kimchi Hana to be busts and insisted on making 9pm reservations this time, despite my protests that this was strange and unnecessary.

The room couldn’t possibly be teeming and it wasn’t. Maybe 40% full, there was a family with small children, one couple, one solo diner, a few groups and then a foursome who stomped in loudly and a woman in their party proceeded to fall out of her chair. Were they drunk? Or at least that’s what I thought until I realized it had collapsed beneath her, which normally might be funny but somehow wasn’t especially when I noticed how wobbly mine was too.

Pickled vegetables, like giardiniera (I just like that word because it’s so close to giardia) but probably escabeche to be properly Spanish.

Green salad with an aioli dressing comes with entrees. This touch, as well as the warm bread with little foil-topped plastic packets of butter is what make the meal seem fusty. These are trademarks I associate with an older audience, requisites that are expected of a sit down restaurant dinner.

Picada, a tapas sampling worked out well because ordering three individual items would’ve been too much to spend and eat. Jamon Serrano, nicely fatty around the edges and not paper thin either. I’m reminded of how salty and boring prosciutto is when compared to meaty, substantial Serrano. I’m honestly not sure what makes a ham prosciutto or Serrano and if it’s related to the pig or the processing (I’ve fantasized about curing my own ham, and it looks like a fellow Brooklynite recently did just that). Triangles of manchego, green olives and sautéed garlicky chorizo rounded out the plate.

I just wasn’t swayed by any of the meat-centric entrees, which revolved around veal, chicken or steak. They might be good but descriptions involving wine, garlic and olive oil (yes Spanish, staples) just seemed kind of blah and continental. We went the obvious route with paella Valenciana.

It was a fair enough rendition, the grains of rice neither mushy nor overly firm, with plenty of chorizo, clams and octopus. I always worry about dry chicken (when I’m eating it, not all the time) and yes, the hunks of breast meat had a little too much life cooked out of them. The serving for two easily could’ve fed a few more if you were sharing other main dishes.

The food isn’t dazzling, but the mood is easygoing and service friendly. It’s resolutely a neighborhood joint and I wouldn’t want to fool anyone into thinking it’s a destination restaurant. But as far as the Henry/Atlantic nexus is concerned, you could do much worse.

I later trotted across the BQE onramp and over to the weirdo side of Carroll Gardens that's only three blocks from my apartment (no, that's not Red Hook) where stroller madness in bars has yet take hold, and for good reason: the hodgepodge area is brimming with old school freaks. While sipping a few pints of Brooklyn Lager at Moonshine, I was fascinated by brothers who had to take turns coming and going due to restraining orders. But most baffling and frightening was the human personification of Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I’ve never heard such a pitch perfect voice, yet with a ponytail attached to the balding noggin.

Thankfully, he wasn’t harassing me because I’m old and attached, but the ladies sitting at the bar next to me got a detailed cooking lesson about how to make a steak (add balsamic vinegar) and mashed potatoes (don’t use a blender). This imagined meal riled up Carl, he got all crazed and spouted, “I want to take a bite out of crime…and you’re crime!” then after a pause, “But not in a sexual way.” Because that would just be wrong. (5/11/08)

Jan 30

Boqueria

As much as a complain about Manhattan, I do appreciate that it’s business as usual on Sunday nights. The last time I attempted going out after 9pm on a three-day weekend Sunday was in Toronto, and it was a complete ghost town. Boqueria (as well as Olive Garden) was almost at capacity the night before Martin Luther King Day.

I was determined to have creative Spanish food after getting hopped on Tapas: a Taste of Spain in America, but deciding where to go was no easy task. Spending more than you’d expect on small dishes was a given; value wasn’t my concern as much as agreeable food and atmosphere. I’d already been to Tia Pol (too far) Ostia (too average) and Pamplona (good but I wanted something new). Everything I read about Mercat said it was loud and oversalted, Casa Mono seemed tiny and irritating, ditto for Quinto Pino but probably not so irritating. I’d been to the old Suba a few times and wasn’t inspired to try the newest incarnation. Boqueria was all that was left.

I hate to admit that my photos are even more off than usual. I was playing around with the white balance trying to counteract the dreaded candlelight and not only made everything washed out and fuzzy but somehow changed the height/width ratio. I don’t even know if I should be allowed to have a camera.

This was regular jamon Serrano, not the fabled Iberico ham. Nonetheless, it was still handsome and meaty. I hadn’t expected the jamon to come atop pa amb tomaquet, pan con tomate, Catalan, Spanish…however you like. I’m always surprised how tomato guts on toast can be so appealing.

