DESPITE THE FACT that I recently took a course of flamenco lessons, I could never be an honorary señorita. You see, although I'm a big supporter of siestas and paella, when it comes to dinner time, the Spanish eat their evening meal way too late for
me. As an early-bird diner, I'm convinced that if I had to wait until 10pm for tea, I'd have eaten my castanets and chewed the hem off my bolero before the gazpacho had arrived.
Still, as my sister, Louisa, has a penchant for Mediterranean dishes (Javier Bardem is an excellent example), we decided to sample a brand-new eatery, Tapa Edinburgh, which is tucked along a cobbled lane at the Shore. Unsurprisingly, this grey and red-painted place was deserted at our inauthentic 7pm dinner time, and we were told we could sit anywhere, so we plonked ourselves beside one of the huge internal warehouse doors (according to the owner, this place used to be a grain store) and grabbed one of the menus, which feature 38 varieties of tapas.
As junior, given free rein, would order two of everything, I decreed that six dishes would be our absolute limit, so we went for the potatoes tossed with asparagus and egg (£3.75), tuna with Japanese dip (£6.95), seared beef (£6.95), prawns in garlic oil (£5.50), Serrano ham and traditional sheep's cheese (£6) and a bit of a wild card – fried savoury banana (£5.50).
While we waited for our feast to arrive, we were presented with crusty bread and a bowl of plump, mixed olives (which we discovered, after perusing the bill, were both gratis) – these were so tasty that junior became engrossed and, like a ruthless matador, impaled one after another with a cocktail stick before popping every single fruit into her gob.
Before she could polish off all the bread too, the first of our tapas – air cured meats with manchego cheese (£7.50) – arrived, and it was only a few nibbles in that we realised we hadn't ordered this at all, and it had come in place of our Serrano ham and sheep's cheese. Still, aside from the unexciting chorizo, the remainder of the platter was delicious, featuring a triangular wedge of tangy cheese and some paper-thin slivers of rich Serrano and Parma ham (possibly carved from a whole piggy's leg, which was on display in a jamonero at the front of the restaurant).
We weren't juggling any other plates at this point, as the waitress was cleverly staggering our tapas. So the next two treats to arrive were the potato dish and the prawns. The latter was delicious, featuring an octet of juicy, rosebud-pink gambas presented to us sizzlingly hot and simply dressed in a garlic oil. However, the tattie mound, which was a bit like a disassembled Spanish tortilla, was crying out for some seasoning to drag it back from Blandalucia.
Once we were a few mouthfuls into these helpings, our tuna and seared-beef tapas were planted before us. As we're both fans of cold and bloody meat, and must, therefore, be descended from polar bears, we enjoyed munching our way through the carpaccio-like slices of almost blue beef and fish. Mind you, the nuttily sweet satay dip which arrived alongside the first dish did look a little bit odd, thanks to a crystallised texture after a spell in the fridge.
All this meant the only completely dud element of the entire meal was the fried plantain (billed as banana), which, as it had been cut into size six slices, looked and tasted like the insoles of my much-stamped-in flamenco shoes. It wasn't a great dish to add the full stop to our savoury feast, so I was keen to wash my mouth out with a sugary pud. And, after a quick scan of the seven choices (I wish somebody would open a tapas joint that offered 38 varieties of dessert, as I'd set up camp outside), I decided to give the Spanish rice pudding (£3.75) a whirl and Louisa took a fancy to the lemon tart (£3.75).
On a whim, I also decided to try a mug of Cola Cao (£1.65) which, according to the menu, is Spain's favourite brand of hot chocolate. It must be a bit of a childhood treat over there, as the waitress beamed when I ordered it – as I would, if someone mentioned something like Creamola Foam or Bird's Angel Delight. However, when this beverage arrived, it tasted a bit like a watered-down blend of Horlicks and cocoa – insipidly childish. Still, my cold rice pudding was a little more sophisticated, with zing provided by a twist of orange and a sprinkling of nutmeg and cinnamon. It certainly trumped junior's radioactively yellow citrus tart, which she thought was "a little artificial tasting".
So, after these goodies and what seemed, overall, like a lengthy guzzling session, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was only 9:15pm. And, after a few quick calculations, we worked out that in an hour or two, both of us would have developed a second wind for that Scottish late night snack – supper. If you ask me, the Spanish are missing a trick.
