If a restaurant was a colour, this would be beige
Pro It looks nice.
Con It's not very good.
Pay
€€€
Per Person €25-30. Starter, main, shared dessert, caña, bottle of ribera. El tenedor discount may be available,
Gratis: Absolutely nothing.
Find
Website Link, with annoying virus-like pop-ups.
Access Step free.
In Short
Hopes? A nice lunch.
Reality? A deeply dull lunch.
First Impressions? An interesting space that needs more plants.
A USP? The space. It's like eating in Muy Mucho.
The food in three words? Very, very dull.
Can they get the staff? Several blokes. No delays.
Service with a smile? Not entirely competent.
Friend friendly? You could navigate a V-friendly meal.
Rating for dating? If you want an anecdote starting "we got together in a place we both thought was rubbish", choose this.
Tip? Not a chance.
Change one thing? The price. Really muy mucho.
Going back? No.
Compare & Contrast
More superficialities at Perrachica.
In Pictures
On Google Images
What's the story?
Chula offers one of the least inspiring - without being actively bad - experiences we've had.
English is rich in expressions for it. All mouth and no trousers. Emperor's New Clothes. Another one involving furcoats and nethergarments we'll leave you to google. Chula is, sadly, colloquial English in culinary form.
It looks good. It plays well in photos. It's not actively bad. But it's not trying and bored us rotten.
Patatas Chula. Two sauces, one spicy-sweet in a creamy way and the other creamy in a garlicky way. A good portion of potatoes, but this didn't really feel homemade. And the sauces suit January, not June. Not bad with a few beers, though.
And so today's burst of synonyms.
Ready class? Pablo! Julio! Stop doing that to that wasp. Pay attention at the back!
Today's class is on words that mean confusion.
Bewilderment began with asymmetric main courses. As I gazed at a small but well cooked fish fillet, the waiters managed to turn out the wrong burger from a sum total of two options. A decent portion of frozen chops on the side, it towered impressively with fried egg, bacon and many of the usual suspects hanging on in there bravely like a dozen kids trying to convince themselves clinging on to a bouncy castle is fun.
It might be about as much fun as this lunch, as here comes befuddlement. A giant burger, medium done perfectly correctly, is falling over itself on the table. And we have to ask about sauces? They're not just not on the table, aside from a sole, lonely bottle of ketchup, they're still round the corner in Carrefour. Ketchup always looks perkier with mustard and mayo for company, don't you think?
My doubts about the service weren't being helped. The garnish for my pretty and well-cooked little fish was, it appeared, late. Not just delayed, there was no sign of it whatsoever. Bemusement began, but turned into something like the slow airport realisation that, not only has your suitcase not appeared after your flight but, sinking feeling, the baggage conveyor is grinding to a squeeky halt.
It turned out I'd not even got a bag to wait for, hence distraction. The garnish wasn't lost in transit. It had never taken off. It hadn't even got as far as tutting at the add-ons on the website. There was no garnish. 150g of fish and some buerre blanc was the whole package. For €16. Ten cents a gram, roughly.
And so to dessert and the rewarding prospect of never coming here again getting nearer by the minute. Apple tatin seemed a reasonable bet, not least as after my fish dish I was peckish. As peckish as a horse, that is.
And the tatin wasn't bad, size-wise. A generous portion, some decent ice-cream, nice chunks of apple. About the right size for two to share. As you can see it was served...by Roger Federer on centre court most likely, as it arrived battered and heartbroken. Perhaps a metaphor for the chef's fractured dreams, love life or possibly wrist as it looked as if it was plated by someone with an arm in a sling. Presentation was not going to need synonyms to praise it to the hills. Exit, praise, pursued to the hills by the bare truth: it looked like someone had aimed to miss the plate and failed.
There were no freebies. Not even a few early olives. No bread for the potatoes or fish sauces. None of the wines we asked about were available "we've just changed the winelis" appeared to mean "we don't have anything." No-one spotted I dropped a fork on the floor or offered to change it.
So that's it. If you're after anything other than a plate of saucy spuds and some beers, please try somewhere else.
Wait here for the pithy pay off.