“Why are there so many eggs on the menu?” asked the girl half of the couple next to us. I honestly hadn’t noticed the overabundance but yes, there is a soft-boiled one in this dish. She ordered it too. I love anything with chickpeas and morcilla. Garbanzos al Pinotxo are in the style of Barcelona’s Bar Pinotxo. I was very bummed that all the food biggies, including this stand in the Boqueria market, were closed the week I was there last summer.

Any iteration of dates, bacon and cheese (and sometimes almond) are a must. In this instance the cheese was valdeon, a blue. I’ve made these with manchego and think they would be perfect for a Super Bowl snack even though they seem kind of froufrou. I couldn't even snap this shot before one date went missing from the skewer.

Brandade is kind of like shrimp toast. Maybe the whipped salt cod and potatoes on bread were grilled not fried; they still had that oily unctuousness that goes down well but might cause trouble later.

As Americans we would’ve eaten cheese with everything else, but we obeyed its place on the desert menu. Idizabal came cubed and tossed with olives and the rosemary manchego was surrounded a few tiny squares of membrillo and filberts (wow, I tried to not say hazelnut but filbert just sounds backwoods even though that’s what I grew up with and oddly what I saw used in Toronto. Did you know that Oregon is the nation’s largest hazelnut producer?). Our two choices were enjoyed with a rose cava that James thought was like a wine cooler.

Boqueria * 53 W. 19th St., New York, NY

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Jan 9

Coca

Toronto was brief but fun so I don’t want to sound like I’m whining. I just had no idea that Sunday was such a literal day of rest. For anyone who knows the city, I also looked into Jamie Kennedy Wine Bar, Foxley Bistro and Torito, none were open. And we weren’t ready to go out until after 9pm, which was even trickier. I have a phobia of dining when a restaurant is close to closing time and even more so when I’m the last customer in a room.

Coca appealed to me since I was interested in how Canadians were interpreting Spanish tapas (strange that I have to use Spanish as an adjective but anymore tapas means anything served in small amounts) plus they were supposed to be open until midnight, which turned out to be 11pm. That would still be fine, but it was a little off-putting that we were reminded when arriving at 9:30pm that if we wanted food we needed to order promptly before the kitchen closed. Exactly the kind of thing I hate even though the staff was completely attitude-free. It doesn’t take much to make me jumpy.

I would’ve ordered more food if father time hadn’t been hovering over me. We barely had a chance to scrutinize the menu and chalkboards. Horse bresaola certainly isn’t something you’d find on the charcuterie list at Daniel Boulud’s new much blogged about wine bar. I still can’t figure out how Canadians are pretty much same as Americans except they get wound up over hockey and have no squeamishness about devouring equines.

Also on the never-in-New York tangent, I noticed Czehoski, Coca’s sister restaurant across the street (which was still full when we left, perhaps we should’ve chosen differently) had calve's brain po’boys on the menu. I'm not even sure if the FDA allows us to eat brains in the U.S.

We quickly decided on three items and a couple glasses of big, fruity Bodegas Y Vinedos de Murcia, Caracol Serrano, Jumilla. I didn' t know how to order in metric; wines are served in 60, 120 and 180 ml portions. While I normally find James's Blackberry usage irksome, it was useful to convert milliliters to ounces on the fly.

Elk, lamb and beef sobrasada and machego on toast. See? I wasn’t kidding yesterday about caribou being Canadian food. The oily sausage and melted cheese were very rich; you probably wouldn’t want to eat more than two of these treats.

Hokkaido scallops and chorizo with roasted squash consommé were the opposite. I couldn’t detect the squash and wanted double the portion. And with forks only and no bread, a lot of the liquid went to waste.

I’m still steamed about never getting to try a sugared red pepper coca in Barcelona, despite two attempts. No glazy peppers here but caramelized onions sufficed. Interspersed with gorgonzola and sliced apples, the threesome was perfect on the thin crust. You would hope a restaurant’s namesake dish would be a hit and this was.

Coca * 783 Queen St. W., Toronto, Canada

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Posts from the ‘Spanish’ Category

Café Nebraska & Vips

La Taberna de la Daniela

Tapas Round 2: Casa Toni, La Casa del Abuelo, La Venencia

Tapas Round 1: Cañas y Tapas, Txirimiri, Casa Lucas

Mercat

Burzako

Reds Produce

La Mancha

Boqueria

Coca

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