Boqueria

When I decided to go abroad the summer after my tumultuous freshman year of college, I tried to pick the most festive place I could imagine. I chose Barcelona, Spain, and the decision landed me right where I had hoped—in an endless fiesta. The seaside city is magical, sexy and filled with the adventures I craved as a 19-year-old. Humongous raves with throngs of strangers, hot men with long hair and ridiculous tans, a dizzying market on the hectic Las Ramblas called Boqueria, grilled octopus and tons of sangria on the side.

That summer I also ate one of the best—and simplest—meals of my life: One late afternoon I found myself still on the beach right before sunset. I was starving and couldn't fathom walking all the way back to my flat. When I saw a mid-beach shack/restaurant, I seriously considered the absinthe I had tried the night before; I've heard it causes hallucinations. But as I got closer and smelled the salty air mingle with grill smoke, I couldn't help but laugh and run toward it despite my broken flip flops wagging in the sand.

The friendly, lone waiter had exactly three teeth, and I almost got scared away by his scraggly smile. Good thing I'm a tough chick. He took a liking to me, grabbed my hand and plopped me down on a plastic, orange chair. At this point, I thought, awesome! Hellish year capped off! He disappeared behind a plastic curtain and as I was contemplating an overdue escape, he brought me the freshest, most succulent grilled, head-on shrimp. They were brushed with garlic and accompanied by a sugary Mango cocktail with contents unknown. As I bit down on the plump critter, I didn't even stop to wipe the juice streaking down my ridiculously-blissful face. And right there in that dirty hut, as the sun dipped down to the sea, I fell in love with Spain—its food, celebration and sultry attitude—and never missed a moment of the party the rest of my time there. I slept a total of three hours each night. Ah, being 19.

When I returned to the states, I gave up trying to find any approximation of my experience after eating a gummy take on paella in Florida: fiesta as a messa. So when I visited Boqueria in Chelsea for the first time, I was suspicious to say the least. I was probably even a little bitchy about it; a friend asked me to go with her three times before I obliged. (What? In Judaism, if someone asks for your forgiveness three times and you don't accept, the burden is on you, mister. I figured this might be the same type of situation, and I didn't want to mess with the big guy on high.) To my delight, owner Yann de Rochefort and chef Seamus Mullen's slim spot fiested me right out my mood. And even though nothing will ever match that evening on the beach, when I need some Spanish spice, Boqueria on 19th street does the trick.

The key for me here is the seamless mix of sexy and smiley. The bustling, tight hall of a restaurant is tolerable thanks to low lighting, tons of wine and a general grin—even on the waiters. And as someone who's served around NYC, this in itself is a gigantic deal. With this free-for-all attitude, it was initially easy for me to assume that the food would take on a similarly laid-back attitude. No, señor. It's all gourmet seriousness here, but with Spanish sass and saturated flavors bursting from many dishes.

Reminding me of the set up of alleyway joints in Barcelona, the menu is divided into tiny tapas plates (only 5 or 6 bites in true Catalan fashion, which I love. I'm a sampler.), raciones which are larger but not a deluge of food and embutidos, a lovely selection of meats and cheese.

Because of the crowded quarters, drinks are definitely in order to handle the rush of people: the fizzy Reymos Moscatel is the perfect start (or finish), with flirty, peachy notes. The rest of the wine list offers a reasonable selection of well-considered Spanish wines . And while the glass selection isn't enormous, daily specials help to supplement for those who want to try out new flavors. For heavy terrain, the Torres "Gran Sangre de Toro" is a bold mix of Garnacha, Cariñena and Syrah that can handle the spice of the food. For this richness the $39/bottle price seems tolerable. Or a glass of the snappy Verdejo is always just right for a Spanish sit-down.

Once well-hydrated, I head straight for the thinly sliced jamon serrano—slick and fatty with a unique flavor I crave. If you want to splurge, pony up for the luxurious Iberico ham. It's a pretty, posh pig with an equally impressive tag. But the pedigree comes through in powerful tang. The meats are served on snappy white toast that yields to the bite but not without a crunchy fight, and are complimented with subdued jams and preserves.

From the tapas list, a feast awaits in separate takes. First up, the pan con tomate has serious zip from basic garlic, olive oil and tomato. Skip over the classic but tame patatas bravas to the healthy-with-heft sauteed spinach, jazzed up with dense garbanzo beans, pine nuts and garlic. Unexpected raisins make this dish a surprise treat. Even a four-year-old would eat this soft spinach: it's nutritious and tastes heavenly. Next, the seared lamb chunks. While the squares of the sweet meat don't look like a huge amount, they actually do satisfy a carnivore craving, and the herbacious seasonings make it a killer choice. The txipirones, octopus with a tangy black-olive vinegarette, really take me back to my summer of craziness with a swift ring in the nose from the vinegar. A special twist on the traditional dish is octopus with cocoa nibs, a gentler, richer use of the seafood that balances right between fresh and filling.

Then, even though it's on the tapas list, the escudella is right for a a bigger appetite. The braised lamb shank is intense, while garbanzo, white beans and chard restore some amount of restraint to the dish. But, the meat's salty, fatty slink, matched by totally unnecessary (and thus more wonderful) sausage wins the battle between good and evil here. The carne asada is a more direct serving of meat that clearly asserts itself as an entree, but it's less impressive in effect and innovation.

However I create my Spanish smorgasbord here, I've noticed three things happen on each and every occasion. 1. I'm stuffed and satisfied in a way that often evades me at small-plates/tapas spots, both in quantity and flavor. 2. I am tipsy from a fine choice of friendly wines presented with thoughtful but down-to-earth explanations by cheerful waiters. 3. I am happier, more bubbly and more optimistic than when I arrived, similar to how I felt in Spain.

There are swerves and hiccups from the hustle and crowd, broken glasses from arms flung in wide hugs and dishes that aren't always astounding. But mostly, there are smiles and giggles and yums and can I have another. And as I learned to say in Spain for anything with which I heartily agree, when asked if I want to go to Boqueria, I now always say "Vale."

Boqueria
Rating: Excellent
Address: 53 West 19th Street
Phone:212.255.4160


Note: I'm looking forward to trying out the new Boqueria in Soho (on Spring and West Broadway) once they've gotten settled in. I'll report back soon about whether the team's started an equally boisterous fiesta at the branch downtown.