It'll arrive with the fish garnish.
Pro It looks nice.
Con It's not very good.
Pay
€€€
Per Person €25-30. Starter, main, shared dessert, caña, bottle of ribera. El tenedor discount may be available,
Gratis: Absolutely nothing.
Find
Website Link, with annoying virus-like pop-ups.
Access Step free.
In Short
Hopes? A nice lunch.
Reality? A deeply dull lunch.
First Impressions? An interesting space that needs more plants.
A USP? The space. It's like eating in Muy Mucho.
The food in three words? Very, very dull.
Can they get the staff? Several blokes. No delays.
Service with a smile? Not entirely competent.
Friend friendly? You could navigate a V-friendly meal.
Rating for dating? If you want an anecdote starting "we got together in a place we both thought was rubbish", choose this.
Tip? Not a chance.
Change one thing? The price. Really muy mucho.
Going back? No.
Compare & Contrast
More superficialities at Perrachica.
In Pictures
On Google Images
What's the story?
Chula offers one of the least inspiring - without being actively bad - experiences we've had.
English is rich in expressions for it. All mouth and no trousers. Emperor's New Clothes. Another one involving furcoats and nethergarments we'll leave you to google. Chula is, sadly, colloquial English in culinary form.
It looks good. It plays well in photos. It's not actively bad. But it's not trying and bored us rotten.
Patatas Chula. Two sauces, one spicy-sweet in a creamy way and the other creamy in a garlicky way. A good portion of potatoes, but this didn't really feel homemade. And the sauces suit January, not June. Not bad with a few beers, though.
And so today's burst of synonyms.
Ready class? Pablo! Julio! Stop doing that to that wasp. Pay attention at the back!
Today's class is on words that mean confusion.
Bewilderment began with asymmetric main courses. As I gazed at a small but well cooked fish fillet, the waiters managed to turn out the wrong burger from a sum total of two options. A decent portion of frozen chops on the side, it towered impressively with fried egg, bacon and many of the usual suspects hanging on in there bravely like a dozen kids trying to convince themselves clinging on to a bouncy castle is fun.
It might be about as much fun as this lunch, as here comes befuddlement. A giant burger, medium done perfectly correctly, is falling over itself on the table. And we have to ask about sauces? They're not just not on the table, aside from a sole, lonely bottle of ketchup, they're still round the corner in Carrefour. Ketchup always looks perkier with mustard and mayo for company, don't you think?
My doubts about the service weren't being helped. The garnish for my pretty and well-cooked little fish was, it appeared, late. Not just delayed, there was no sign of it whatsoever. Bemusement began, but turned into something like the slow airport realisation that, not only has your suitcase not appeared after your flight but, sinking feeling, the baggage conveyor is grinding to a squeeky halt.
It turned out I'd not even got a bag to wait for, hence distraction. The garnish wasn't lost in transit. It had never taken off. It hadn't even got as far as tutting at the add-ons on the website. There was no garnish. 150g of fish and some buerre blanc was the whole package. For €16. Ten cents a gram, roughly.
And so to dessert and the rewarding prospect of never coming here again getting nearer by the minute. Apple tatin seemed a reasonable bet, not least as after my fish dish I was peckish. As peckish as a horse, that is.
And the tatin wasn't bad, size-wise. A generous portion, some decent ice-cream, nice chunks of apple. About the right size for two to share. As you can see it was served...by Roger Federer on centre court most likely, as it arrived battered and heartbroken. Perhaps a metaphor for the chef's fractured dreams, love life or possibly wrist as it looked as if it was plated by someone with an arm in a sling. Presentation was not going to need synonyms to praise it to the hills. Exit, praise, pursued to the hills by the bare truth: it looked like someone had aimed to miss the plate and failed.
There were no freebies. Not even a few early olives. No bread for the potatoes or fish sauces. None of the wines we asked about were available "we've just changed the winelis" appeared to mean "we don't have anything." No-one spotted I dropped a fork on the floor or offered to change it.
So that's it. If you're after anything other than a plate of saucy spuds and some beers, please try somewhere else.
Wait here for the pithy pay off.
It'll arrive with the fish garnish.