Paco Tapas, Lower Guinea Street: 'Food this good should be protected at all costs'
Eight years on, Paco Tapas remains one of Bristol's best restaurants
Other than putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, the best thing one can do to improve one’s writing is to read. Reading is everything, and I like to read everything. I will often have four or five books on the go at once, an eclectic mix of fiction and non-fiction. At the moment, the scales are tipped far too heavily in favour of non fiction. Wim Hoff, Jay Rayner, AA Gill, various books on feminism and a collection of Taylor Swift quotes, of course.
As you might expect, I read a lot about food. AA Gill makes me laugh the most, but I’m not sure how much I would’ve liked him as a person. I’m eternally grateful for the existence of Jay Rayner’s Wasted Calories and Ruined Nights, which steadfastly defends the importance of a bad review. Grace Dent is the most endearing and gives me hope that a northerner with no trust fund or private education can make it as a food critic.
And then, of course, there is world-class writer and international woman of mystery Marina O’Loughlin. I have put Marina on quite the pedestal; the view must be terrific. I do hope she’s enjoying it up there.
I promise this is a restaurant review and not a reading list. I wanted to start with Marina specifically, because it has been almost exactly seven years since she reviewed Paco Tapas. I aspire to reach Marina’s levels of artistry, and in its eighth year of existence the Spanish bolthole from the Sanchez-Iglesias family continues to be an experience that others in hospitality can also aspire to.
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It has been five years since I was last embraced in the exemplary cuddle of Paco’s croquetas (£4.5 each) and a lot has changed; having now incorporated the remnants of the family’s dough-based venture Pi Shop, Paco has at least doubled in size. The moody black walls now ensconce tall tables in three rooms.
I’m in two minds about this expansion - on the one hand, great, more people get to experience Paco Tapas. But then I’m also a spoilt child reluctant to share their toys; I want it all to myself. It’s the duroc pork ribs (2 for £20), brushed with beef fat that cements it. I’m afraid I lean firmly towards the latter sentiment. Food this good should be protected at all costs and only people who are prepared to fight tooth and nail should be allowed a table.
The chefs at Paco are thoughtful enough to garnish their excellent olive oil with handsome hunks of bread (£7) for mopping. Assiduity is demonstrated with every dish, torched cauliflower (£12) surrounded by the creamiest moat of liquid manchego makes me want to barbecue in the depths of winter. Further demonstrated by the purple sprouting brocolli (£8.5), brassicas are always improved with fire, a lesson I learnt when I blowtorched my sprouts for Christmas this year and unlocked a whole new level of flavour and familial stress.
Two gigantic, exquisite gambas al ajillo (£19) are served with some rather bland little rolls of cloth, and then there’s a stretch of sliced Cornish lamb rump (£38), pink and wearing a light blanket of flawlessly rendered fat.
Many, including the otherwise lovely man I was sharing the table with, would call me insane for this opinion but I have never found a patatas bravas that I thought was a good use of potato. It just doesn’t do it for me. But even I have to admit that the patatas bravas at Paco (£8) are among the best out there.
So there we have it. Eight years on, Paco Tapas is just as good as ever. But you already knew that, didn’t you? So book a table. They’ve got loads. As Marina wrote, it “whisks me straight to a summer’s day in Sanlúcar de Barrameda” which we could all do with in January, and Marina is never wrong. Now, back to my book. Which one was I reading again?
Words and photos by Meg Houghton-Gilmour
Paco Tapas, 3a The General, Lower Guinea Street, BS1 6FU