By Virginia Campbell, Food Editor
Tapas is a cult; its followers a henotheistic mob of small-plates-only missionaries.
As of last year, I was not such a pagan. The little tapas that I had dabbled in was full of soggy patatas bravas and little else. It was found in garish faux-Spanish joints with grumbling waiters and exposing lights.
My pilgrimage to Poco Tapas Bar in Bristol’s Stokes Croft was not marred by such apprehensions; the doctrine and dogma of this place was well known to me. Having won a host of sustainability awards since their opening in 2004, I could not feign indifference at their stand-out manifesto. With statements such as “95% to 100% of our waste is composted and recycled” and “our fresh produce is 100% seasonal without exception”, I would defy anyone to.
If the holy breaking of bread existed in this cult, it would be in the form of the locally sourced and unexplainably chewy sourdough bread which accompanied the marrowfat pea, confit garlic and rosemary fava bean purée. And what a holy combination it was: light, creamy, punchy but smooth. If Tesco’s don’t start stocking this soon in huge tubs I’ll be thoroughly disappointed.
We were soon gifted with two towering shrines. One in the form of a roasted apple and pork belly chunk supporting a slab of crackling, the other in the shape of a highly umami bitter-lime, shiitake, carlin pea and squash cold plate. Whilst both towers were, much to my delight, deconstructed promptly, it was the amalgamative tenderness of the pork belly that truly had me converted. The crackling was disappointingly unsalted, but the pork itself: beautiful.
Further confirming my progression into cultdom was the mallard breast with swede purée, pear, braised leek, bacon and a plum red wine jus. The rouge of the mallard spoke of talented cooking, but the true stars of the show were the velvety braised leeks, infused with the sweet and developed jus. I could have eaten a plate of those alone.
To accompany, and in lieu of the aforementioned soggy patatas bravas, some super crunchy (though alas also undersalted) ‘punched potatoes’.
Our final taste of ambrosia came in the form of the honey, saffron and yoghurt panna cotta. Though it was more akin to a standard honeyed Greek yogurt, it was pleasant enough. I should however, sooner become a follower of the savoury sect of this religion.
The ethos was entrancingly good, the prices reasonable, and the food generally rather brilliant. It brought a sacredness and respect to the food that should never be lost. I shall happily follow it through the seasons spreading the word of its teachings.
Photos courtesy of Virginia Campbell
Have you been to Poco Tapas bar? Let us know in the comments below!
