(Credit: LA Times/Glenn Koenig)
The pintxos
Let’s get one thing straight: There is pincho (an even smaller version of a tapa), and there is pintxo, which is an appetizer crafted on a slice of bread. While pintxo bars in Barcelona typically lay out their wares on countertops, in Santa Monica, a snazzy refrigeration unit lines the length of the bar and displays 15-20 options within. Priced individually from $3 to $6, most offerings are some variation of bread topped with a finely chopped mixture. They include jamón sofrito, which ends up looking (and tasting) more like tomato relish, and a tuna salad accented with anchovies. Meatier, more substantive toppings—such as spicy chorizo topped with a fried quail egg or grilled shrimp with yogurt and caviar—tend to offer a bigger flavor payoff.
You do end up eating a lot of bread, so consider yourselves warned, carbophobes. And most items are served on the (too) cool side. The kitchen also offers a select list of made-to-order platos, or what may be more familiar Spanish dishes to the American diner. You won’t find anything extraordinary, or even to the level of Tinto (the best place for tapas), we’re afraid. The croqueta is huge and properly deep-fried, but on the day we visit, someone is particularly lemon-happy, dousing the garlicky shrimp and the calamari a la plancha special with way too much acid.
But the bacon-wrapped dates are the true standout. Though we’ve had plenty of variations on the matter before, these suckers are huge and stuffed with a Spanish blue cheese that completely blows our mind. It’s the only instance in which anything from the pintxo case is set to fire, and that makes a huge difference.
The wine
We hear that tapas are just an excuse to drink wine, and we couldn't agree more. The impressive wine list is Spanish only, and practically three-quarters of it is by-the-glass and offered at a reasonable price range that encourages sampling. Our server knows her stuff and confidently brings us a bold red or a crisp white to suit our needs. The sangria is pretty tasty too, ever so slightly sweet without losing the fundamental red flavor. We could see ourselves guzzling gallons of it come summer. A huge lever at the bar indicates that Stella Artois is on tap—who let the Belgian in? And at an unheard of $3?
The seat
If you don’t mind the sensation of impatient eyes while you’re eating—the restaurant doesn’t take reservations, and without a dedicated waiting area, people end up pressed against the only available wall—the bar is the best seat in the house. You’re front and center to the open kitchen and the most appetizing additions to the pintxo case. On our visit, a few players on the restaurant scene, including Hans Rockenwagner from down the way, pull up stools, perhaps hoping to see Joe Miller on the other side. No Joe, but the primo spot encourages familiarity: We’re chatting up strangers down the length of the bar, and before long we’re sampling each other’s plates. The paella could use more seasoning, we collectively decide, and lemon is in everything that evening(!). Someone passes along an extra bacon-wrapped date to finish off our sangria. Score! That just about makes the night.
Jiyeon Yoo is Restaurants editor for Metromix Los Angeles.
