Barrafina

Usually the last thing I’d order from a tapas menu, tortilla is invariably solid, eggy, boarding-house-breakfast drudgery. I groaned inwardly when my dining compadre suggested it, looking wistfully and none too subtly at the stacks of Scottish Langoustine staring from their bed of ice behind the bar. But I’d forgotten we were in Barrafina, its Theatre Land incarnation to be exact, where we'd popped for a spot of Sevilliano fiesta-ing pre Carmen at the ROH. The tortilla that arrived was the best I’ve eaten anywhere, including Andalucía! A thin crust of buttery egg giving beneath the slightest pressure to dispense a dense golden-red lava of à point yolkiness enlivened with onion and potato. Simple but extremely good. 

Gambas rojas, sweet and charmingly rose-coloured, can never be ignored on a menu. We didn’t and were glad of it. And fried things that go so well with chilled sherry, tinto de verano or beer in southern Spain, croquetas, little salt-cod fritters, padrón peppers et al, were all present and correct: promptly, professionally and friendly-ly served. Shoals of whole fish and monsters of the deep (squid etc) beckoned from the plancha for those with fish on the mind and Albariño in the glass.

Great sherry menu (sadly, not always a given in Spanish restaurants), with Manzanillas outnumbering Finos in true Jerez style. Not a Malbec or Sauvignon Blanc in sight either, just a stroll through the Spanish vinous landscape from straightforward Navarra Garnachas (a red and a white) up to a trinity of Vega Sicilia Riberas. And Llopart Cava, too: excellent choice of CORPINNAT bubbles.

Very nice, if not quite as exceptional as I remember the Soho original.