I can’t pretend to know much about Brazilian cuisine, but there are a handful of relatively useful nuggets of information I can throw into the ring.
I know of Rodizio Rico, mostly through bad press rather than a personal experience, specifically this review by Matthew Norman from The Telegraph, which made me guffaw when I first read it. I can't imagine you'd find many natives eating there.
I also know of a little place in the depths of south west London, far away from everyone else but close to me, called Katavento in the quaint Merton Abbey Mills found near Colliers Wood station. The area is a pocket of arts and crafts stalls on the River Wandle, with an open air mini weekend market, live music, and a few places to eat gathered round the old water mill.
It specialises in pastels, crispy thin envelopes of pastry encasing some sort of filling. I remember coming across the place around World Cup time, stopping for a very pleasant and al fresco beef and felicci (Brazilian cream cheese) pastel, and thinking, ‘this could be the place to be when Brazil are playing’. The website said reservations for game nights had filled up months before.
Finally, I know Brazil is home to the largest population of Japanese outside Japan; a really interesting nugget of information, I remember thinking at the time. It's something I learnt from Italian-Japanese chef and supper club host Luiz Hara, himself born in São Paulo. You can imagine the culinary fusions thanks to that relationship.
But that is ultimately where my knowledge of Brazilian cuisine ends. Prior to last week, I wouldn’t even know where else to go in London to sample and find out more.
It turns out, a good place to start on your quest for Brazilian-food enlightenment - and one that has in fact been around for a little while - is Carioca. You'll find it amongst the knot of compact, independent, international eateries on Market Row in Brixton Market.
They initially launched and operated under the name Prima Donna, with lacklustre interiors and the kind of matching wallpaper and lamp shades that would be at home in a DFS showroom.
From the name, people understandably assumed it was Italian. So they’ve given it a face lift with an injection of South American colours, enhanced the menu with more authentic Brazilian dishes, and relaunched as Carioca, the word used to refer to native inhabitants of Rio de Janeiro. And the premise behind the food here.
I popped in for a weekend lunch, where the vibe is very much coffee shop come café come Brazilian restaurant. At 1pm on a Saturday, clientele were mostly feasting on one of four variations of a full English breakfast, or one of five ways to have eggs on muffins with hollandaise. I get that they need to cater for the hungover masses unable to move past the desperate craving of eggs, beans, bacon and toast. And they’d be losing out on business if those weekend staples were missing. But, you know - BORING.
Don’t come here for those, as tasty as I’m sure they are. Instead, venture onto the second page of the menu, where you start to see homemade Brazilian dishes make an appearance.
The feijoada can be found here, and likely every other restaurant calling itself Brazilian, considering it’s the national dish of the country. A stew of black beans with chorizo, beef, lean pork, bay leaves, stir fried greens and a pot of yuca flour which you mix into the rest, is hearty and comforting and there’s enough meaty juices to soak into the rice (£11.95). This was the dish my companion favoured.
For me, the winning plate was the chicken caipira. It’s food from the Brazilian countryside, a story of slow-braised meat cooked with shallots, ginger, garlic, spices, spring onion and parsley.
It reminded me of my mum’s excellent coq au vin (she does it with white wine), the meat having the kind of surrendering physical state that offers negligible resistance against a fork. And it swims in a pool of wonderful juices to satisfyingly soak cassava chips (£3), rice, bread or any other carbohydrate of choice, I'm sure. I could eat this every day. Reassuring, wholesome, feel-good food (£8.95). It’s also one they’ve recently added to the menu; I suspect it will be staying.
There was also an arepa, a sandwich of maize bread stuffed with pulled beef, onions and bell peppers, of which I preferred the carb component as the meat seasoning was a little too sweet for me. The other half wolfed it with little deliberation (£7.85).
There isn’t much in the way of dessert other than some accomplished home baking, with a handful of cakes displayed on stands, still warm from the oven when we selected. The chocolate and almond with orange was declared a moist and yielding success, but I would like to see a presence of what would typically satisfy the sweet teeth of Rio. But maybe that is just cake, who knows.
