Stunning.
Gorgeous food, incredible service, wonderful location, decent prices. What more do you want?
Bastards. Bastards-bastards-bastards - how do they do it? :)
Here you are, lost in what could be package-deal hell courtesy of your travel agent, in the middle of a town that probably didn't even exist five years ago (don't you love desalination?). Three meals in, you may ask yourself (as Talking Heads would say): well, how the **** do I get decent fresh fish on an island where you can't seem to find a fishmonger? The answer is easy: go to a restaurant, and make sure it's Marabu.
The location should tickle your fancy: imagine a sunken little oasis, with palm trees and sails (yes, sails) sheltering you from the wind and the occasional rain, candles everywhere and background music that manages to be unobtrusive. Add in professional staff, who simply know they are good, and will bring stunning food to your table with effortless ease and grace - and don't even seem to resent the deplorable Spanish I'm inflicting on them. Now brace yourself.
Two signs that never lie: the bread is good (warm, crusty white rolls and some impossibly fluffy rye) and the house wine is even better. Spanish black pudding (cillo? something like that - sorry!) was wonderfully moist and deep, complimented by elusive spices, but was only a teaser compared to the calamari: that one can easily turn rubbery if you leave it too long in the pan - not so here, with a huge chunk, crisp and delicately golden on the outside, firm just enough in the flesh, striking a pose next to the unavoidable potatoes and mojo. Except for once they were subtle and pleasant.
The whole experience was so humbling in its authenticity in the taste department I had to challenge them to another evening. They won again, with the snap of the fingers of a flamenco dancer that will have you crawling on a bed of broken glass just for a smile. I'm used to fish soup being a rich, thick, lumpen affair, akin to a poor man's delight. Of course they turned it into a smooth, light, almost broth-like base, with morsels of fish and seafood lolling about in a light whiff of peppers and saffron.
It was almost a meal in itself already, but fresh rabbit followed. Oddly enough, the meat manages to remain firm but comes off the bone easily, releasing impeccable tastes that soak up the gravy. At that point, morituri the salutant, you might as well order dessert and die smiling. Crema catalaña masquerades long enough as the usual crème brulée, then, just as you're defenseless in front of its smoothness, whacks you over the head with an unexpected caramel whip that transmogrifies into an orange finish. You have been warned. :)
If you've been a good customer, Muncho will let you fondle him and possibly tickle his tummy. If you're really lucky and reside not too far away, he will even visit you later on that evening. It is for you to you find out (at your own risk) if Muncho is the household cat or that impossibly charming waiter.
In my experience, count 40 euros for a three course meal with (at least) three large glasses of house wine. Time of visit: March 2013, i.e. low season. read more
