JOSÉ: UNA ESQUINA ESPAÑOLA

When people realise you’re a bit more interested in food and restaurants than would be considered normal in polite company the first thing they do is ask you what your favourite restaurant is. To be honest I haven’t really got a favourite restaurant. Honest.

What I do like though, what really floats my boat and pulls my chain is propping up a Spanish bar. It’s probably in Madrid, on a cold day with that incandescent sunlight that you get in one of Europe’s highest capital cities. The barman would be of the grumpy tendency but the caña of Mahou he had just poured would be cold and have a thick, creamy head.

I would wait for my free tapa - a piece of tortilla or maybe a handful of cortezas de cerdo - before ordering un ración de jamón ibérico de bellota. He would cut the ham quickly and expertly, laying the slices in an outwardly radiating spiral, finally dropping some picos into the centre. I would take a sip of the cold, slightly bitter beer then pick up a slice of the jamón, oily from the melting fat, between thumb and forefinger. I would hold it up and briefly examine it against the light before shoving it down my gob.

At this point my interrogator would already be walking away, staring at the floor and shaking their head.

José in Bermondsey street is billed as a Sherry Bar but actually that description undersells it. For starters the wine list, whilst it has a good range of sherries has a lot of other good stuff on it (the list was put together by a couple of Masters of Wine). Also I can't think of many sherry bars that have open kitchens with several top chefs beavering away in them.

Decor is clean and functional and as in most places in Spain you have to find yourself a space at the bar or an upturned barrel to eat at - the idea of sitting at tables to eat any other than a proper is unknown in Spain (although that is changing).

Of course, all this would count for nada if the food wasn’t any good. Happily it is. José is an exemplar of the cliché of the best ingredients cooked simply. This is the stuff that all those Spanish Michelin chefs really want to eat on their day off. There will be a new restaurant opening later in the year where I suspect we may see more evolved dishes but for now José more than fits the bill.

A blackboard shows the daily market specials which is supplemented by a longer list on the menu. They're actually more akin to the Spanish media ración in size than tapas but whatever you want to call them the quality of the ingredients used is the key here.

Croquetas de jamón are sometimes a bit oily and over-fried which usually makes me a bit queasy but these were perfect: light, studded with jewel-like bits of ham, I could have eaten several more plates of these. The most fantastic Prawns cooked with a little chilli and garlic and were so good I did order another plate.

Jamón Ibérico is from Manuel Maldonado who is based not far from Jose’s hometown of Cáceres. With jamón it’s all about the cutting – you should be able to the read the maker’s name on the blade through the meat - and while it may sound xenophobic when you have the good stuff you don’t want a guiri wielding the knife. As well as being of exemplary quality this is the best cut jamón you’re going to get in London.

Razor Clams (from Scotland) come simply cooked on the plancha with a bit of chorizo and mint. Almejas are huge and meaty and you'll definitely want some bread to mop up the sherry broth.

Wonderfully fresh Sardines possibly could have done with a bit more char - they can take it - but were wonderfully fresh. Ditto some Mackerel in an escabeche which can be a bit iffy if the fish isn't up to snuff.

Pluma Ibérica (so named because of its resemblance to a feather) is one of those cuts of Pork like secreto and presa that the Spanish go nuts about but which are seldom seen over here. Well-marbled and with a lovely layer of fat it's cooked quickly so still rare inside and served with piquillo peppers. Combine some of the sweet pepper with the rich, rare pork to see what the fuss is about.

Puds are not really a Spanish forte and in lieu of helado mixta a glass of Victoria Ordoñez Malaga No. 2 and some Strawberries and Cherries more than passed muster.

Service is friendly and clued-up and really adds to the great atmosphere of the place – blimey, even a hard-hearted, old curmudgeon like me had a smile on my face (although that may have been the wine).

Three hours of a Saturday lunchtime had never passed more quickly and in a drunken, post-meal tweet I posited the fact that this was currently the best Spanish cooking in London. In the sober light of day I see no reason to retract that statement.