In terms of authentic Brazilian fare, the lunch menu is a little limited compared to what’s on in the evening. There’s a whole starters section not included during the day, with the likes of homemade churrasco sauce (the sauce they put on grilled meat) slathered on chicken wings, cured and grilled Portuguese chorizo on sourdough, beef back rib and mozzarella croquettes, breads infused with cheese, braised beef empanadas, Bahian fish cakes (also at lunch), chargrilled ribs, and steaks with more churrasco.
I’d like to return to try these, and I’d suggest an evening meal for a true insight into what they’ve got going on.
Carioca has a good buzz about it. It’s a cozy spot to shelter from the outside world, hunker down and enjoy some hearty South American home cooking, with a few welcoming outside-but-covered tables if you can get past the unflattering market spotlights. Regardless, I suspect I’ll be back.
Liked lots: chicken caipira, cake, staff, great vibe and simple but jolly interiors
Liked less: would be good to see traditional Brazilian desserts (whatever they are), and some of the evening dishes available at lunch
Good for: making it a local favourite, learning the ropes of Brazilian cuisine
My rating: 3.5/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to this restaurant.
The day I get tired of treating my palate to the sensational combination of lime, salt, beans, chilli, cheese, corn and coriander, will be the day I’m tired of life. There are few other cuisines that get me as animated, or can boast the same amount of vibrancy and energy within their dishes. Tease me with even a hint that a good Mexican might have opened in my neck of the woods, and I’ll be there before they’ve barely turned the gas on.
It’s something London lacks, I feel. Enough good Mexican restaurants. Lupita and Mestizo are certainly decent. I’ve given several chances to Wahaca and have left mostly underwhelmed, but with a matchbook of chilli seeds - silver linings. I’m yet to try Boho Mexica. La Bodegra Negra lost me at 'sex shop'. Few others have captured much of my attention.
The village-esque idyll of Abbeville Road lies at the heart of SW London’s “Nappy Valley” district - a handsome street to the east of Clapham Common, occupied by artisan producers, quaint cafés and restaurants, premium estate agents flaunting properties most can do little more than gaze wistfully at, and a lot of new mothers congregating at coffee mornings and lunches. It is here - alongside the likes of reputable butchers The Ginger Pig - that you’ll find London’s newest Mexican bar and restaurant, Comensal.
There are a lot of good things going for this place before the food even passes your lips. It’s independent and family run, the brainchild of John Sim and Cati Bego who met in Mexico City (and are due to marry); Cati has a background running successful restaurants there. Cati is Mexican, and her mother smashes up the guacamole to order out the back in a traditional molcajete (mortar) carved from exceptionally heavy volcanic rock - they get through 12 boxes of avocados a day.
The well stocked bar has been paved with hand-painted tiles imported from Guadalajara. It has outdoor seating and those floor-to-ceiling folding doors. They open until midnight every day. The Head Chef, Eduardo Santiago, is from Mexico City and in the UK has worked at The Wolseley and The Reform Club. The bar man is from Mexico City. The staff converse in Spanish. Some clientele were on their second and third visits, and it already has regular solo diners propping up the bar, after being open for just two weeks.
The food - well, it was great. There was that mountain of zippy and chunky mama-made guacamole with thick tortilla chips that actually taste of corn (£10.50). The fish (salmon, cod, tialpia) in the tower of ceviche were almost completely opaque thanks to the denaturing lime - I’m used to it a little more raw but it’s ‘there take’ on the classic and it’s nothing short of fine with me, especially with the flourish of chipotle-infused oil (£9).
Cactus-filled tacos - with tomatoes, onions, coriander and lime - were excellent. Sharp and sour, the soft tortilla casings folded up and around the filling, half shoved in my mouth, sucking on the citrus juices with one eye closed, trickles burning a tiny cut in my hand. Give me twelve and watch me clear them (£6.45 - 3).
