The downside of this diminutive tapas bar, little sister of Moro next door, is its unceasing popularity. You can’t book for dinner (though you can for lunch), which, unless you have the timing of Eric Morecambe, almost always means a wait – though staff are happy for you to decamp elsewhere and will phone as soon as space becomes free. The upside is that the food is fantastic, the staff delightful and the atmosphere properly buzzing, as everyone is so pleased to be there.
The high stools next to the bright orange bar offer the best view of the action, and are marginally more comfortable than the oddly low tables – but in general it’s a cramped experience. Do sample as many dishes as you can from the 40-strong list. Everything we tried was superb, from the very simple (tomato toast, lip-tingling pádron peppers) to old faves (patatas bravas topped with a thick, spicy tomato sauce and dollop of mayo) and regional specialities (grilled Galician tetilla cheese, with membrillo and walnut halves, and sizzling Palamós prawns with allioli).
Desserts include a first-rate crema catalana (large enough for two), but the rich, boozy baklava ice-cream floating in a pool of Pedro Ximénez – the result of a happy kitchen accident, apparently – takes some beating. To drink, there are cocktails, sherries and an all-Spanish wine list, available by the glass, 375ml carafe or bottle.