Theatrics at Barrafina

I once spent a glorious, golden autumn in Madrid. It's Europe's highest capital - which is why the air is so pure and clear and it's fixed in my memory like crystal. The skies always seemed to be ice blue and the leaves crunched underfoot like fragile bronze as I walked the city's many parks.

But it was the Spanish way of life that so tantalised me. Lunch was a feast eaten between two and four, followed by a siesta (necessary during the high heat of summer but a decadent pleasure in cooler weather).

I would sometimes spend mine dozing in the Cine Ideal, with its amazing Art Nouveau windows and quirky art-house films. And in the evenings I would stroll southwards to the edgy district of La Latina, with its cobbled alleys and undiscovered squares to sample the most delicious tapas I've ever eaten.

Tapas are rapidly gaining popularity in London: currently, there are Spanish restaurants springing up faster than high-rise hotels in Benidorm. Barrafina is located in gorgeous, bustling Soho, and so I took a trip there to see whether the idea works.

It certainly looks like an authentic tapas bar, with its semicircular high bar directly overlooking the food being cooked. I was told by phone that they don't take bookings and that if I arrived after six I would have to queue.

This is usually a PR ruse to get the punters packed in early, but for once it was true. From six o'clock onwards, people begin to line the back of the tiny room and this is the first glaring difference with tapas English-style - in Spain you're still in the shower at six. There, you go out to eat at eleven, which is exactly when this place shuts.

There are a lot of staff crowded behind the counter and everyone was being very theatrical. It was fun to watch. Giant prawns were being hurled onto flames. Olive oil was swirled over just about everything by a chef with the dexterity of a cocktail worker.

An expressionless girl with a mop stood circling the same small space of floor, looking like she should be starring in an avant-garde film. The two most attractive waiters were flirting. And a lovely person kept watch over the entire performance, bringing order from chaos.

We started with gambas al ajillo (garlic prawns) and chips. The prawns were OK - though not garlicky enough for my taste. The chips were good (though not as rustically cut as they should be) and flavoured with sea salt and thyme. They came with a piquant brava sauce that was very dippable.

The menu is written in an odd combination of both languages - pisto with duck egg (though there were no duck eggs when I was there, only hen); coca with spinach, pine nuts and sultanas (this looked better than it tasted).