The Young Fella, The Gorgeous one and...you
Basics
Location
Per Person
Menu del dia/set menu incl. coffee or dessert
€10
In not so many words
Hopes?
Something simple and Spanish.
Reality?
Simply something Spanish.
First Impressions?
It's full of football scarves. And almost every table is busy at 2 in the afternoon.
A USP?
An entirely authentic slice of traditional Spain right in tourist central.
The food in three words?
A set menu.
Can they get the staff?
Served throughout by one utterly efficient amiable guy.
Service with a smile?
Any waiter who calls me "the young fella" (well, more or less those words) ain't gonna get a bad review.
Would you take your friends?
Actually, I think I might.
Rating for a dating?
Well, for two like-minded souls, it'd be an evening of Iberian experiences.
Tip?
I'm only a young fella. So guess he'd understand I can't afford it...
If you could change one thing, what would it be?
Entirely personal. Working day lunch. No vino!
Going back?
Yep, quite possibly.
In not so few words
Ahh the menu del dia. The set menu. Often remarkably good value and usually the preserve of the most traditional dishes going, although not a place where the V-minded will often find much to appreciate.
Valiño's pretty good really. Its set menu is big, really big. There might be football scarves all over the place, but it's not operating a 3:3:4 formation on the blackboard outside. There's two full teams of starters and main courses, and a five-a-side of desserts to hear being rattled off on the teamsheet.
So, four dishes out of about twenty-five to tell you about. Ready? Ref, blow that whistle!
Let's kick off with starters. There's loads of them. Bean stew. Salads. A boiled vegetable thing that I'm not sure I'd recommend the v-minded as I'm not sure about any stock used to cook it.
I went for paella. Piyella? Pa-eya? We've been here before. Now, if we're going to be precise about things, it's neither. Or neither. Not either, or, come to think of it, either. We're not in Valencia anymore, Toto, so it's rice. Just rice. Rice. Baby.
So, you see, almost enough there for a a main course. It's a decent mixed one, with some very chopped chicken, a fair wodge of seafood and one little crab per customer, acting as ref and keeping a visually challenged eyestalk or two on things from the corner of the plate. Pretty good for, in effect, about €2.
Half my coke - oddly with no ice - gone, it's half time.
The second half kicks off with the main courses coming on to the field of play. There was a load of familiar names to choose from. In between the entrecotes upfront and the sardines down the list, in the midfield they'd placed a grilled lubina/sea bass. It's a small, compact one, typical midfielder really, although as it's been butterflied and grilled with its backbone ready to be removed it's not likely to be offering too many assists today, left as spineless as a football ethics committee. It comes with a smidge of lettuce and a slice of tomato. A lemon wedge is on the touchline, preventing any salad leaves ending up offside.
Around the table, a small - but authentically menu del dia sized - entrecot appeared, cooked to order with the offer "to give it a bit more if needs be, gorgeous." Some sardines, not for the faint-hearted as they'd been deep-fried with the heads on, turned up inevitably curled up.
The sea bass was fresh. It was grilled. It wasn't going to be so heavy that an afternoon pushing back the frontiers of knowledge would see me be the one nodding off rather than the eager learners in front of me. Successful then.
Extra time arrives, and the desserts are warmed up like a bench full of substitutes. Except, they're chilled, of course. Proving some analagies can't be stretched further than an overworked achilles tendon. A white cheesecake comes into view across the table, the ever-obliging waiter, offering an enthusiastic "for you!" in English as he manages to rustle up an orange to order from the fruitbox behind the bar. For me it's pudding! for pudding. That cheesecake comes with a bizarre white chocolate topping and feels like it was knocked up a month ago in an industrial unit in Arganda. At least the pudding! probably came from the kitchen and is hard to find anything wrong with.
So, post-match analysis? Good upfront, solid main course in midfield. Desserts you're never going to write home about.
Two goals well taken, one entirely predictable miss. Good enough to give the team another try? Yeah, probably, now I know the score.