Braised pork-filled tacos, soft and spiced, with more hot salsa and lashings of lime, were very good (£6.95 - 3). A side of voluptuous black beans and kidney beans met the need for a pulse fix.
A chicken dish boasting breast meat will always carry with it the risk of lacking in flavour and the wrong texture. I tend to steer clear, but the promise of a green tomatillo sauce on the enchiladas suizas was not one to ignore, and from a plate less colourful than its predecessors, came some great eating. Soft and slightly chewy tortillas, with a sour and subtly hot sauce speckled with seeds from the fruit, tender white meat, crumbled and melted Oaxaca cheese. It was hugely pleasurable (£13.95).
I entertained dessert with little intention other than to sample a bite. But the Mexican rice pudding - thick and with cinnamon - was just a bit too good to leave alone (£3.75).
Then there are a whole host of spirits, 100% agave tequilas, mezcales, and cocktails that tart these up with things like pomegranate, bitters and hibiscus syrup (Mexican Cloud, very nice - £8). Special mention must be given to Manuel, the Spanish waiter owning front of house - compact, quick, warm, always smiling, and with a beautiful accent. I was close to putting him in my pocket and taking him home. When you hug your waiter on leaving a restaurant, you know you’ve received good service.
Mexican food should be fearless and seductive, demand your full attention and encourage you to succumb to the pleasures of life. I found this in Comensal, and I’m so pleased it’s here.
Liked lots: wonderful food and atmosphere, great welcome from John and Cati and sensational service from Manuel, vibrant interiors, being surrounded by customers fawning over the food
Liked less: I'll get back to you.
Good for: spending late sultry summer evenings at, squinting over glorious lime-soaked bites and too much mezcale
My rating: 4/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
Afiyet olsun.
Bloomsbury is an area that I - still to this day - strongly associate with my golden yesteryears at university. I bunked many a lecture from UCL’s Department of Physics and Astronomy in favour of social smoking and afternoon snakebites in the student union, located at a proximity too conveniently close for self-discipline to have much of an effect.
This isn’t really an area of fascination, unless it happens to be the place you live or study, or you’re visiting the British Museum. It’s dense with poor students surviving on Boots meal deals paid for with clubcard points, when bank balances are as below zero as a harsh Alaskan winter. I will assume the grown ups who can afford to live here entertain more socially-happening parts of town when they dine out. And sure, Bloomsbury is relatively close to the well-heeled business folk of Chancery Lane and its immediate surroundings, should any of them fancy a 20 minute walk for an Indian lunch.
Yet here you will find the ‘finest Indian’ cuisine, according to the website of Salaam Namaste, a restaurant in this spot since 2005, run by award-winning Chef-patron Sabir Karim. And yes, it is fine. In the same way five pound coins change instead of a crisp note is fine. Or your medium-rare steak request revealing only the most modest blush of pink within is fine. It’s ‘fine’ in that it did the job - it fed us and we ate (most of) it.
I specifically chose an Indian dining partner to assist the critiquing and fill in any knowledge I might lack. He proved a useful sounding board for the mixed bag of dishes we received.
“These poppadoms aren’t evenly cooked. Look at the different shades of colour here and here. Try this bit, it will be chewy and not crisp,” he was right.
Chukandari venison tenderised with beetroot had pleasing flavours, but the vegetable had been a bit slack in its job, the meat needing the serration of a steak knife to dissect. The spoon of dark pink beetroot dip was a delight though, sweet, earthy and hot.
Beautiful fat prawns, were delivered on a scalp-sweating pool of Portuguese ‘fiery spices’ - essentially translating to the extra hot sauce at Nando’s. Coughing and spluttering, we sucked the sweet flesh from the shells with tingling lips - it was my favourite dish. Goan spiced scallops with mango salsa were soft and delicate, but perhaps needed a little salt.
Also good was the moru kachiathu - ripe mangoes and green bananas cooked with yoghurt, green chillies, ginger and curry leaves. Sweet and tart, with a back-of-the-throat heat tickle and chewy fruit. Very pleasing.
