[Pigging by Wilfrid: August 29, 2011]
My skepticism about whether tapas make economic sense in New York has never abated, despite the popularity of the genre. Indeed, I now have Tertulia on my list, Sean Mullen's ersatz Asturian sidreria.
Kind of funny, because Barcelona has a street lined with ersatz Asturian sidrerias, which are pretty much student-only territory, cheap 'n' cheerful. But important matters: Salinas.
Indeed, the restaurant cites the Balearics and the Mediterranean coast as its spiritual home. Not that any of this is of weighty importance. Chef Bollo has been cooking in the tri-state region for sixteen years, and just guessing at his age I assume he didn't do much professional cooking back home in Spain before arriving here. All of which is circumstantial.
More to the point are some rash decisions about service. The entrance on a dark block of Ninth Avenue is quite elegant. After a pleasant greeting, you are led past a cozy bar-dining area, down a narrow passage, into the very low lit dining room itself. It's full and busy without being unusually noisy. Good. Relax and order a glass of Marques de Gelida, a widely distributed, ordinary but drinkable cava. Yes, the one in the opaque yellow bottle.
Arriving as it does in goblet, you think for a moment that you've been given one of the house cocktails by mistake. No, this is a nod to traditional xampanyerias. Well, okay, some of the old places like El Xampanyet in El Born still use what I think of as Babycham glasses. Elegant xampanyerias use... flutes, of course. And Salinas is trying for elegant rather than rustic. Worse, the cava is warm.
Very un-Spanish, however, is the absence of bread service. I don't know, maybe some tables got bread. I didn't. In Spain, you don't get served more than a few olives without a bread basket arriving. I'd have liked some bread with the pimientos del padrón.
There's a classic tapas bar standard, correctly prepared. If anything, all too correctly prepared. The stubby green peppers, freshly fried, crusted with sea salt, ready for biting off the stalks. And just as the mild warmth lulls you into a sense of security, you find a hot one. Blisteringly hot. But that, as I said, is correct, so I suffered silently.
I know perfectly well that drinking cold liquids does nothing to disperse the spicy oils of the capsicum. But as it happened, I had very cold liquid to hand. Ice cold. The red wine. Yes, it's served at what would have been a good temperature for the cava. Deliberately so. I didn't have to complain about it because the table next to me got there first, only to be told - by a server I am prepared to bet had never set foot in Spain - "Ah yes, we do serve red wine chilled. It's the Spanish way."
No it isn't. It just isn't. Sure, red wine might well be served cooler in Spain, but not ice cold.
Call me a grouch, but I am inclined to believe the temperature might have more to do with quality of the red wine (I tried a Garnacha-Cariñenaand a Cabernet blend by the glass, both poor) than anything to do with what happens in Spain.
I am a sucker for embutidos - Spanish sausages and meat puddings, fresh or dried. Here they make two in-house, a sobressada and a butifarra negre in the Balearic style. I haven't been to the Balearics, so we must take the style on trust. Both were soft and spreadable. I had expected firm slices, based especially on my fond memories of white butifarra in Barcelona. The black version here had the fatty texture of a rillette, not unpleasant but not exactly what I expected. The sobressada was a sort of chorizo terrine. My server encouraged me to mix it with rosemary honey.
At least some bread showed up, kind of dried crisp rather than toasted. And a little pot of nice, mixed olives.
There was plenty of fish on the menu but I was set on testing the kitchen's way with rice (Bomba rice, indeed). I love paella negra and not at all shy about ordering a portiond designed for two to share. I was deterred only by the price ($25 per person, or $50 for just me). I am less a fan of fideos, skinny angel-hair noodles used as an alternative to rice as a base for saffrony fish and meat in Catalunya.
The remaining option was arroz de verano, Spring rice. This meant it incorporated various slightly crunchy treasures of the seasonal market - tomatoes in particular and rather too much eggplant. The rice was fine; the overall affect of the dish, not very Spanish. The poached egg on top might have saved it.
Can't beat a silky, golden yolk sinking into the rice and coating the grains. This egg, albeit as "organic" as they come, was overcooked. Speaking of which, the rice, although served on a cool plate, maintained thermonuclear long after it arrived at the table. Now, if there's one thing that is authentically Spanish, it's use of a microwave.
No to dessert I'm afraid. Cheeses are offered too, at heaven knows what temperature. Very easy to pay $100 a head here and there's really no reason to do so. Here's the Website. Others around me, needless to say, seemed to be having a marvelous time.
My Cid rode up to Burgos/ Up to the studded gate between two towers...
And gave his name to countless restaurants, not only in Spain - especially in Burgos, as I can testify - but also to a casual tapas bar a block east of Salinas. I just happened to notice El Cid on Eighth Avenue, its doors thrown cheerfully open, and in a spirit of cheek I thought it would be interesting to compare it to its much more highly touted neighbor.
It's essentially a saloon with a long, marble bar; casual tables up front, tables looking slightly more set for dinner in the rear. The lists of cold and hot tapas are long and familiar. Just for a reality check, I ordered a cava. The name was unfamiliar and it was no better than the Marques de Gelida, but it was served cold in a flute. Score one, mio Cid. The utterly familiar Montecillo Crianza was offered at room temperature, wholly superior to the wines I'd tasted down the street.
Tortilla, a benchmark for any tapas bar, was dry and slightly over-salted. But it was only $6. And as served with bread.
The other dish I tried was, after the pimientos, the only thing I ate at these two places which really reminded me of Spain. Pork loin marinated in oil and random herbs, served in a thick tomato sauce, with chopped mushrooms and little crisp fried potatoes. All sort of tossed together. A typical menú del dia offering. Was it $8, $10? It was cheap and enjoyable.
There used to be an El Cid nearby on 15th Street. It is closed. This may or may not be from the same owners. I can find no Website. There is nothing amazing about the place. But unless you're stronger on style than substance, you'll have more fun with twenty bucks here than dropping a ton at Salinas.
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