Basics
Location
Per Person
Menu del dia/set menu incl. coffee or dessert
€10
In not so many words
Hopes?
Something simple and Spanish.
Reality?
Simply something Spanish.
First Impressions?
It's full of football scarves. And almost every table is busy at 2 in the afternoon.
A USP?
An entirely authentic slice of traditional Spain right in tourist central.
The food in three words?
A set menu.
Can they get the staff?
Served throughout by one utterly efficient amiable guy.
Service with a smile?
Any waiter who calls me "the young fella" (well, more or less those words) ain't gonna get a bad review.
Would you take your friends?
Actually, I think I might.
Rating for a dating?
Well, for two like-minded souls, it'd be an evening of Iberian experiences.
Tip?
I'm only a young fella. So guess he'd understand I can't afford it...
If you could change one thing, what would it be?
Entirely personal. Working day lunch. No vino!
Going back?
Yep, quite possibly.
In not so few words
Ahh the menu del dia. The set menu. Often remarkably good value and usually the preserve of the most traditional dishes going, although not a place where the V-minded will often find much to appreciate.
Valiño's pretty good really. Its set menu is big, really big. There might be football scarves all over the place, but it's not operating a 3:3:4 formation on the blackboard outside. There's two full teams of starters and main courses, and a five-a-side of desserts to hear being rattled off on the teamsheet.
So, four dishes out of about twenty-five to tell you about. Ready? Ref, blow that whistle!
Let's kick off with starters. There's loads of them. Bean stew. Salads. A boiled vegetable thing that I'm not sure I'd recommend the v-minded as I'm not sure about any stock used to cook it.
I went for paella. Piyella? Pa-eya? We've been here before. Now, if we're going to be precise about things, it's neither. Or neither. Not either, or, come to think of it, either. We're not in Valencia anymore, Toto, so it's rice. Just rice. Rice. Baby.
So, you see, almost enough there for a a main course. It's a decent mixed one, with some very chopped chicken, a fair wodge of seafood and one little crab per customer, acting as ref and keeping a visually challenged eyestalk or two on things from the corner of the plate. Pretty good for, in effect, about €2.
Half my coke - oddly with no ice - gone, it's half time.
The second half kicks off with the main courses coming on to the field of play. There was a load of familiar names to choose from. In between the entrecotes upfront and the sardines down the list, in the midfield they'd placed a grilled lubina/sea bass. It's a small, compact one, typical midfielder really, although as it's been butterflied and grilled with its backbone ready to be removed it's not likely to be offering too many assists today, left as spineless as a football ethics committee. It comes with a smidge of lettuce and a slice of tomato. A lemon wedge is on the touchline, preventing any salad leaves ending up offside.
Around the table, a small - but authentically menu del dia sized - entrecot appeared, cooked to order with the offer "to give it a bit more if needs be, gorgeous." Some sardines, not for the faint-hearted as they'd been deep-fried with the heads on, turned up inevitably curled up.
The sea bass was fresh. It was grilled. It wasn't going to be so heavy that an afternoon pushing back the frontiers of knowledge would see me be the one nodding off rather than the eager learners in front of me. Successful then.
Extra time arrives, and the desserts are warmed up like a bench full of substitutes. Except, they're chilled, of course. Proving some analagies can't be stretched further than an overworked achilles tendon. A white cheesecake comes into view across the table, the ever-obliging waiter, offering an enthusiastic "for you!" in English as he manages to rustle up an orange to order from the fruitbox behind the bar. For me it's pudding! for pudding. That cheesecake comes with a bizarre white chocolate topping and feels like it was knocked up a month ago in an industrial unit in Arganda. At least the pudding! probably came from the kitchen and is hard to find anything wrong with.
So, post-match analysis? Good upfront, solid main course in midfield. Desserts you're never going to write home about.
Two goals well taken, one entirely predictable miss. Good enough to give the team another try? Yeah, probably, now I know the score.