Ginger marinated lamb chops were fine (that word again), but not close to the falling-away disintegration from a hard stare alone I have come to expect from them (I specifically recall their outstanding texture in Chakra). Then there was an aromatic lamb curry, served in the clay pot it was cooked in, which looked good furnished with fresh coriander, but was just a bit lacking in both interest and succulence of meat.
Mooshed up baby aubergine with sesame and a mustard and curry leaf sauce is difficult to ignore on the menu, and it didn’t disappoint. But then there was the promise of whole grilled butterflied mackerel with a tomato and cucumber salad, which does nothing but call out to you on a hot June day. I have fond memories of eating exactly this whilst gently rocking on a boat surrounded by the azure of the Aegean on trips to Turkey.
But this was about as far from that as you can get. It looked great, all shimmering and golden, but the first bite told a different story. It was exceedingly tough, but worse than that, it tasted - wrong. It was detected instantly and I immediately extracted the offending mouthful - we left the rest of it untouched. My partner asked if it was cooked from fresh, they said it was. I don’t know what was wrong with it, but it wasn’t right.
For a Friday lunch, business was sparse. Those that were present were serving themselves from steel vessels on the side for the buffet deal. I think we were the only ones ordering a la carte, and so we waited a little longer than usual for the kitchen to manifest the dishes, but it wasn’t a problem.
The interiors leave a lot to be desired, with every inch of surface area assaulting the eyes with varying degrees of beige and brown. The staff were nice enough, and perhaps there’s a different vibe in the evening. This has the potential to be a decent local, and fulfill that requirement I’m sure it regularly does. But competition for Indian cuisine in London is tough and standards elsewhere are too high for me to hurry back.
Liked lots: spicy prawns and green banana with mango
Liked less: mackerel, interiors, lunch-time atmosphere
Good for: a reasonably priced lunch if you happen to be in the area; a candidate as a decent local
My rating: 3/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
The first thing you’ll notice about Indian restaurant Zumbura - nestled in the well-to-do idyll of Clapham Old Town - is that in almost every way, it does not feel like an Indian restaurant.
The interiors: no linen, leather bound menus, chandeliers, or sitar recordings. Instead, a vivid ceiling butterfly-and-birdscape, and deep turquoise and bare brick walls embellished with wild flowers in slim glass vases.
There’s a wooden bar of organic form laden with ingredients used in the kitchen including the namesake fruit zumbura (pomelo in Urdu) and fresh tamarind. The crockery is beautiful, imperfect, handmade, and purchased from a local pottery. Brass light fittings with bare bulbs adorn the walls, chairs are seemingly salvaged classroom-style wood and metal, and there’s a presence of shabby chic nick-nacks.
It feels altogether South American to me, reinforced by the large and full-on Argentinian family force at the table one over having a rollicking time in Spanish, and another table of three Spanish friends. They even have tequila on the after-dinner digestif menu.
The agreeable interiors can no doubt be attributed to the trio behind the enterprise - co-founders of furniture retailer Dwell, Aamir Ahmad, Sean Galligan and David Garrett. The kitchen and the food cooked in it often make the heart of a home, so whilst sidestepping from the furniture business to restaurateur seems a little off-tangent, I suppose a (tenuous) link could be argued.
The staff: an absence of any sub-continental front-of-house.
The food: clean, sprightly, fresh, vibrant; small plates intended for sharing, Indian-tapas style. There are no superfluous and sorry-looking lettuce plate adornments. There is no poppadom fodder to make you thirsty and order more alcohol. There are no layers of oil pooling on the surface of sauces (I know people who stick the edge of a serviette in to absorb the excess sin before eating).
Chef Raju Rawat (previously in the kitchens of Bombay Bicycle Club, The Cinnamon Club and Michelin-starred Benares) was drafted in to help achieve Ahmad’s vision: to create a British Indian restaurant authentic to the cooking found in traditional Punjab homes, without the customisation so often used to appease western palates at the detriment of dishes.
