No Shirt, No Service
Want to go tapas?
One night as I was finishing the cordero asado, which is roast lamb marinated with sun-dried tomatoes, a man asked me to dance. He thrust his left thigh between both of mine, and shoved my right leg into a ballet turnout.
"What are you doing?" I cried with some alarm.
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"Cumbia," he grinned.
In between hot cumbias, you can pop a few of Pepin's energizing croquettes before heading back to a dance floor that throbs until 1 a.m.
Just keep your shirt on. It's a tapas bar.
Merilyn Jackson doesn't frequent "gentlemen's clubs," but she has danced at a tapas joint.
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