OPERA TAVERN:A COVENT GARDEN OVERTURE

I'm usually not a huge fan of the small plate way of eating but on my recent visits to London's Famous West End I've found that I don't always want to book ahead for a full-blown 3-course meal. A few small plates sometimes suits me better and there's now such a concentration of good places that serves them that it becomes an easy way to pop into a few of an evening. Think Oysters at Wright Brothers, Zakuski at Bob Bob Ricard, Gelato from Gelupo.

You can now add Opera Tavern to that list, the latest place from those nice people who also gave us the popular (well I can never get into them) Salt Yard and Dehesa.

I visited on their first night when there was a 50% discount on the food (while we iron out any creases) although the place seemed to be up and running more or less as I expect it to be henceforth.

There were a few little crimps: some room temperature Manzanilla was changed for some of equal warmth. A middle class woe for sure and not very important except in the course of a vaguely Iberian meal. One or two dishes didn’t quite hit the mark but then I did order quite a few. I also felt there was some timidity to the seasoning and spicing - but that’s easily corrected.

Opera Tavern is a two floor affair and I sat in the small dining room upstairs. It was nice enough but it looked a lot more fun downstairs in the bar area. This how eating tapas should be experienced but very rarely is in this country – we don’t mind a bit of hustle and bustle when boozing but we won’t stand for it (literally) when eating.

It might be advancing years but I'm finding a lot menus a bit confusing these days. Used to putting together a standard three courses I’m a bit lost with the small plate scene. Just how much does one order? Having just the prices to go on (more expensive = bigger) I decided to order dishes in small groups and stop when I was stuffed. It also meant no food sitting around getting cold on the table if it all came en masse.

A couple of terrines: one of Lamb and one of Duck and FG didn’t really rock my socks. Is Lamb Breast a good basis for a cold terrine? Not on this showing and it had the same problems as with the Duck and Foie gras: a slightly claggy texture and none of that unctuous mouthfeel that you get with a good one.

The Scotch Egg was perfectly cooked with a soft boiled egg interior and a crisp breaded exterior but I not convinced the veal added anything and may have just contributed to blanding it out a bit. Crisp Iberico Pigs year were great though, being both crisp and porky and the preparation - as fine tendrils of ear - was actually an improvement over the Spanish norm.

The mini Iberico Pork and Foie Gras Burger was a winner too. The patty came medium rare and was topped with delicate little onion rings and was a rich, meaty mouthful. Nom Nom as the kids say. Pickled Guindilla peppers added crunch and an acidic bite. It was so good I did think seriously about ordering a second.

Crispy Squid is a bit of a cliché and seems to be on every menu though not many can pull off the trick of getting it right. It was a good attempt at Opera Tavern with excellent, un-chewy squid but I found it a tad greasy (oil not hot enough?) so you tasted more of the frying than the squid. It also meant I still don’t know what Sea Purslane tastes like.

I liked the Mackerel Escabeche with roasted Beets and Hazelnuts which combine some interesting textures and sweetness of the beets working well against the sourness of the marinade. The fish was a little more fishy than I prefer, as Mackerel tends to be whenever you eat it any distance from the sea.

After fishy treats, back to the meaty ones. Pincho Morunos are more commonly little cubes of pork on skewers. Here they’re also made with Onglet and with Lamb and it Kidney. You'll probably do as I did and order all three. The taste was great if a little diffuse and there was a ‘wetness’ to them which was odd as they had probably just come off the grill. Possibly the porcini had leaked a bit. The spicing could have been kicked up a notch too - small bites like this should have some impact. Still enjoyed them though.

I didn't fancy any of the puddings so the nice staff kindly put together one for me: a lovely Clementine Sorbet with a tremendous Milk Ice Cream. The ice cream being one of the nicest I've had recently.

As with all small plate operations calculating the total price can involve some complex mental arithmetic which usually ends with a gross under-estimation. This will be slightly tempered by the fact most people will not be as big a greedy guts as me and will actually have friends they can share their food (and bill) with.

In any case you’ll still come out of the Opera Tavern well-fed and watered and although it is a chain of sorts it’s one with a more personal touch that stands well above the tourist-targeted dross in the immediate vicinity.

