42
Pay
Per Person €27-30 for 3 Tacos/enchiladas; shared nachos/guacamole; 2 Margaritas, 1 beer.
Gratis: Nachos and two sauces
Basics
Reservations
Only for inside. For outside, arrive in good time, and get on the waiting list. Expect 30 minutes' wait.
Location
In Short
Hopes? A touch of the Mexican. Missus.
Reality? Sign of the times. Food's good but not quite as elaborate as it could be.
First Impressions? At 8pm a packed terrace, staff buzzing about.
A USP? Handmade handsome margaritas, not tepid tequila slushpuppies.
The food in three words? Portions getting smaller.
Can they get the staff? Loads of them, good natured, if a bit chaotic.
Service with a smile? Yep, even when getting things muddled.
Would you take your friends? For the drinks for sure. For the food, perhaps less so.
Rating for a dating? It's a terrific location. But you can't reserve a table...
Tip? For some very smart table allocation, yes.
If you could change one thing, what would it be? A little more attention to the food detail.
Going back? Soon.
In Pictures
On Google Images
In Depth
Look, here it is. This is the most popular terrace on the most attractive square in Malasaña. You need to visit.
There's a bucketload of reasons for this.
Food. The taqueria has more than 20 years' reputation built up. And it's still deserved. It's not as eleborate as it was. The enchiladas have shrunk drastically from a few years ago. But they're still worth the effort, the Cochinita Pibil, as so often, is perhaps the best choice just for being tangy, juicy and determinedly not, fanfare Alberto, pulled pork. Navigating the menu produces probably half a dozen or more options for the V-minded. HK's verdict on the veg-tacos? "....good, lots of filling." And you can't say fairer than that.
Portion size is open to discussion though, as our table was still in need. So etiquette bedamned, savoury dessert ensued: the guacomole was a bit under-nachoed (two handfuls for five people?) and heavily onioned which is always going to divide the crowd. Nice touch of lime in there. It took two goes to get more chips, but they came in the end. We finished off with a tequila/lemon sorbet which definitely passed the gold brick test. A man in a Don't Panic t-shirt wandered past as I was eating it, infinitely improbable as that sounds.
Picture a dream. Picture a fantasy. Drinks after nine? Summer time?
Two margarita options are on offer. Classic and jug/carafe/big pourry thing. The latter's not bad, although approaching slush puppy/cordial territory, but the classic one instantly muscles its way to the front of the h:m recommended list with the subtlety of an orange-hued president at a summit photocall. This is a proper cocktail that would be at home in any bar anywhere. Shaken at your table, it's so smooth you're half way through your second before you realise you don't know where the first went. We'd probably stop at two as after many more, not even
could keep count.
Service? Here they score, again. First, there's no bloody table blocking. Were we rushed? Were eyebrows raised when we ordered that guaco after the main course? Nope. Instead, aside from the completely excusable nacho oversight, this was good service on a spectacularly busy night. Marshalled by the owner and a head server of unswerving self-assuredness, even when things did go a bit awry - a couple of lost-looking crepes cameoed - a gaggle of staff sorted things out in seconds. It's fine if something needs fixing when you've confidence the staff will take the job on.
And that chance to linger has benefits. The Comendadores cabaret is ongoing, all around. The taqueria offers its own show as, again to their credit, the staff unflinchingly defend the waiting list from anyone pretending the crowd of hungry hopefuls aren't there. A group of eight who looked like they'd dressed at a vintage clothes market held in a wind tunnel? Cheerio, chicas. Beard, manbun and an arrogant look? So much for body art! Ta-ta, tattooed bloke.Well played, staff.
Then there are canine capers - it's a city square, wotchagonnadoo? We watched, entranced, as the steely-eyed - but gold-hearted - head server scanned the area, with a look that bore an ill wind to whoever'd caused it. She promptly marched halfway across the sqaure to a sleeveless-topped fella clearly far too cool for doggy training school and stared him into mooching to the terrace to clear up after his mangey mutt. She was taking no proverbial. He took his dog's proverbial away. Bravo, that woman.
So, that's it. An essential stop, sooner or later, on a wander around 28015.
