Two places calling themselves tapas– one Spanish-style, one not – both proved good value
WHEN I WAS a cub wine writer I went to Jerez with two characters from the oenological world: TP Whelehan, who at that time was wine columnist with this newspaper, and the late George O’Malley. For me, it was the start of a profound love affair with sherry in all its forms, but especially dry.
I also discovered tapas and, believe me, there is no better place than Jerez to do so. I was seduced by these little dishes of intense flavour, from melting ham croquettas and wafery slices of aged serrano ham to boquerones and Padrón peppers (which I grow at home, I love them so much). This is the way I like to eat.
On that visit to Spain, I remember going to a splendid tapas bar with a charming man from Sandeman. We tucked in to plate after plate of lovely morsels and the fino ran freely. At about half past ten he rose, very steadily, to his feet, and I expected him to say that we should call it a day. But no. “Let’s go in to dinner now,” he announced, to my horror. I sat through the ensuing meal, rearranging the contents of my plate in a vain attempt to overcome the law of conservation of matter.
Anyway, I found myself in two tapas establishments in Ireland in recent weeks. The first, Ochos, is in what used to be Nectar, a juice bar in Ranelagh. And it was one of those rare evenings when it was possible to sit outside (on old school chairs, complete with teenage graffiti) and watch the world go by on Ranelagh Road.
We rather liked Ochos for several reasons. Firstly, the tapas were all perfectly decent, if not rip-roaringly exciting (which tapas can sometimes be); secondly, the menu is very short and to the point; thirdly, you get lots of bread and really lovely olive oil; and, finally, the minute wine list is fairly priced and covers all the bases. This is a very honest place with no pretensions, pleasant staff and decent prices. A place for the times in which we live.
It would be good if they could remove that little membrane that clings to the inside of the squid, because once the beast has been sliced, battered and fried, it behaves like a small elastic band, and can catch in your teeth in an unpleasant way. On this occasion, it rather took from the tender squid within its crisp jacket.
Albóndigas, Spanish meatballs, which are so often a let-down, were fine here, just like you yourself might cook to eat in front of the television. Chorizo cooked in cider needed a little more time in the oven (and was good when it got it), while huevos rotos, a kind of stir-fry of eggs, potato and asparagus tips, was fine. With a further portion of squid, mineral water and a bottle of hefty red, the bill came to less than €70.
A few days later I lunched at iLiA Tapas More, in Mullingar, where, I discovered, tapas has a different meaning. There was nothing Spanish that I could detect on the menu, and portion sizes were generous, to say the least. The owner agreed that this was not tapas in the true sense of the word, but, as she said, more a reflection of how people eat now, with starters merging into mains, and vice versa.
In any case, the cooking here proved good. Grilled goats’ cheese rolled in crushed nuts, and served with a sweet pepper sauce, was simple and very pleasant, while a main course “tapa” of naturally smoked haddock and scallion croquettes with “curry aioli” were light and lovely. My bill, with a glass of white wine, which I failed to like, came to less than €20. tdoorley@irishtimes.com
Read Megabites, Tom Doorley’s blog on all things foodie, at irishtimes.com/blogs/megabites
THE SMART MONEY
It’s all smart at these prices.
Wine Choice
Ochos is not all Spanish. Puna Snipe is a decent Chilean red at €19.50, Alain Brumont Gros Manseng/Sauvignon is a cracker at €27, Freixenet Cava very keenly priced at €27, Carchelo is a super-ripe Jumilla at €26, and Arrocal an elegant Ribera del Duero for €31.50. All wines are available by the glass, from €5 to €8. Stick with mineral water at iLiA.