Adios, Carlitos
Pay
Per Person Special Set Menu €21 A load of shared tapas courses, beer and half a bottle of Protos €18
Gratis: Magnum Moment, Patatas Bravas, Licor de hierbas
Basics
Location
In short
Hopes?That maybe things have got back to how they were.
First Impressions? It's very busy. And the waiters call out greetings across the room.
A USP? Location, location, location.
The food in three words? Past its best.
Can they get the staff? Never once had a problem, They trust their regulars. Terrific.
Service with a smile? After several years going, it's service with a handshake and first name greeting. It really doesn't get better than this. An entire bottle of wine was binned and glasses changed without question or comment.
Would you take your friends? They take me. I'd not bring anyone from out of town, sad to say.
Rating for a dating? Not on your nelly.
Tip? Always, for genuine friendly service.
If you could change one thing, what would it be? You don't know what you've got till it's gone.
Going back? Almost certainly, but only, for now, because it is where it is.
The Whole Story
Oh Cantalejo, where do we begin?
Once you were a real restaurant of choice. Handy for football fans of a certain persuasion and offering genuinely good authentic Madrid food. This was - and remains - where the boys and girls in very dark blue stop for a coffee or two.
Let's not lie, it was nothing out of this world or spectacular. But it was pretty good value, well-portioned and utterly reliable. As often as not, the only person in the room whose native language wasn't Madrid was me. And, occasionally, a large and indisputably Scottish Atletico in an unquestionable kilt.
But, in words that echo down from the '80s, Now, those days are gone.
Something happened two years ago and saw the heart torn out of the kitchen. And the kitchen is the heart of the restaurant, isn't it? You're dead right, by the way. That sounds like bloody awful poetry. Or an especially hopeless Lady Antebellum lyric [1] .But sod that, it happens to be true.
Lovely plates of prawns and langoustines turned into little brochettes with a splodgette of mayo or deeply-fried deep-frozen spring rolls. Huge cuts of fresh fish shrank to half the size. The options on the set menu turned more basic. The garnishes went from two elements down to one. Everything simply felt cheaper, which is made worse when the price stays the same. And sad when you know how it had been before.
It's not all bad. The sauce on those bravas probably isn't homemade but it works a treat on a chilly day. A plate of meats 'n' cheese was consistently full-flavoured. The entrecot tasted great and was seasoned right. But huevos rotos with huge, thick bits of ham? Not ideal. Deep-fried morcilla that felt reheated? Not great at all. Would you expect your one pimento de padrón with your prawn brochettes to be stone cold? Too many things seem pre-prepared and warmed up. Maybe there aren't enough hands in the kitchen to handle the demand.
I fear for the place when the football crowd, who fill it up before and after games 30-plus times per year, decamp to the frozen wastes of the East next Autumn. One place up the road looks already to have closed in anticipation of The Great Trek.
I'll be sad for the top-notch and incredibly amiable waiting staff. I shall miss Carlitos and his unerring ability to deploy a giant wodge of Pudding! [2] at a moment's notice. I shall miss the extremely generous dose of decent licor de hierbas.
All things change. Apparently, they have to. Sir Terry Pratchett [3] said so, and we're in no position to argue with him. It's always going to be a shame Cantalejo changed, even if it had to. But now, for us, the end is near. I do hope, for them, it won't be the final curtain.
[1] Grease is the soul of the kitchen? Do me a favour, lads. Grease is the word. Obviously. Cuh!
[2] Here at h:m central we distinguish that yellow wobbly sliced flan-like stuff from any other type of dessert by making clear it's Pudding! Pronounce it as if you're saying Surprise! and you're there.
[3] There's nothing to see here. But Sir Terry's memory deserves a moment of all our time, we think.
Pay
Per Person Special Set Menu €21 A load of shared tapas courses, beer and half a bottle of Protos €18
Gratis: Magnum Moment, Patatas Bravas, Licor de hierbas
Location
In short
Hopes?That maybe things have got back to how they were.
First Impressions? It's very busy. And the waiters call out greetings across the room.
A USP? Location, location, location.
The food in three words? Past its best.
Can they get the staff? Never once had a problem, They trust their regulars. Terrific.
Service with a smile? After several years going, it's service with a handshake and first name greeting. It really doesn't get better than this. An entire bottle of wine was binned and glasses changed without question or comment.
Would you take your friends? They take me. I'd not bring anyone from out of town, sad to say.
Rating for a dating? Not on your nelly.
Tip? Always, for genuine friendly service.
If you could change one thing, what would it be? You don't know what you've got till it's gone.
Going back? Almost certainly, but only, for now, because it is where it is.
The Whole Story
Oh Cantalejo, where do we begin?
Once you were a real restaurant of choice. Handy for football fans of a certain persuasion and offering genuinely good authentic Madrid food. This was - and remains - where the boys and girls in very dark blue stop for a coffee or two.
Let's not lie, it was nothing out of this world or spectacular. But it was pretty good value, well-portioned and utterly reliable. As often as not, the only person in the room whose native language wasn't Madrid was me. And, occasionally, a large and indisputably Scottish Atletico in an unquestionable kilt.
But, in words that echo down from the '80s, Now, those days are gone.
Something happened two years ago and saw the heart torn out of the kitchen. And the kitchen is the heart of the restaurant, isn't it? You're dead right, by the way. That sounds like bloody awful poetry. Or an especially hopeless Lady Antebellum lyric [1] .But sod that, it happens to be true.
Lovely plates of prawns and langoustines turned into little brochettes with a splodgette of mayo or deeply-fried deep-frozen spring rolls. Huge cuts of fresh fish shrank to half the size. The options on the set menu turned more basic. The garnishes went from two elements down to one. Everything simply felt cheaper, which is made worse when the price stays the same. And sad when you know how it had been before.
It's not all bad. The sauce on those bravas probably isn't homemade but it works a treat on a chilly day. A plate of meats 'n' cheese was consistently full-flavoured. The entrecot tasted great and was seasoned right. But huevos rotos with huge, thick bits of ham? Not ideal. Deep-fried morcilla that felt reheated? Not great at all. Would you expect your one pimento de padrón with your prawn brochettes to be stone cold? Too many things seem pre-prepared and warmed up. Maybe there aren't enough hands in the kitchen to handle the demand.
I fear for the place when the football crowd, who fill it up before and after games 30-plus times per year, decamp to the frozen wastes of the East next Autumn. One place up the road looks already to have closed in anticipation of The Great Trek.
I'll be sad for the top-notch and incredibly amiable waiting staff. I shall miss Carlitos and his unerring ability to deploy a giant wodge of Pudding! [2] at a moment's notice. I shall miss the extremely generous dose of decent licor de hierbas.
 |
| El Pato Patricio was not harmed in the taking of this photo or the making of this lunch. |
[1] Grease is the soul of the kitchen? Do me a favour, lads. Grease is the word. Obviously. Cuh!
[2] Here at h:m central we distinguish that yellow wobbly sliced flan-like stuff from any other type of dessert by making clear it's Pudding! Pronounce it as if you're saying Surprise! and you're there.
[3] There's nothing to see here. But Sir Terry's memory deserves a moment of all our time, we think.