If his intention is for the food to taste like no other found in Indian restaurants, then based on my restaurant repertoire, he’s nailed it.
Spinach and onion pakoras, battered in chickpea flour and lightly fried were entirely without grease, blisteringly hot straight from the oil, sporting a flourish of fresh coriander and nothing short of a delight dipped into the tart and sour imli (tamarind) and green chutneys (£4.50).
A nod to the Indian street-side favourite that is chaat - bread fried to a crisp and puffed rice, doused in a calming yoghurt and a piquant ginger tamarind sauce, and entertaining a mix of tangy, salty spices - one of my favourite plates and one for the teeth as much as the taste buds (£4.50).
Potato cakes were smooth and delicately spiced rounds, providing a further great medium for the zippy chutneys (£4.50)*, and the chapli kebabs were handsome, dark and slightly charred disks, soft patties of beef kneaded with garlic, ginger and spices (£7.50)*. Breaking either of these apart revealed the still-vibrant presence of component ingredients - coriander leaves, onions. It all feels like it was made moments before, and probably was.
Firm and nutty kala chana (black chickpeas - my favourite form of this pulse and incidentally, my preferred choice when making humous) braised over time with onion and mango powder was an earthy, wholesome bowl of texture and flavour (£4.50). A yellow daal cooked with curry leaves and garlic, was thick enough to hold its form when spooned onto a plate (£4), the bowl quickly excavated with the help of warm parathas and naan making up the bread selection (£4.50).
* these portions include three pieces - we were given two (as seen in the photos) as were sampling many dishes for the purpose of the review.
Opaque hunks of coley spiked with mustard seeds and fenugreek was great (£8.50), with basmati assisting the mopping of the sauce. The kullia stew of lamb and turnip was arrestingly aromatic, with sweet and slightly translucent hunks of root veg, flaking meat, bones to suck on, and the sort of gravy cleared so completely, kitchen staff may well have wondered if they had put anything in the bowl in the first place (£7.50).
For a sweet close, there are a handful of traditional desserts - chilled rice pudding with cardamom, buttery semolina, and gajar ka halwa - a very nicely done warm and creamy amalgamation of grated carrot, milk and sugar (not too much) topped with pistachios (£3.50). You won’t go far wrong with ice creams or sorbets either - pistachio intensely represented, mango fruity and refreshing (£3).
I’m yet to mention I worked 30 seconds walk from Zumbura from the day it opened in November last year until I left that job in March this year. Colleagues tried it, but I never got round to paying a visit. Lost time, of which I will be making up for.
This is a great neighbourhood local offering something quite different to the rest of the Indian dining scene - finally the sort of Indian restaurant food you really could eat every day.
Liked lots: the completely different feel to other Indian restaurant in all aspects, wonderful staff
Liked less: I'll get back to you
Good for: eating great Indian without the associated ghee-laden self-loathing
My rating: 4/5
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
“The burger is omnipotent and irresistible, it can never be weakened.”
A bit god-like, is that. But the rousing burger-inspired quotes on the Meat & Shake website aren’t far wrong. Burgers are still here. This meaty tide has yet to subside. Perhaps - along with cockroaches - they would be the only things left after a nuclear war; the bloody things just won’t die.
“If everything else fails, the burger will still stand”.
I don’t doubt it.
It’s just as well I quite like them, then. Meat & Shake is the relatively new kid on Tooting’s block (opened August 2013), taking over the site where an Indian restaurant stood before, and another before that.
It’s a clever location - I believe the next closest burger joint might be in Clapham (Byron - “opening soon” said the board last time I was there, and Haché). More importantly, they know their market - the menu is fully halal. I suspect the local Muslim community welcomed with open arms a new place to eat that wasn’t Nando’s or food from the Indian sub-continent.
