Audio By Carbonatix
Here’s a little anecdote about tapas:
A few years ago I attended a writing conference in Santa Fe. One morning two women acquaintances announced–I thought–that they’d gone to a topless bar the previous night.
I couldn’t believe my ears. A topless bar? These women were cultured Ivy Leaguers from Manhattan. They looked like Hope and Nancy on thirtysomething. “Oh, right,” I said. “Sure. How were the dancers?”
“Dancers?” They looked at each other quizzically. “What–like flamenco dancers? There weren’t any. It was just a little tapas bar.”
Well, we went around in circles until finally I forced them to spell “tapas” for me. At that point, I realized that living in Phoenix was taking its toll.
Tapas (pronounced TOP-us) originated in the Andalusian region of Spain as various small dishes served as tidbits with a drink. A few tart olives, some prawns or fried fresh anchovies–all were standard tapas fare. And, like the treasured American cocktail peanut, these snacks were complimentary.
Though tapas are free no more, they are available in downtown Phoenix. Cafe La Tasca, the first restaurant to open in the Mercado, serves them. Or something like them, anyway.
On Valentine’s Day eve, I, my faithful dining accomplice (who has asked to be called Goat henceforth) and another couple braved the chill to visit La Tasca. When Goat and I arrived, our pals were perched on stools at the black bar that borders the north side of the contemporary, high-ceilinged room. We noted immediately that this was a “see and be seen” kind of place full of people who regularly spend time in the Capitol and City Hall.
An attempt was made to seat us at a table directly in front of the outside doors, but we declined this honor. (It didn’t matter: Blasts of cold air hit us periodically throughout the evening. Admittedly, cold air is rare here, but I wonder if this design problem will cause similar discomfort in summer?)
The cafe’s dinner menu offers entrees from Spain’s Castilian region and from Mexico City. We had to request the tapas menu. While we studied both, a small plate of carrot strips, scallions, radishes, zucchini and lemon slices was placed ceremoniously before us. One of my accomplices whispered, “What’s that called again?”
“I don’t know what they call it here,” I replied. “But if this were a country club in the Sixties, we’d call it a relish tray.”
La Tasca’s tapas sounded pretty good on paper. Anticipating the traditional tiny dishes of succulent morsels I’ve enjoyed in other cities, we ordered three hot and two cold tapas. We also managed to convince our waiter that we did, indeed, wish to order entrees.
Call me a purist, but I just don’t think what we were served at La Tasca cuts it as tapas. I was disappointed from the moment they were brought to our table. Where were the tiny dishes? This stuff looked like regular old appetizers.
Of the ones served hot, our favorite was Chipirones rellenos (baked stuffed squid). We received two tender tentacle fronds and two larger rings of this tasty cephalopod stuffed with a smoky mixture of squid, chorizo and egg laced with Chilean wine. The dish disappeared literally in seconds.
Gambas al ajillo (shrimp in olive oil and garlic) were not whole crustaceans, but rather little bitty pieces of shrimp strewn with chunks of garlic. Our waiter encouraged us to sop up the garlic oil with our rolls, which we did.
“They certainly are red,” someone remarked, of the Mejillones pica pica (steamed mussels). My dining accomplices liked these spicy mollusks served hot in a wine-onion-tomato sauce; I thought them average.
Our cold tapas were simply not exciting–either to see or to taste. Chorizo y queso (Castilian chorizo and Mexican goat cheese) consisted of pieces of chorizo (which looked like pepperoni) and squares of white goat cheese (which looked like provolone) arranged on a plate. You could find this dish at an uninspired potluck.
Alcachofas calahorra materialized as a pile of iceberg lettuce topped with pimiento slices and a quartered artichoke. Aside from an elevated garlic taste, these ‘chokes were indistinguishable from the ones you buy in little jars at the grocery.
(On our second visit, Goat and I tried two more tapas. Rebas was a lovely plate of light-battered fried squid brightened with a squirt of fresh lemon. Gambas a la plancha was what Goat calls a “physical” dish: four unpeeled, slightly underdone shrimp served with hunks of garlic. By the time we wrestled these puppies out of their shells we needed a change of clothes. It wasn’t worth the effort.)
“Didn’t he say something about lentil soup?” Though our waiter had promised us a choice, somehow he never did get around to letting us cast our own votes on the soup-or-salad question. We all ended up with salads: ordinary mixtures of iceberg lettuce, tomato and green pepper with an oil-and-vinegar dressing. We used our leftover cold tapas to spice them up.
Red was confirmed as the color of the day when the Pollo cazadoro (Spanish stewed chicken) and Huachinango Veracruz (red snapper Veracruz-style) arrived. To my mind, the wine-flavored chicken on-the-bone would have been better served in a bowl; the side of rice and black beans begged to be located nearer the tomato, onion, green-pepper and olive sauce.
The red snapper was dreadful. Authentic Mexican thumbnail-sized capers and green olives made the tomato-based sauce so salty my lips burned. Why this potent red sauce didn’t disguise the decidedly fishy taste of the snapper any better is a mystery.
The Enchiladas rancheras con pollo, though delicately flavored with a tomatillo-chile poblano sauce and filled with choice chicken, didn’t send me into orbit.
