Las Ramblas

Reviewed by Jennifer Chiesa

If you’ve been to Barcelona, then you undoubtedly get the connection between the name of the Hotel Contessa’s pan-Latin restaurant, Las Ramblas, and the Spanish boulevard from which the name is derived. For those who haven’t had the opportunity, La Rambla is one of those lively tree-lined promenades, dotted with cozy cafes and colorful market stalls, that cut through the heart of so many European cities. And Las Ramblas succeeds in conjuring up the famous pedestrian mall, from its enlivened touches of Gaudi architecture and Picasso prints, to the tapas and paella, which pays homage to goat herders and fishermen alike.

Originally, this most famous "street" in Barcelona was a riverbed, so the idea that Las Ramblas sits right on the River Walk seems rather fitting. Of course, La Rambla is also pickpocket central, and here, thank goodness, the similarity ends. Because the Alamo City’s Las Ramblas is both bueno and barato—leaving your wallet rather more intact than you might expect after enjoying a first-class meal.

On my first visit to Las Ramblas, I really wasn’t that interested in having a big meal, after what had amounted to weeks of continuous holiday overindulgence. But publishing deadlines wait for no man or reviewer, so it was a "now or never" proposition. Then there was the parking dilemma—park elsewhere or pay $15 for valet at the hotel. With almost every lot in the downtown vicinity full and our reservation time at hand, my daughter and I jumped out of the car at a traffic light and ran to the hotel, while my value-minded husband mustered on alone to find parking. So it was in this fairly frazzled state of mind that our family kicked off what turned out to be one of the most enjoyable meals we’ve had all year.

Tucked away underneath the hotel like a sweet little secret, Las Ramblas is immediately warm and inviting. Perhaps it was the soft lighting, or the view through the windows onto the river with the sun fading over Marriage Island, or the way the waiter brought us a sample of the mussel chowder right away when we simply asked if he could recommend it—but I could almost feel my blood pressure lowering. Then again, it may have been the wine, which is available by bottle, glass or my personal favorite, the three-ounce splash. With a juicy Chilean Cab in hand, and lively conversation flowing, we turned to the matter of ordering dinner, and I had the fleeting thought that even if the food was lousy (which it most certainly is not), I might just be too relaxed to care.

There’s nothing like looking at a menu and saying, "I’ll take one of everything," but with the tapas, or small plate concept, that’s exactly what you get to do. And at Las Ramblas—you’ll actually want to, as executive chef Brian West has a way of coaxing big but balanced flavors out of smaller bites. West has helmed the kitchen at the hotel since last July, but he’s no newcomer to the culinary scene, having previously owned and operated highly acclaimed restaurant Cafe Paladar on the Northside. The most surprising thing, then, about Las Ramblas’ small plates isn’t that they’re excellent, but that they’re—gasp—large. We’re talking portions that other restaurants call entrees—you’ll have enough to share even your favorites with a friend or three.

We started with an earthy, warm goat cheese ($6) that came topped with a savory sofrito and slivered almonds, with crunchy grilled bread with enough nooks and crannies to soak it all up. A nice plate of tangerine-marinated Spanish olives ($5) had just the right nod to citrus, and arrived with more sliced bread, to go with the complimentary bread and herbed EVOO (extra virgin olive oil to the uninitiated) each table receives. (At least we didn’t have to ask for more bread.) A Semolina-dusted calamari ($8) with a sparingly applied gremolata medley of chopped parsley, garlic and lemon zest arrived nicely crisp, with two dipping sauces—an herbal aioli and a more traditional chunky roasted tomato sauce—and delicious fried basil on top for good measure. And cider braised pork spareribs ($8) got the royal treatment with a spicy house chili rub and apple cider barbeque sauce, then a dab of sweet red onion marmalade kicking it up yet another notch.

As standout after standout arrived, we began to perceive a little problem with our plan to finish the evening off by splitting one of the entrees, which we could see on tables around us, were rather generous. So we cried "Uncle"—or rather, "Uncle, and bring us the dessert menu, please." And you should do the same. A cajeta goat cheese cake ($6) —West does like him some goat—was a nice spin on the classic, with a warm cajeta, dulche de leche’s more complex cousin, doing the saucy honors in this version. And a housemade ice cream ($3.75) with chunky bits of cherry was creamy sweet-tart heaven.

A later visit, in which we avoided the siren song of tapas, and moved straight into entrees, showed that West’s way with fowl and fruit, in both the Cornish game hen with chorizo bread pudding and pomegranate reduction ($19) and the duck breast with cranberry goat cheese sweet potato gratin and blood orange ($19) is spot on. But as good as the entrees were, there’s just something transportive about those fantastic small plates. These made for sharing little mini-meals and their novel tastes lead naturally to lingering over wine and the sharing of both food and conversation. What more could you really ask for?