"They plant in the diner's mind an awareness of being a body in space, amid the warmth and rhythm of other bodies. Bartolo, a Madrid-inspired restaurant that opened, in the West Village, at the end of July, is one such spot. It occupies a double storefront a half step down from street level, comprising three small rooms: a tiny bar area, golden and warm, and two dining areas, one with forest-green leather banquettes and the other with oxblood-red ones."
"This type of spot was not a regional showcase, like the chef Alex Raij's Txikito, or Ernesto's, the Basque restaurant on the Lower East Side run by Ryan Bartlow. Nor was it a looser Spain-inspired joint, like Cervo's. Instead, it was a truly and properly and even a bit generically Spanish restaurant, offering big hunks of meat; ruby shavings of jamón iberico; little dishes of dressed vegetables; gloppy ensaladilla rusa, that baffling yet compelling Spanish-potato-salad staple; and soupy rice gloriously brackish with shrimp-shell fumé."
Bartolo occupies a double storefront half a step below street level, organized into three small rooms: a tiny golden bar and two dining areas with forest-green and oxblood-red leather banquettes. Each room's painted beamed ceilings and basement-low proportions create a snug, Old-World atmosphere that feels established. Neighborhood Spanish restaurants have declined in recent years, leaving a few survivors. Bartolo follows a classic Spanish-restaurant template, serving big hunks of meat, jamón ibérico shavings, dressed vegetable plates, gloppy ensaladilla rusa, and soupy, gloriously brackish rice with shrimp-shell fumé.
Read at The New Yorker
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