Grace and Flavour: Pizarro

I took my father-in-law for dinner at Pizarro in Bermondsey. Simple Spanish cooking delivered in an elegant rustic setting. I’ve heard a legion of good things about Pizarro and its sister sherry and tapas bar José, just a totter along the street, so it seemed a strong choice for Mr Dent Sr. God knows the man needs a treat occasionally simply to numb the awful dismay of finding me, almost a decade ago, glowering down the breakfast table at him, in full Edina Scissorhands mode. Poor soul, I’m sure he was hoping for a Sheherazade Goldsmith type, winsome and fragrant in an Alice Temperley kimono shrug.

Back then, I lived around Bermondsey, pre-José, pre-Pizarro, pre-Zucca, pre-everything remotely glitzy. In fact, one of the best places to socialise at that time was the Tower Bridge Wetherspoon’s, where I always had a paper-thin behavioural borderline between ‘Ugh, I’m in Wetherspoon’s’ and ‘Jesus Christ! Look how much drink you can get for a tenner! I’ll have a triple Knob Creek and Coke, a pint of Amstel and some Nobby’s Nuts, and keep them coming, barman, I’ll be on the Bandit!’ I rented a flat, which, although vaguely pretty inside, felt like Rampton Secure Hospital on the corridor stroll to the front door. Bermondsey, then, was a spicy blend of salt-of-the-earth indigenous types, bored Italians in Puffa jackets searching for the Crown Jewels, and crackheads, some of whom broke into my flat’s loft and set up a squat. ‘I’ve got crackheads… in my roof, they’re up there eating Dixie chicken, I can hear ’em,’ I’d sigh to colleagues, caught up in a sort of nightmarish version of The Borrowers.

I’m sure this rich mix still exists in Bermondsey, but it’s certainly been glittered over by the glam wand. Pizarro on Sunday evenings is a seductively lit, serene vision of foodie London, with José Pizarro himself bashing pans around, plating up and generally channelling ‘intense’ in the open kitchen. Pizarro has a no-reservation policy on Sundays, which, for once, seemed to make perfect sense as the clientele had the feel of eager-to-be-spoilt, good-natured food groupies, not stiff parties strong-armed into being there. Maybe the no-reservation thing is a good idea after all. Maybe I was wrong. No, it can’t be that.

Pizarro was one of the nicest dining experiences I’ve had in London for a while. We ordered simple, grilled sardines, which arrived with heads and tails still attached, laid out like a delicious Tom and Jerry prop. Pizarro does soothing, enormously fresh, native Spanish cooking, delivered with love and the odd visit from José, who helicopters around the room, chitchatting to diners. Another starter arrived, chicken livers with Fino sherry, caramelised onions and tiny gherkins, rich and remarkable, but my favourite opener was the small succulent stew of lentils, Jerusalem artichokes, almonds and truffle oil. I could eat lentils until they poured from my ears. They take me back to ‘Carlin Sunday’ as a child in North West England when my gran stewed pigeon peas, which we scoffed with a ‘jus’ of Sarson’s vinegar. (Cooking doesn’t get more Northern than this.)

The mains were a blur of fun: a luscious grilled sea bass arrived with broad beans, peas and chorizo. The lamb with white beans and pancetta was a comforting soupish bowl of tender meat with a handful of fresh, firm beans to soak up the juices. The puddings were intensely good. ‘Strawberries with milk chocolate ice cream’ sounds nothing much written down, but then you meet the aforementioned strawberries, flecked with minuscule specks of fresh mint, in a bowl of exemplary milk chocolate ice cream that is so far from that Neapolitan brown guff I ate as a kid, it’s simply a different foodstuff. And the Tarta de Santiago with cinnamon ice cream did a fine job of mopping up two glasses of Fino La Panesa Especial.

In the taxi home my father-in-law was treated to another great London tradition, Heart FM honking out Foreigner’s ‘I Wanna Know What Love is’ and the mournful face of a taxi driver waiting for its chorus to set off a singsong. Just like Pizarro’s menu, the simplest things are always the most fun.

Pizarro, 194 Bermondsey Street, SE1 (020 7378 9455)