MORITO: A LITTLE MORO

Walk into Morito and you might think you're in a nuevo tapas bar in Madrid or Barcelona: a clean, modern space filled with people sitting at the bar and at tables squeezed along the perimeters of the small room; a handwritten list of tapas, on a board; the chef, beavering away at the plancha turning out small plates, a buzzing atmosphere. But, you’re not in either of Spain’s two largest cities, you’re in Morito, a little tapas bar offshoot of parent and neighbour Moro, which stands on the site previously occupied by Spanish food wholesaler Brindisa.

Look closer though and there are plenty of clues that you are in fact in London's trendy Clerkenwell and not Madrid’s trendy Chueca. First off there's the smell or rather the lack of it: that unique mix of fag smoke, deep frying, cured hams and coffee I know and love from Spain’s finest. Then there’s the staff. They're not dressed in ill-fitting dark suits accessorised with wonky bowties and they are not nearly grumpy enough.

I like Moro. I’ve been going there since it first opened and although I don’t think it’s as good as it was (but then, where is?) from time to time I’ll still prop myself up at the large zinc and knock back a chilled half bottle of Manzanilla and a few cazuelas from their short tapas list.

The selection is larger at Morito and is written in an odd sort of Spanglish (and very irritating it is too). And the prices, well, they don’t seem too bad on first viewing but when you see the size of the dishes - and they really are tapa-sized - you might feel, like me, that they’re overpriced. The lack of seafood dishes too is a bit of a giveaway too. But overlook its cod-Hispanic affectations and like its big sister Morito is not a bad place to hang out for a bite and a glass or two.

The cooking is basically Spanish with a bit of Mahgreb thrown in - sumac and za'atar are available to sprinkle over one’s food. There’s plently of pimentón used as well. Sometimes too much, as in a dish of chiccarones (sic). They're advertised as being from Cadiz style although the last time I had them there they were a type of pressed pork rather than the usual cubes of belly pork served here. More importantly, all I could taste in the dish was the paprika.

Tortillitas de Camarones also hail from that ancient City. They’re a thin, crisp pancake made from chickpea batter with some shrimps mixed in, almost as another seasoning. Morito’s version was a bit oily but tasted authentic enough. There weren’t many shrimp but that could have been because the portion was so titchy.

An empanadilla of mussels and chorizo tasted took me back to visit to A Coruña although I found the pastry used here a bit leaden and reminiscent of something you'd find in the local health shop.

Croquetas de Jamón were disappointing. Instead of a creamy béchamel interior there was a tasteless semi-solid grey mush with very taste. The Croquetas de Bacalao, sorry Salt Cod, were much better. I also liked Morito’s preparation of Octopus which came sectioned and grilled in a perky and fresh-tasting salpicon .

The balance in a dish of Butifarra with white Navarran beans was all wrong and with a big splodge of garlic aioli the dish ended up being a bit too greasy and the taste of the Catalan sausage was lost. The beans were beautifully creamy though and cried out for a little bit of bread to mop things up.

Of the Montaditos (stuff on bread) the best was the little riff on brekkie: a couple of quail eggs with Jamón sitting on good Moro bread. Definitely something to be picked up and stuffed into one’s gob (which did what I did). The worst was the Birch Bolete where the taste of the mushroom was killed by the fried bread underneath.

Given that much of the preceding food hadn’t been bland, although oiliness was a general theme of the evening, a plate of seared rump was a bit of a shrug of the shoulders sort of dish. It hadn’t been seared enough, it hadn’t been seasoned enough and it hadn’t been rested enough. And (deep sigh) the beef hadn’t been hung for long enough.

There’s just the two desserts to choose from but for me it’s always going to be a scoop of Moro's Rum 'n' Raisin Ice Cream slathered in PX. It still hits the spot although the lack of any liqueur action meant I had to take a my espresso and Patxaran con hielo next door.

Although the evening may have seemed like more like a sequence of misses than hits the quality of the ingredients were decent and nothing left a bad taste in my mouth… well, maybe the prices did a little bit but to be honest that’s also the case at Moro and I still go back there quite happily. I can’t really explain it. I’ll probably return to Morito as well.