Escape to La Plaza

To be brutally frank, I didn't think a whole lot of the food at La Plaza. Much of what we ordered from the el-bog-standardo tapas menu was unavailable - croquetas, empanadas - and most of what we did receive was magnificently pedestrian.

Such as tortilla: all the requisite egg, potato, olive oil constituents whipped into a dense and wholly unremarkable wodge of stodge. Or pimientos de padrón, little green peppers that once in every eight or so bite you viciously with unexpected chilli heat.

These were sad, floppy, over-fried specimens crusted with pickling quantities of rock salt. Zorza - strips of pork fillet in garlic herbs and smoked paprika - was pleasant enough despite its overwhelming greyness.

So why the three stars? Because of first rate pulpo a la gallega: smoky, tender octopus and potatoes doused with good olive oil. Because of superb, frostily chilled Martin Codax albariño, so lush and such good value we accidentally sank two bottles.

Because of dense, chewy bread. But mostly because the place, with its perfunctory decor, clientele of noisy locals and gorgeous, motherly waitresses (hello, Vicky!), felt like Spain. Not glamorous Spain or touristy Spain, but exactly like a tapas bar in suburban Madrid. And as an escape from shopping-frenzied, cold, rainy London, it worked for me.

La Plaza
Tavistock Road, London, W11 1AN