Pay
Per Person €27-30 for 3 Tacos/enchiladas; shared nachos/guacamole; 2 Margaritas, 1 beer.
Gratis: Nachos and two sauces
Basics
Reservations
Only for inside. For outside, arrive in good time, and get on the waiting list. Expect 30 minutes' wait.
Location
In Short
Hopes? A touch of the Mexican. Missus.
Reality? Sign of the times. Food's good but not quite as elaborate as it could be.
First Impressions? At 8pm a packed terrace, staff buzzing about.
A USP? Handmade handsome margaritas, not tepid tequila slushpuppies.
The food in three words? Portions getting smaller.
Can they get the staff? Loads of them, good natured, if a bit chaotic.
Service with a smile? Yep, even when getting things muddled.
Would you take your friends? For the drinks for sure. For the food, perhaps less so.
Rating for a dating? It's a terrific location. But you can't reserve a table...
Tip? For some very smart table allocation, yes.
If you could change one thing, what would it be? A little more attention to the food detail.
Going back? Soon.
In Pictures
On Google Images
In Depth
Look, here it is. This is the most popular terrace on the most attractive square in Malasaña. You need to visit.
There's a bucketload of reasons for this.
Food. The taqueria has more than 20 years' reputation built up. And it's still deserved. It's not as eleborate as it was. The enchiladas have shrunk drastically from a few years ago. But they're still worth the effort, the Cochinita Pibil, as so often, is perhaps the best choice just for being tangy, juicy and determinedly not, fanfare Alberto, pulled pork. Navigating the menu produces probably half a dozen or more options for the V-minded. HK's verdict on the veg-tacos? "....good, lots of filling." And you can't say fairer than that.
Portion size is open to discussion though, as our table was still in need. So etiquette bedamned, savoury dessert ensued: the guacomole was a bit under-nachoed (two handfuls for five people?) and heavily onioned which is always going to divide the crowd. Nice touch of lime in there. It took two goes to get more chips, but they came in the end. We finished off with a tequila/lemon sorbet which definitely passed the gold brick test. A man in a Don't Panic t-shirt wandered past as I was eating it, infinitely improbable as that sounds.
Picture a dream. Picture a fantasy. Drinks after nine? Summer time?
Two margarita options are on offer. Classic and jug/carafe/big pourry thing. The latter's not bad, although approaching slush puppy/cordial territory, but the classic one instantly muscles its way to the front of the h:m recommended list with the subtlety of an orange-hued president at a summit photocall. This is a proper cocktail that would be at home in any bar anywhere. Shaken at your table, it's so smooth you're half way through your second before you realise you don't know where the first went. We'd probably stop at two as after many more, not even
could keep count.Service? Here they score, again. First, there's no bloody table blocking. Were we rushed? Were eyebrows raised when we ordered that guaco after the main course? Nope. Instead, aside from the completely excusable nacho oversight, this was good service on a spectacularly busy night. Marshalled by the owner and a head server of unswerving self-assuredness, even when things did go a bit awry - a couple of lost-looking crepes cameoed - a gaggle of staff sorted things out in seconds. It's fine if something needs fixing when you've confidence the staff will take the job on.
And that chance to linger has benefits. The Comendadores cabaret is ongoing, all around. The taqueria offers its own show as, again to their credit, the staff unflinchingly defend the waiting list from anyone pretending the crowd of hungry hopefuls aren't there. A group of eight who looked like they'd dressed at a vintage clothes market held in a wind tunnel? Cheerio, chicas. Beard, manbun and an arrogant look? So much for body art! Ta-ta, tattooed bloke.Well played, staff.
Then there are canine capers - it's a city square, wotchagonnadoo? We watched, entranced, as the steely-eyed - but gold-hearted - head server scanned the area, with a look that bore an ill wind to whoever'd caused it. She promptly marched halfway across the sqaure to a sleeveless-topped fella clearly far too cool for doggy training school and stared him into mooching to the terrace to clear up after his mangey mutt. She was taking no proverbial. He took his dog's proverbial away. Bravo, that woman.
So, that's it. An essential stop, sooner or later, on a wander around 28015.
