You wake up. You’re hungry. You want all the delicious, rich, smoky, chorizo-y, bean-y, tomato-y flavours that come from really good tapas. But you want a plateful. Not teeny tiny little plates for sharing with your nearest and dearest.
Go on then, off you trot to Spitjacks in Victoria Park Village.
About as low key and un-pretentious as you could wish for when it’s the weekend and you’ve barely crawled out from under the duvet, Spitjacks delivered to us on this particular occasion 2 platefuls of Huevos Rancheros. Exceedingly good Huevos Rancheros at that too.
An uncommonly generous chorizo sausage plumply nestled in between fresh salsa and black beans whilst baked eggs cooed across the plate at it. The salsa was bright and colourful, the beans (which reassuringly still looked like beans and not like the indefinable brown mush that some places label as such) delivered full on flavour and the rich yellow of the yolks smooshed satisfyingly across it all. Yes. Smooshed. It’s a word…
Mopping up every last smidgen of food with crisp toast and feeling the warmth of spices that were well-handled and not incendiary spread right through you from your taste buds to your fingertips and beyond, this was a Spanish breakfast that tasted authentic but better than that, the whole ambience was one of nonchalant belief in the product – ‘Yeah, we know it tastes good. Yeah it’s no big deal. It’s just what we do.’ Of course no-one actually said that but when the food’s that good, no-one has to…the plates speak for themselves.