It’s funny how something that seemed to lay dormant in the past can suddenly resurface and start haunting you. It was a fleeting moment of passion on a torrid June afternoon that forced me to succumb to my most primal instincts. In the process, I wrecked somebody’s heart; someone that religiously adheres to the “eye for an eye” philosophy.
This evening I dined with the provocative woman who started it all, and ironically, the only person who can put a stop to Lucio’s thirst for vengeance.
Che Culo looks like an elegant warehouse with teak floors, tall, vaulted ceilings and a simple, minimalist décor. Embedded into the walls are stylish dining booths that run along the entire West side with seats strategically placed under tall arches. There is a warm and refined light that fills the spacious building, imbuing it with charm; I know she will feel at home right away.
Outside on the exotic lush terrace a woman of merciless, sophisticated beauty sits on a low wooden bench; her exposed, sensuous shoulders bathe in the timid light of an early moon. It has been a year and a half since I saw her last. She drinks a classy espresso martini ($4.5). I sit next to her and, defying the most basic notions of Spanish virility, order a senoritas delight ($4.5). Both cocktails are perfectly concocted. Mine is fruity, delicious, and as its name suggests, stereotypically girly.
The menu is simple and small, which scores a point in my book. The “share plates” (all the dishes mentioned below) are $5.50, while the “specials” (e.g. lamb kofta spoons with yoghurt) are $7. The sides, like patatas bravas, are $3.
We give the cheerful and obliging Australian waitress carte blanche to impress us. She starts with a wooden slate board lined with three different dips and supple pita chips: the beetroot dip has an earthy, subtle taste; the pumpkin with feta cheese is creamy and downright irresistible; the eggplant, with garlic and Kampot pepper, is zesty and aromatic.
Next, the waitress brings zucchini and feta fritters. The tomato and onion sauce (“bravas sauce”, according to the menu) is spicy and flavorful, a perfect complement to the tender and juicy pieces of fried zucchini.
Lastly, we are presented with a clay pot of pork and beef meatballs with a thick tomato sauce. We both agree, this is our least favourite dish. It is good, but unlike the other plates, it lacks creativity and it is perhaps a bit bland.
That being said, Che Culo runs pretty smoothly for its first day; the food and service we enjoyed was, for the most part, of unmistakable quality. I predict that after the initial chaos subsides, this little tapas spot will become a favourite of many expats, including myself.
“Last summer you ruined his life,” my dining companion abruptly states matter-of-factly. She slowly raises her gaze from her cocktail and pierces my soul with a burning glance.
“You also ruined mine.”
To be continued…
Che Culo, Street 302, #6B.