I’ve often had cause to lament restaurants being in obscure out-of-the-way locations; I still shudder to think of a visit to Nuno Mendes’ first London restaurant, Bacchus, back in 2006, when it was in a pre-gentrified Hoxton and dragons still roamed the streets. The new Spanish restaurant, Lobos, has almost the opposite problem. Situated as it is underneath the railway bridge at the top of Borough High Street, it lurks unprepossessingly just by the great foodie Mecca that is Borough Market, and could well be ignored by passers-by struggling to get to London Bridge, or beyond. This would be a mistake.
I arrive slightly early for lunch, and Larry has already established himself in a snug corner banquette. It’s a tiny space – no more than a few dozen covers over a ground floor tapas bar and a first floor restaurant – but it’s slick and stylish, with judicious use of copper panelling that gives it a timeless feel. Only the occasional rattle of trains overhead reminds one that you’re in a busy part of central London, rather than some Spanish getaway. Larry has taken a glass of beer, I notice. I shrug, and in the spirit of ‘if you can’t beat ‘em’, join him before perusing the menu.
‘Lobos’ means ‘wolf’, and there’s a lupine theme to much of the establishment; the universally friendly and charming staff wear T-shirts with legends like ‘Instinct’ and ‘Captured’, and a menacing inscription on the front door states ‘Meat & Tapas – the wolf is only evil if you listen to Red Riding Hood’. As neither Larry nor I have had any particular inclinations to fairytale gimmicks, we were more interested in the meat and tapas. In this, we were not to be disappointed.
The menu divides itself up into ‘appetizers’, ‘tapas’, ‘meat’ and ‘desserts’. If you’re a vegetarian, there are a few options for you, although if you don’t like cheese or potatoes you’re likely to be sunk. But then this isn’t designed for non-carnivorous types, instead setting its cap firmly at those who like to eat animals. Given that I’ve always been in the market for a variety of meat-based delights, this is music to my ears. I’ve deliberately turned up in hungry-like-wolf mode, and I am not to be disappointed.
We kick off with the usual; iberico ham, pan con tomate and almonds. In fact, none of this is business as usual. The ham is sensationally good, just the right mixture of fat and lean, and, wrapped round the almonds as we’re advised to do, it becomes something sensational. Accompanied with a glass of Manzanilla sherry, it’s so good that the rest of the meal threatens to become an anti-climax straight away. I glance over at Larry, who has adopted a beneficent expression of immense wellbeing. Nothing, it seems, can possibly go wrong in our cocoon of excellence.
And it doesn’t. The tapas are top-notch, the selection of sea food perfectly cooked and presented (especially the squid), and an unusual dish of deep-fried marinated dogfish is a proper treat. Ironically, the item that we both routinely order as a ‘control’ in any Spanish restaurant, the croquetas, is the least interesting thing that we have, and it’s still top-notch. But this is all a spot of thigh-flashing compared to the grand consummation of the main course, which is described, accurately, as ‘meat: straight to the point’ on the menu. In the first case, everyone has to order the iberico pork selection. Accurately known as the fillet steak of pig, the Presa Iberica is something very, very good indeed. We fall upon it in our most lupine fashion, only to be assuaged by the presence of a rib eye steak smothered with foie gras. This is not food for the faint-hearted. We’re especially delighted with the manager’s suggestion of a Urugayan Cabernet Sauvignon. Beefy yet subtle, like Channing Tatum in a bid to win an Oscar, it’s a suitably gutsy accompaniment to everything that we chew, munch and devour.
There are puddings. We glance conspiratorially at one another, as if in tacit admission that to eat them is a step too far, and go for it anyway. ‘Tell me that there are only 100 calories in this’, pleads Larry, as a divine dulce de leche cheesecake appears before him. The waitress smiles. ‘Believe that if you want to.’ It’s gorgeous, all the same, as is a double chocolate and pistachio cake. This is serious food for serious people, and surprisingly inexpensive for the quality of what it is; it would be perfectly possible to come here, have three courses and wine, and not spend more than £30 a head, a welcome economy of scale barely practiced elsewhere.
We leave like a pair of spies, looking guiltily around London Bridge in case anyone has seen us in our gluttonous antics. Thankfully, our reputations remain intact, along with our belts. Larry nods, sternly. ‘That was very good indeed.’ I can’t disagree with the great man, and scurry off from Borough High Street, replete and perhaps just a little more lupine.
Lobos, 14 Borough High Street, SE1. For more information, visit www.lobostapas.co.uk.
