Francisco cooks and serves out of a building along the Calle Virgin del Rosario, just across from the noteworthy La Tana wine bar. (We were introduced to both by Marta Sanchez of Bite Granada.) La Oliva’s sign suggests a public venue, and its interior tells the tale of a former olive oil shop, but today it’s a very private domain. There are no menus, most of the views to the street are screened and you won’t get in without making arrangements in advance.
This is not a restaurant and Francisco is not a chef. Most of the food is assembled on a counter next to the table and the hot stuff comes off a burner closer to a camping stove than a professional range. Rather than getting formal, multi-layered courses ... for example a main of protein, starch, two veg and sauce on one plate ... you’ll get a progression of small dishes with just one thing in them. A single meatball with a bit of sauce. A generous spoon of the new season’s broad (fava) beans. There’s no high end presentation here. It’s the simple dishing up of the home cook.
And that’s the beauty of it. An evening at La Oliva feels like you’ve been invited into the home of a local who’s turning out his cupboards to give you as many tastes of local specialties as they’ll yield, all with running commentary.
You're a guest, and payment is simply a sordid little inconvenience at the end. And even that is unconventional. You’re presented with an envelope and invited to slip in whatever cash you feel would be appropriate for the evening. Francisco let us know in advance that the value of what he was serving would be at least €40 in a restaurant; what we left was up to us. Given that this was our last night in Spain, this was a better experience than our most expensive meal (e85 at Mirador de Morayma, discussed below), and we drank a lot of Francisco’s wine, we contributed far over his base cost.
I assume every evening will be different at La Oliva, depending on what’s in the market that day and how many people have booked in advance. There were five of us (the girls’ trip four plus one adventurous lone traveller) and the menu was surprisingly vegetal for Spain, reflecting the lush abundance of the local spring harvest. We’d lost count, and notes had become sketchy, by the time we were nursing our Pedro Ximénez, but photos attest to at least a dozen rounds of tasting flowing across the table before us. With wines starting with a dry sherry, progressing through white and rose before big reds and that final glass of sweet stuff. Abstemious diners should steer clear.
In line with tradition, we’d started with a range of charcuterie, olives, fresh bread and three types of olive oil. Francisco certainly knows his olive lore, explaining that there are 263 acknowledged varieties and so many different ways of preserving and pressing them that the variety of consumables to emerge at the end of the production process is almost infinite. Certainly the three oils he poured for dipping were radically different. Pigeon and mushroom pates followed.
As we started to move into first course territory, there was a pair of prawns on wilted spinach, a deliciously innovative mix of salt cod, radish and spring onion dolloped on orange slices and drizzled with olive oil, cod in saffron sauce and a dish of quickly pan-fried fresh asparagus tossed with olive oil, crushed almonds and lemon rind. I was so pleased to have the last; watching beautiful two-kilo bunches of pinkie-thick stalks being piled high in the markets earlier in the trip was the one time I'd had the urge to use our flat's kitchen. I will definitely be trying this flavour combo at home when English asparagus comes into season; in at least another month.
Next was a bit of tuna lightly fried with herbs, then a small bowl of chickpeas with onions and green
pepper in a few spoonfuls of broth, then broad beans with onions. If this had been a "proper" restaurant I'd have said too much repetition on the fish and the pulses, but in this environment it was instructive of what the locals would do with seasonal produce, so bring it on. And if this is representative of what the Spanish eat at home, then it was far lighter on the meat than your average restaurant meal. Our only taste was the aforementioned meatball. Two simple sweets followed: a bowl of macerated strawberries and a plate of fried pastries and biscuits a bit like Italian cantucci.
If you have only had one or two nights in Granada, I'd recommend a regular restaurant. But if you have more, this is a memorable alternative that gives you a distinctive local twist. Here are some other local dining options.
Mirador de Morayma Disappointing. My visit with my husband a year ago was magical, the service memorable and the food magnificent. It was almost a different restaurant this time. It took four contacts starting months in advance to get them to acknowledge my reservation (that should have been a clue), they didn't acknowledge me as anything but a walk-in despite the advance planning and my positive blog article, we were tucked in a poky upstairs room, the service was shoddy (the private event downstairs was clearly consuming all the attention), and we think we were probably charged for a bottle of wine we didn't consume (but recognised that we were tipsy enough that we didn't have the credibility to argue the bill. Most shocking was the emergence of two solomilio (beef tenderloin) well done when we'd asked for them medium rare. I didn't think it was even possible for a blood-loving Spaniard to cook meat that thoroughly. All we could think of is that they'd heard American accents and decided to cook meat the way they thought Americans liked to eat it. It's one of the few times in my life I've sent a dish back to the kitchen. It took so long for fresh steak to come out that the other half of our party had finished their mains, and though done properly this time it wasn't warm.
The starters had been much more successful, including a lush plate of jamon Iberico and wild boar croquetas. As it had been last year, the suckling pig was a triumph, and had we all gone for that we would have been happier diners. I'd still recommend Morayma, but only if you can sit in its romantic gardens with their incredible views, and only if you have the pig.
La Vinoteca did manage to live up to last year's positive review. The almost-secret dining room behind the front bar still mixes classics and seasonal specials in a cool, modern interior. Plates edge towards fine dining presentation but at moderate prices. Squid, octopus and pork (below) were all memorable here, as was a decadent ... but totally un-Spanish ... chocolate brownie dessert. Good regional wine list.
Churrería Alhambra Cafeteria Chocolatería proves that looks can be deceiving. This spot on the southwestern corner of the Bib Rambla looks about as touristy as it is possible to be, complete with "pizzeria" emblazoned on its awnings. But according to tour guide Marta Sanchez, they make the best churros in Granada. Naturally, we had to test that claim. And though we have no other Granadan examples for comparison, they were certainly the best any of us had ever had. Crisp, light, flavourful batons of fried dough, curving gently on the plate and served with a coffee cup of dark chocolate sauce. On its own, this chocolate was unpleasantly bitter. When used as a dip for the churros, however, the bitterness melds with the pastry's sweet to bring flavours into perfect balance. If we hadn't fallen so deeply in love with Pasteleria Lopez-Mezquita, we would have returned here for future breakfasts. So many pastry shops, so little time...
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