A favourite with Mayfair's Spanish community and converts to the new Iberian cause, El Pirata may not be as trendy as some of the young tapas upstarts in the capital, but it does the business by offering speedy service, authentic flavours and very fair prices into the bargain (note the set lunch deal for around a tenner). Staples such as albondigas, kidneys in sherry, grilled sardines and patatas bravas are supplemented by more enterprising daily specials including grilled pressa (shoulder of Iberian pork) or chicken breast wrapped in serrano ham with capers and Albariño jus – perfect with a bottle of Mahou beer, a tot of sherry, or something from the well-spread Spanish wine list. Eat in the lively ground-floor room surrounded by mirrors and Picasso prints, or bag a table outside when the weather's kind.
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TwelvePointFivePercent :: El Pirata, Mayfair
With the exceptions of 'literally' and 'gourmet', I can think of few words more liberally abused than 'tapas'. With the not-unwelcome advent a few years ago of the 'small plates' concept came an entirely unwelcome side-effect, the rebranding of small plates of any cuisine as 'tapas'. Thus we have seen 'Italian tapas' (actually cicheti), 'Asian tapas' (at the appallingly-named Tapasia, among others), even Norfolk tapas (for which I have at least to give the guys at The Pigs 10/10 for originality). When a while ago I received a press release vaunting a restaurant's new 'Spanish tapas' offering my Tautology Klaxon went off so violently that my ears have only just stopped ringing...
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