Those who have mastered an art should teach, and Ten Tables could take some lessons from the Pulpo de la Gallega. A sprinkle of sea salt on already-tasty paprika tentacles turns spectacular into the best pulpo I’ve ever had. I said it at Casa Mono and I’ll say it again: no one makes octopus like the Spanish.
Unfortunately, someone must have spilled the sea salt on my Carcoles. It takes an awful lot of salt to drown out herbed garlic butter and cognac so I consider it a small miracle that my snail didn’t shrivel.
The minor meltdown with the mollusk seems like a fluke as Tasca shows some major backbone with the Salmon Ahumado. You just can’t go wrong with a slab of smoked salmon of epic proportion atop a potato pancake so good it could have stood alone.
The salmon seemed inspired by the Jews, the escargot by the French. The Brie a la Plancha is also not exactly Spanish, but I bet even Spanish brides aren’t above something borrowed. The brie is grilled into goop and jammed with an apple and raisin chutney. With all that runoff brie, this plate is hardly aesthetically appetizing, but have you ever met a shallow foodie?
Why borrow when what you have is already so rich? The Stuffed Red Peppers are as red as a Spanish flamenco dress, stuffed with a seafood paella as traditional as the dance. This concoction of rice with generous portions ofseafood including lobster and scallops is served with so much flair that they stamped to their own beat on top of my tastebuds.
Nadal isn’t the only thing from Spain that gets a girl hot and bothered. This sensually succulent Confit de Pato glimmers with more grease than a bullfighter’s hair. The leg sits on a bed of cabbage and apples as red as a scarlet cape, with a combination almost as sexy as a matador destined to defy death.
I’m wondering if maybe they had lamb fights instead of bullfights in Tasca considering the various parts of lamb. The grilled-with-couscous preparation of Lamb Merguez may be as predictably conservative as a Spanish Moor, but I dare say even a native of Spain couldn’t have predicted how good it would taste.
The sausage was promising, but I was reluctant to give the Lamb Mollejas a try. After Craftbar’s sweetbread of legend, even Toro has managed to disappoint. Fortunately, this was one of my better decisions. These sweetbreads were less gamey than I expected, but they were simultaneously dense and light with a hearty mushroom gravy-esque sauce containing the only white wine flavor I’ve ever liked.
Tasca may not be the only tapas restaurant I’ve ever liked, but there’s very little stopping it from being one of the restaurants I like best. I always knew I’d fall for Tasca, but honestly, for all the trouble of venturing out to Brighton on a weekend, I might as well hitchhike to Spain for tapas. Even trans-Atlantic passenger ships are easier to come by than the green line trolley. But if anything is worth going out on a limb for, and Tasca lives on a very remote limb. So move over Toro, with the amazing prices, generous portions, and unbeatable appeal, it looks like I’ll be giving my heart to Tasca on a small plate too.
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