Eating out:It's one thing for a restaurant like Dublin's L'Gueuleton to have queues forming outside; Dublin is a small city and good restaurants are not to be found on every corner. It's quite a different matter in London. Queues outside restaurants are news.
Of course, what Dublin's least pronounceable eating house has in common with Barrafina, the Soho tapas bar for which people are happy to line up in the cold, is that they don't take bookings. I like restaurants that don't take bookings. It shows a bit of confidence and it's very democratic. You just show up and take your chances. Or learn what the best times are.
Anyway, Barrafina is much talked about in foodie circles, not least because queues on the pavement make great PR. But the place has considerable charm. It's essentially a very big bar with fixed stools, the menu printed on placemats, a kitchen you can see, and plenty of cooking going on literally under your nose.
Barrafina is an offshoot of the posher and dearer Fino of Charlotte Street, where the morcilla and soft duck egg is one of the best things I've ever eaten. At Barrafina it feels like Spain, rather than the West End.
We were offered dry fino or manzanilla as soon as we sat down and two voluminous glasses - not the usual gnat's bathtub - of chilled Hidalgo La Gitana hit the bar within seconds. And we proceeded to order. And order. And order. That's the great thing about tapas. You only decide on what you want for immediate gratification. Then you can reflect and carry on. Brilliant.
Ham croquetas, always a good barometer of tapas, were good: quite dry outside, not greasy, opening to reveal a molten heart studded with tiny dice of smoked bacon. A special of baby squids, floured and fried, were as crisp as frost, salty, tangy and very pleasant. Gambas al ajillo, tiger prawns grilled with oil and garlic and a lot of salt, were as good as I've had them elsewhere; they always strike me as being a rather elaborate way of enjoying garlic and olive oil; the prawns are a bit irrelevant. Then we paused, finished our glasses of white Valdeorras (this stuff involves the unsung but rather wonderful Godello grape), munched good bread and lapped up good oil. Then we entered the fray again.
There were lamb's sweetbreads with capers, a terrific combination of flavours and textures, the offal slightly sweet and almost chicken-like in texture, the capers tart and salty. Then we ate grilled chorizo, and I know that this is something that divides opinion, depending on where in Spain you are eating it. My feeling is that chorizo needs to be properly charred, to the point where the cut surface starts to caramelise a bit and where some of the fat seeps out. There are those who would argue that grilling chorizo is all about warming the sausage so that it reveals its full flavour and that cooking it beyond that is sacrilege.
In any case, the grilled chorizo at Barrafina was not quite my glass of manzanilla. It was very lightly scorched and served on bread drizzled with olive oil. I'd have preferred some molten chorizo oozing into it instead but I have to say that the flavour was excellent, the kind of thing that is to supermarket chorizo as Gubeen is to Easi-Singles.
Morcilla, the blood sausage, was a bit bland, I felt, and was overpowered by the pequila peppers which festooned the slices.
But I liked the way this dish was presented on slices of confit potato. The dish of the day, however, was grilled chicken with Romesco sauce. At £5.80 for a drumstick and a thigh, it would make the better part of a light lunch. The chicken is free-range and French and the flavour, especially with its crisp, grilled skin, is outstanding, and it's wonderfully moist within.
The Romesco sauce, a pink emulsion of olive oil, lemon juice, paprika, chilli, ground nuts and toasted breadcrumbs, combined together to create a smooth Catalan speciality, was a triumph. The chicken was so good that it didn't need any embellishment but this sauce catapulted the dish into a new league.
With a bottle of red and one of still water, the bill came to £81.56 (€124) including service at 12.5 per cent. Was it worth queuing for?
The chicken was; I'm not sure about the rest. But I'd like to explore the menu more thoroughly. And I have to go back anyway, because they forgot to charge me for the Valdeorras.
Barrafina, 54 Frith Street, London W1D 4SL, 00-44-207-8138016
Wine choice:
There are seven sherries by the glass, all from the likes of Lustau, Hidalgo and Valdespino, and as they get through four dozen bottles of manzanilla a week, it's really fresh. Zingy Txomin Etxaniz (£26) is worth the money but I'd prefer to spend £15 on the white Sonsierra Rioja, which is simple, crisp and fresh. Pazo de Senorans is one of the best Albarinos but I wouldn't spend £30 on it. Our Cal Pla from Priorato (£25) was intense with juicy fruit wrapped around some stern tannins. La Rioja Alta's Gran Reserva 904 (£50) is, odd as it may seem, worth the money: deep, vastly complex and impossibly long on the palate.
Mas Donis Monstant from Tarragona is a fruity little gem at £19.