Our fourth table member gloated over the tortilla soup she chose for her main course. The spicy red broth was filled with crunchy tortilla strips and came with a plate of do-it-yourself add-ins like avocado, dried red chile, pork rinds and cubed Nogales jack cheese.
Our waiter had our mouths watering with his description of La Tasca’s homemade flan–then told us they were out. We consoled ourselves with Bu nuelos con miel de piloncillo, a Mexican fritter that reminded me of state fair food drowned in syrup, and a strongly anise-flavored version of rice pudding. Both were asi asi.
(On our return visit, Goat and I wised up and reserved some flan when we placed our dinner order. I’m happy to report it was worth the wait. La Tasca’s version is fantastic: silky, not overly eggy and caramelized perfectly.)
After-dinner coffee wasn’t a letdown, either. The cinnamon-flavored brew comes in cups large enough to brood over.
Based on our experience, I’d have to say the comestibles at Cafe La Tasca are hit-or-miss at this point. With hard work, this situation will improve.
Havana Cafe, Phoenix’s first Cuban restaurant, pioneers another type of Spanish cuisine–one born and bred in the Caribbean. The spices are more subtle than Mexican food (you won’t find blow-your-face-off hot stuff here) but just as satisfying.
Goat and I have eaten at Havana Cafe twice since its December debut. As luck would have it, our most recent visit fell on the Friday after the restaurant’s first glowing review appeared in another newspaper. As veteran diners know, never go to a restaurant that’s just been reviewed. Typically, the big turnout stretches the limits of the kitchen and dining staff. In our case, the timing was unavoidable. We had already made plans to have dinner with an older couple I’ll call Ricky and Lucy.
Ricky and Lucy never made it to Cuba libre, but they’re experienced eaters who’ve spent time in nearby Puerto Rico and South Florida. We brought them along to give us their opinions of Havana Cafe’s offerings, since we were already sold on the place. (And did we ever get opinions!)
We were fortunate. Though Havana Cafe takes no reservations, our early arrival and party size permitted us to be seated immediately. Thank goodness! Ricky and Lucy were already bickering about whether Ricky’s tie and jacket were necessary (no).
Hoping that food would calm the rough waters, we ordered several appetizers, which arrived promptly. You can’t go wrong with the Tostones con mojo. These piping-hot, lightly salted, half-inch thick plantain chips are the cornerstone of an education in Cuban cuisine. They are required eating and Havana Cafe’s are excellent.
I preferred Camarones al ajillo (shrimp sauteed in garlic and sherry) to the cold shrimp cocktail con salsa romesco, which was quite lovely to look at but lacking in the flavor department. (Hot or cold, Havana’s shrimp that night lacked the firm, skin-popping quality one looks for. They seemed bland and mushy.)
The black bean soup, however, disappointed no one. Delicately sprinkled with cilantro and onions, it was even better than on our last visit. Again, top-grade.
We urged Ricky and Lucy to order the Paella a la Valencia para dos, hoping it would foster some togetherness. What a mistake! They couldn’t agree on anything about this venerated dish. Havana Cafe serves what some call a “rich man’s” paella. Like Noah’s ark, it’s got some of everything: Maine lobster, clams, mussels, scallops, shrimp, chicken, chorizo and bits of pork.
It wasn’t good enough for Ricky. He complained bitterly that the still-in-the-shell lobster was mostly for show. It had been chopped into pieces, some of which, like the body, had no meat at all. What meat existed was hard to remove. Though at first I dismissed his comment as so much fussing, I later realized he had a point. Several reputable cookbooks suggest using sauteed chunks of lobster. They certainly would be easier to eat.
Americans sometimes forget that paella was created to celebrate rice. Lucy and Ricky hadn’t. They vehemently debated the merits of theirs. “It’s too wet,” said Ricky, mashing it together. “It’s supposed to be this way,” Lucy insisted. Where was the Mobile Judge when we needed him?
My cookbooks say Ricky loses on this one. Paella rice should be moist, like Havana Cafe’s. Nothing I read said anything about “fluffy.” Goat and I thought the saffroned short-grain rice was wonderful, shot through as it was with the smokiness of chorizo.
Seafood in green sauce has always been a personal favorite but Havana’s version disappointed me. The only green in the dish was from the peas–the sauce itself was white.
Goat’s shrimp Jerez featured medium-size shrimp sauteed with garlic, saffron and Spanish sherry. I’m sure it had its own merits, but it seemed dull compared with the more richly spiced appetizers.
Relative peace descended on the table when desserts arrived. Lucy and Ricky gobbled down an order of flan in no time. “Excellent,” Ricky said, between bites. “Very good,” Lucy murmured approvingly. The Cuban custard’s texture had improved since Visit One, but the flavor was still on the eggy side.
Count Lucy, Goat, and me among Havana Cafe’s aficionados. We’re working on Ricky.
Cafe La Tasca, the Mercado, 541 East Van Buren, Suite A-2, Phoenix, 340-8797. Hours: 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. Monday through Saturday; 11:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. Sunday.
Havana Cafe, 4225 East Camelback, Phoenix, 952-1991. Hours: 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., Monday through Friday; 5 to 10 p.m., Saturday.