It’s not a huge place, and I know how busy Tooting (Bec) can get. They also don’t take reservations, so I suspect any qualms will be around waiting for a table. Go a little either side of the usual eating times - 2pm on a Saturday and there were two tables free on arrival, it quietened down soon after.
They’ve gone for a casual American diner feel with leather booths and a sign illuminated with bare light bulbs. But there’s also a little refinement found in the large and heavy menus (for a burger place), and the addition of edible flowers and chefy slashes of sauce with your meal. The latter is entirely superfluous, but I appreciate the effort to be a little different.
The sourcing is solid. All the meat is free range and from Macken Brothers. Beef is dry-aged for a minimum of 35 days, ground daily and made into patties to order. And the meat offerings stretch far beyond what you can find between a bun - think lafayette wings, steak, slow-cooked sticky ribs and dogs.
Wave the hint of truffle under my nose and I will order it, even if it comes on a Spontex J-cloth. There is always the risk though, that ordering something with white truffle mayo and a honey and truffle glaze can be too potent.
But the Truffle Shuffle (“hey you guys!”) was spot on, with melted Gruyère to boot. Patty pink in the middle with juices escaping as I cut, the whole assembly as sloppy as you like - my burger preference. The brioche bun - shiny, plump and fluffy - provided a perfect medium to mop up the mayo and dark sticky glaze; there are few things worse than bun left over with nothing for it to do (£7.90).
How I am with truffle, the other half is with blue cheese; “There’s proper blue cheese in this - I just got a bit of wheel rind” - a good sign. The Pepé Le Pew, also with aioli, red onions, walnuts and soft caramelised pear, was better than a similar offering he’d had at a much more well-known burger joint in town, he said (£8.50).
Dirty Fries (enough for two) looked like a toddler had gone mental in a Little Chef, but they were good. Chips topped with chilli con carne with nice fat kidney beans, sour cream, a stringy mess of melted cheese, slashes of mustard and generous helpings of jalapenos, which is always nice to see. I’d put them on a different plate though - it looks too busy (£5.50).
The coleslaw was a little disappointing and mostly left - too watery. Thicken up the mayo dressing and add a bit of Dijon would be my advice (£2.50). The side of gherkins were three fat piquant whoppers, so that was good (£1.90).
Shakes take up a whole page, with flavour combinations enticing enough to draw me back alone - fig and cinnamon, coconut and mango, stem ginger with lemon and honey, peanut butter with banana and brownies. But salted caramel was there and we all know how impossible that is to ignore. So it was ordered, delivered in a frozen metal vessel, and very much enjoyed (£5).
In an effort to boost my calorie credit before gorging, I walked over 2 miles to get to Meat & Shake from my house; I likely would again. A solid Tooting eatery and great to see on my local dining scene. I hear they have plans to expand - if I were them, I’d stick to neighbourhoods crying out for good burgers, rather than trying to compete with the well-established heavyweights up town.
Keep a hungry eye on these guys.
Liked lots: burger sloppy-ness, shakes, it's local to me
Likes less: coleslaw
Good for: good burgers that you don't have to go in town for, getting adventurous with the shakes, halal-seekers
My rating: 3.5/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
No neighbourhood can ever have too many good restaurants. When the fridge is bare, when the working day has been too long or when the prospect of facing a pile of washing up makes you wince, the salvation a reliable eatery can provide - a casual jaunt down the road or around the corner - is a cherished convenience.
I am fully aware of the sometimes-forgotten fact that there are countless numbers of off-the-beaten-track, independent, family-run businesses throughout London that serve food people enjoy eating. They need recognition too - it’s not all about the showy, centrally-located openings, with their fanfare, chef pedigree and marketing budgets.
Whilst I do cover the latter (and there are a lot of them), I like to devote some of my time trying out local places about town, such as Bibo in Putney, Sorabol in New Malden and Makiyaki in Wimbledon.
