Spain is a European country that abuts France and Portugal and stares eyeball to eyeball across the Strait of Gibraltar at Morocco in northern Africa. Except it’s a complicated world… The Rock of Gibraltar is held by Britain and is a bone of contention between the Spanish and the British. Just across the narrow strait from Spain is Ceuta, one of two tiny autonomous Spanish enclaves (the other is Melilla) on what geographically should probably be all Morocco. The two enclaves, along with the Canary Islands in the Atlantic Ocean, are bones of contentions between Morocco and Spain.
Historically, Spain was a leader in global exploration and conquest. Spain introduced to the world the Spanish language (which is roughly tied with English for the second most native speakers after Mandarin), the Spanish Inquisition (which nobody expects) and the Armada (which nobody wanted). The world also could have done without the Spanish work ethic and love of status—just ask any of its former colonies!
But even if Spanish colonization was a dubious blessing at best, being Spanish has worked just fine for the Spanish. Although its population is just 45 million, Spain is arguably the world leader now in modern art, in modern architecture and in many sports, including soccer, the world’s most popular. And boy can the Spanish party! Most important for our purposes, in the eyes of most food experts Spain has eclipsed France as the world’s culinary leader.
Spanish food is the food of Spain. Why do I state something so glaringly obvious? Because despite its preeminence, Spanish food has a serious image problem in the United States. Shocking numbers of people still show up at Connecticut’s Spanish restaurants expecting to find burritos or rice and beans. I kid you not.
What is the cause of this confusion? Mostly it’s the kind of ignorance that has many Americans thinking New Mexico is part of Mexico, but there are other contributing factors. The confusion seems partly to stem from the shorthand use of the term Spanish for Spanish-speaking. Frustrated Spaniards have asked me, why then isn’t Australian or Irish food called English? And certain Latin American restaurants, especially Puerto Rican and Dominican, seem to like to label themselves “Spanish.” Other Latin American restaurateurs—Mexican, Colombian, Peruvian, Argentinean, etc.—seem more likely to trumpet their particular national identities. But I think it’s not so much reticence to advertise themselves as Puerto Rican or Dominican as it’s a reflection of what works best promotionally within that segment of the population or even an appeal to brotherhood.
Contributing to this confusion is the globalization of certain items. Dishes of likely Spanish origin like gazpacho and empanadas are apt to turn up in Latin American restaurants, while dishes of likely Latin American origin like ceviche and steak chimichurri do sometimes turn up in Spanish restaurants—even those owned by Spaniards. It’s commonplace now for contemporary restaurants to incorporate dishes from other cuisines.
Another factor adding to the confusion is Latin American ownership of some Spanish restaurants. And let’s not kid ourselves—in Connecticut, the restaurant kitchen that is without at least one Latin American cook is the exception, not the rule. I have nothing against people of one background operating or cooking in restaurants of another—otherwise, we would have a pretty dull restaurant scene. For instance, only a couple of Japanese eateries in Connecticut are Japanese-operated. And only about a third of the Spanish restaurants in the Nutmeg State are Spaniard-operated. But whether or not I like those restaurants depends on how well those operators have mastered a cuisine that is foreign to them.
In the case of Bistro Mediterranean & Tapas Bar in East Haven, the management and cooks are Latin American. But the food is pretty authentic because the management has worked in Spaniard-owned restaurants and taken some of that knowledge away. Bistro Mediterranean is a real godsend to East Haven, a town where diversity has been (and continues to be) a serious issue.
What brought me to Bistro Mediterranean was a Riojan wine dinner presented by Carlos Rodriguez of Classic Wines and Grupo Bodegas Olarra.
I have known Carlos a long time, dating back to his days as a manager at Café Pika Tapas (now Ibiza Restaurant) in New Haven. Carlos’ wines are world class, his taste in food impeccable. The first edition of the wine dinner a couple of weeks earlier had sold out—the evening of our visit was a reprise to accommodate those who had been turned away earlier.
As an occasional East Haven resident, I was familiar with the restaurant’s location and curious to see what had been done with it. The last time I had visited the space, it was The Brick House, an undistinguished restaurant with a mostly elderly and blue-collar clientele. As I passed the main dining room on the way to the bar area, it was quickly evident that the interior had been greatly improved.
The large bar area was buzzing with excitement.
My friend Angela and I found Carlos hanging out with one of the two Carreno brothers who own the restaurant.
Soon we had glasses of NV Ondarre Cava Brut Millennium in our hands.
We snagged tapas as they circulated, including tortilla (the traditional Spanish potato and onion omelet, and not a thin Mexican cornmeal used to wrap a savory filling),
boquerones (marinated anchovy fillets),
and chicken and chorizo brochettes.
Then we all adjourned to the rear dining room, the staff working on last minute preparations.
Wine pros took the opportunity to shoot the breeze.
People began to settle into their seats.
I had prearranged for Angela and myself to meet up with a couple of friends made at another Spanish wine dinner.
(Once you start coming to these kinds of events, it can become kind of addictive.) Everyone at our table soon became fast friends.
As anticipation built, Carlos gave the crowd an introduction to the wines to come.
Our first course showcased delicious grilled shrimp over a chickpea purée.
These were accompanied by a 2009 Valserrano Blanco.
Our second course featured grilled monkfish and mussels in a classic salsa verde.
Paired with this wine was a lovely 2006 Cerro Añon Crianza.
Our third course turned out to be lamb ravioli with a mushroom ragoût.
These were served with a delightful 2005 Otoñal Reserva.
Our fourth course was braised beef short ribs in their own jus
married with a gorgeous 2004 Ondarre Reserva.
And our fifth and final course was a chef’s cheese tasting,
which was escorted by an incredible 2004 Summa Reserva.
Throughout the meal, Carlos checked on everyone
and contributed interesting observations about not just the wine but also the food.
Then Carlos introduced the men behind the curtain, Leonardo and Gabriel Carreno.
Passing through the main dining room
after a terrific dining experience, I ran into good friend and New England Culinary Group colleague Jeremy Staub and his mother. I guess great minds do think alike.
Bistro Mediterranean & Tapas Bar, 383 Main Street, East Haven, 203-467-2500, www.bistromediterraneanandtapasbar.com