Thirty years ago, my predecessor had to explain the concept of tapas at a new restaurant on Seventh Street NW, and a young chef who would go on to become a household name used humor to get diners to eat them as they were intended.
“The crux of the fare is tapas — small plates of savories, meant as snacks to accompany sherry … but appropriate to make a meal” at Jaleo, a fresh face in Washington’s old downtown, wrote Phyllis C. Richman, The Post’s esteemed restaurant critic, in 1993.
José Andrés recalls that some customers resisted the idea of sharing small plates, per custom in the chef’s native Spain. “When the waiter puts a dish in the center of the table and you want it yourself, just move it in front of you,” the chef says he coached diners.
Now? Small plates are as common as service fees, gazpacho is within easy reach at Whole Foods, and Andrés is known as much for his humanitarian work as his restaurant empire. Sharing food still has its detractors, but most of us at least know the drill.
First-timers to Jaleo might be overwhelmed by all the choices. What look like glossy books in the waiters’ arms are actually menus, hefty enough to count as a workout and pretty much an encyclopedia of tapas alone. If you can’t find something to eat here, you’re just playing hard to get. There’s fabled Iberico ham, sliced so thin you can read through it, for dedicated meat eaters; enough salads to allow you to eat a different one every day of the week; fried items for the fast-food crowd; fancy stuff to demonstrate the top chef’s evolution; and a handful of large plates, paella included.
How might the big cheese tackle the list? Asking Andrés for a top pick is like asking him to name a favorite daughter, but he considers three tapas to be crucial to the heart of Jaleo. One is gazpacho — thin, creamy, stinging with vinegar and poured from a flask into a bowl of minced cucumbers and green peppers at the table. The recipe for the liquid salad comes courtesy of Andrés’s wife, Patricia “Tichi” Fernández de la Cruz, who adds a touch of sherry to round out the flavors. Another signature is garlic shrimp: pearly seafood sauteed with slivers of the stinking rose and chile de arbol in fruity olive oil, served with bread that gets a workout in the glorious “sauce.” The sly heat makes the dish. Even simpler, but just as sublime, is airy-crisp pan de cristal imported from Barcelona and slathered with crushed beefsteak tomato. So much joy from just two ingredients! (Well, three if you count the pinch of salt.)
My admittedly long cheat sheet would also embrace piping hot chicken croquettes and springy little pork patties, shaped from the trimmings of Iberico ham and sandwiched with caramelized onions, piquillo pepper and aioli in a toasted brioche bun. Hamburgers, meet your match. For contrast, you’ll also want to try sliced apple and fennel tossed with diced manchego cheese — a refreshing pause between the hot or rich tapas — and white beans strewn over crushed tomato and finished with a black spiral of pureed olives, a plate so enticing a friend called it “a fiesta!” Dinner is always better when it starts with a cocktail and ends with something sweet. Green lights go to the Adonis, dark and nutty with aged sherry, and arroz con leche, crisped with caramelized rice and bright with lemon syrup and zest. Visit on a Wednesday, and you get half off the price of any bottle of wine — a nice surprise when the check arrives.
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The tapa that best captures the chef’s culinary journey gathers his “old” and “new” olives. The former are traditional green olives stuffed with anchovy, red pepper and orange zest — model hors d’oeuvres. The latter give diners a taste of the molecular gastronomy Andrés expounds on at the futuristic Minibar, also in Penn Quarter. Nestled in spoons, one per diner, the jiggly green spheres go liquid in your mouth, an exquisite rush of pure olive flavor.
A long line of talented chefs has kept Jaleo in check since its inception. The current caretaker is Ramón Martínez, who oversees all five locations in the United States and Dubai. Andrés is quick to thank longtime staff for the original restaurant’s consistency, naming names as he hands out verbal bouquets during a telephone interview. Sous-chefs Maria Montes, Elmer Trejos and Secundino Gonzalez — “the heart and soul and spirit” of the restaurant, says Martínez — have been with Jaleo almost from the start. I have to think the trio is behind the reliable runny egg in the Spanish tortilla, the ever-silky potatoes supporting chunks of chorizo, the consistent beauty of the aforementioned white bean salad.
Jaleo translates to “racket” in Spanish — the good kind, says Martínez, who compares the sound to that of your neighbors enjoying a spirited party. Inside and out, Jaleo delivers on the promise. The sidewalk facing the back of the Kimpton Hotel Monaco is arranged with 90 seats. Walking by them evokes a stroll on La Rambla, the famous pedestrian street in Barcelona. Indoors, the sight of dozens of people passing plates in a dining room whose decor mixes ropes, murals of falling people and a masked bull head — hello, Dalí! — is as stimulating as a triple espresso. Even the restrooms are fun. I won’t spoil it for anyone who hasn’t visited, but suffice it to say, you’ll have an audience in the loo.
From time to time, some readers have questioned my praise for Jaleo, a habit of mine since I traded the West Coast for the Right Coast and where I’m likely to sit at the raised bar. “You’re recognized there!” naysayers have challenged me. It’s true. No matter whose name I use to reserve a table, I typically get tagged within minutes of being seated, although I did manage to fly under the radar on one of several visits recently with the help of a slight disguise. (I landed behind a column in a cramped nook up front.) Because I’m a known entity there, though, I make even more of an effort to see how other customers are being treated. Those strolls around the room aren’t necessarily restroom trips.
Anyway, being known doesn’t necessarily shield a critic from the same problems strangers might encounter. I could have used a fly swatter one night, as waves of servers attempted to snatch plates before we were done with them. And not all tapas are created equal. I love the patatas bravas — most of the time, when the fried potatoes don’t taste like yesterday’s leftovers. An encounter with the paella scattered with Romano beans, chicken and rabbit left me unmoved by its muted performance. Where’s the desired socarrat, or light crust, on the bottom of the rice? Maybe the paella is better in Las Vegas, Orlando and Dubai, where the Jaleos cook the rice dish over wood-burning fires. My second rendezvous with the Spanish classic, strewn with sauteed chicken and mushrooms, delivered more savor from the stock-swollen grains.
That said, having grazed at some of the competition in recent weeks, I can tell you the cooking at Jaleo is superior to that at Boqueria nearby, gracious as the service is, and Joselito Casa de Comidas on the Hill, whose black-and-white dining room nevertheless embodies timeless charm.
“Jaleo is a machine, a very well run one,” texted a food pal who dropped by recently and raved about the spicy chorizo wrapped in fried potato — possibly the world’s best pig-in-a-blanket. It’s a sentiment I hear from a lot of trusted sources, and especially high praise given the 600 or so covers Jaleo juggles every day, not to mention the pull of so many good new places to eat in Washington.
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Back in 1993, my predecessor devoted four paragraphs to all the reasons she might use Jaleo: to unwind with friends on Friday night, as a quick weekday lunch spot, to feed the family, for a snack before or after a show or a birthday celebration. “I wouldn’t tire of Jaleo easily,” Richman told readers.
Thirty years later, I can only nod in agreement and marvel at the stalwart’s endurance. Three decades is a long time to throw a party.
Jaleo by José Andrés
480 Seventh St. NW. 202-628-7949. jaleo.com. Open for indoor and outdoor dining, delivery and takeout 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Monday, 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. Tuesday through Thursday, 11 a.m. to midnight Friday, 10 a.m. to midnight Saturday, 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Sunday. Prices: small plates $5 to $22, paella and steak $56 to $90. Sound check: 77 decibels/Must speak with raised voice. Accessibility: The entrance is two sets of doors; ADA-compliant restrooms.
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