Most recent has been a glorious and unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon spent grazing on tapas and a glass of prickly cava in La Mancha on Chiswick High Road. Whilst Chiswick isn’t my own neighbourhood, I’d heard promising things about this Spanish restaurant and concluded the District line hike would be a fair price to pay for the prospect of a good lunch.
Whilst La Mancha might be a relatively new kid on this particular block, it was previously located on Putney High Street where it fed local patrons for more than 20 years. Proprietor, Mr Salvatore, upped sticks and re-located to this smaller and more manageable (but still substantial) site in the past year.
With a south-facing bi-fold glass shop front allowing the unobstructed flooding of natural light, al fresco seating fully occupied at the first hint of sunshine, gentle Spanish guitars playing in the background and Spanish diners in the full flow of conversation to the right of me, it could almost have been Seville.
Tomatoes, bread, cheese and sweet quince felt like the perfect way to begin a brunch whilst basking in the sun’s warmth - intensified by the glass - like a lizard on a rock. These components form the base of most breakfasts I eat during summertime visits to Turkey, and it’s one of my favourites.
Pan con tomate was generous (three large slices) with soft bread that was crisped on the outside and a superbly seasoned mash-up of fresh tomatoes, garlic and olive oil. They were probably the best I’ve had - a winning balance of texture, flavour and top seasoning, with no way for them to be improved (£3). The cheeses were nutty Manchego and mild Galician tetilla - both as good as you would expect from Spanish queso (£8).
The tortilla was, again, seasoned well with a fabulous concentration of garlic. However, it is served as slices from a bigger pie, the remainder of which I suspect is left in the pan until needed, allowing the cooking process to continue. A desired texture of a runny-centre it had not, but the flavour was certainly not lacking (£5.20).
Padron peppers reached the table direct from the plancha and finger-scalding hot, seasoned with fat flakes of sea salt, lightly blistered from the quick and high heat (£5.50). Soft, steamed octopus (a texture so often not achieved with this meat) with tentacles displaying their handsome suckers, were nestled with potatoes and heavy with olive oil, the whole plate burnished orange from smoked paprika (£9.95). Chicken and Ibérico ham croquetas were little packages of childhood Findas pancake memories - alas, I suspect none will ever match those found in Fino (£5.50).
Fabada asturiana (white bean casserole with pancetta and black pudding) looked a little insipid on receipt, like it needed more cooking or more oomph. It was a look that was entirely beguiling of its flavour - a hearty and savoury plate, sauce thickened from disintegrated pork fat and mashed up pulses - don’t allow a lick of it to remain (£5.95).
The crème caramel wobbled audaciously at every nudge of the table. Smooth and delicate with a hint of orange, I spent a good few minutes attempting to spoon up the final dregs of the deep caramel sauce from a flat plate (£5). The Tarta di Santiago - a traditional Galician almond cake, made here with Amaretto - had a very pleasing open crumble and was a fitting companion to a closing coffee (£5.50).
The quickly-formed impression of La Mancha soon after being seated is one of homely familiarity and ease. Mr. Salvatore makes a point to welcome everyone that walks through the door, new visitors and regulars alike (the majority seemingly the latter), ever-present yet in no way overbearing; I felt as though I'd been coming here for years after just 15 minutes. The offer of a light hazelnut liqueur was made to each table at the end of meals, along with what seemed to be an overdue catch-up with many.
The food here is not revolutionary - don’t expect veloutés or foams or popping candy; what you can expect is good, honest, competent Spanish cooking. When it’s too much effort to replicate at home, let a well-versed local kitchen like La Mancha take the reigns - you’ll be pleased you did.
Liked lots: the menu says their tapas portions are generous - they’re not kidding; pan con tomate; polpo; dessert; Mr Salvatore; staff; the cava - rough and dry; location - it’s a nicer-than-usual-high street with a Franco Manca next door
Liked less: would have liked a runny centre for the tortilla
Good for: whiling away a languorous weekend lunch; private parties - there’s a whole separate area downstairs with its own bar that’s free to hire
My rating: 3.5/5
Afiyet olsun.
NB I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
