So I went to Cigala. No-one goes there anymore, right? It’s not flavour of the month anymore, right? Fino, Barrafina, Moro, Barrica, Brindisa, Saltyard, Dehesa, all do the Spanish thing better, right?
Answers: People still go there. It’s no longer the hot new thing. Yes, all those restaurants do Spanish far, far better than Cigala at this moment.
It was rammed on a Thursday night at 7pm, a few spare tables, but with a healthy growl of custom which ensured waiting staff were flapping about in distressed fashion for most of the night.
It’s a weird space, looking like a Copenhagen design showroom, and was opened by a founder member of Moro, Jake Hodges.
A bracing glass of not quite cold enough salty, razor-sharp Manzanilla sherry and we are straight into it:
Pimientos del Padron – Charred and shrivelled correctly, just not enough love on the Maldon salt front. In the marvellous Pimientos game of Russian Roulette, it’s always f**king annoying when you don’t get a single eye-wateringly hot one – we didn’t get a hot one. It’s not the spicy season for them I was recently told at Fino.
Tortilla – Clunky, undercooked potato heavy, not enough addictive caramelised onion action, underseasoned, not enough egg. A plodding tortilla – lovers of the gooey, cooked to order, perfect specimens at Fino and Barrafina look away now.
Pan-Fried Chicken Livers – Yes. Oh yes. Cheekily pink in the middle, and served with softened onions and a Pedro Ximenez sauce. Liverish twang, sweetness from the sherry, and plenty of sauce to chase round the plate with your bread.
Salt Cod and Potato fritters – Formless quenelles of mush. Not pretty to eat, but with enough cod flavour to enjoy, served with decent garlicky alioli,
Mushroom Croquetas - Croquetas that aren’t Jamon, the pinnacle of the croquetas? Ordered from curiosity. Never again. Grease laden and unelegant. Where were the breadcrumbs?
Jamon de Bellota - wondrous glistening slices of ham, with sweet, sweet fat on the edges. Let down by being cut like door stoppers – the thinner the slice, the more ethereal the experience with Spanish ham like this.
Crab baked with Brandy, Tomato and Cayenne pepper – A strangled joke of a dish. Sounded so wrong I had to order it. It was very wrong. The poor crab was wacked on the head with brandy, twatted with tomato, and sent reeling by a dose of cayenne pepper. Game over. Crab flavour zero. Brandy/tomato/cayenne turned up to eleven. Delicate crab doesn’t deserve this treatment.
We drank a bracing Txakoli, the lemony and spritzy Basque white, in an effort to recapture the perfection of a night trawling the Pintxos bars in San Sebastian – we almost got there. Not quite.
I enjoyed my evening at Cigala. Hell, I even ordered a second portion of those chicken livers. I’ll go back.
London has improved savagely on the Spanish food front since Cigala opened, and it just feels like they’ve been left behind a bit – but with a full restaurant, whose problem is that? Not Cigala’s.
Cigala means Norwegian Lobster, or Dublin Bay prawn, depending who you ask. It’s the crustacean placed atop a paella in Spain. Maybe it’s all about the Paella with fish and Langoustines here – we’ll try that next time.
Until then, we’re intrigued enough to go back – there’s just something missing.
54 Lamb’s Conduit Street
WC1N 3LW
Pricing? £4.20-£11 for the tapas. Some pricey looking main courses.
