We hopped out of the Uber onto Beech Road. I’d never been to Chorlton before, despite hearing encouraging things about the food and drink scene there. It piqued my interest as soon as my Birkenstock Bostons hit the ground from the car. The street had an atmosphere about it. An atmosphere of reserved excitement, as if it was too cool to showcase emotions.
Our reservation at Bar San Juan was months in the making, which is something that is little known in the restaurant's history. It never used to take reservations, meaning walk-ins only and lots of queues. But since succumbing to the online reservation system, it has been regularly decked out from front to back. I tried time and time again to get a spot in this little unassuming corner that brings the aura of a quaint Spanish tapas bar to South Manchester, albeit I only ever looked at a week or so in advance. Ensuing my brainwave of being proactive and planning ahead, I managed to book a table months in advance and started counting down the days with excitement.
This tapas bar on the corner in Chorlton is well-known to locals and beyond. I’m not here to fill the role of the town crier. I know that (nearly) everyone in the city already knows this place is a diamond but my endeavour to the borough to sample what is rated as some of the finest tapas cuisine in the city was fruitful, inspiring and downright emotional.
I always say that a restaurant is not just about the food served. It’s about the whole atmosphere. It’s about the journey you embark on from approaching the joint to getting your coat before jumping in the taxi to go home. Bar San Juan is a delight. From the bold Spanish colour scheme emblazoned across the exterior to the nostalgically attractive and curious yet charming interior, this restaurant transports you from the rainy Manchester streets to the vibrant and romantic corners of Seville or Valencia. And that’s what a restaurant should do. We sat in a prime position, ecstatic that the bustle of the restaurant was unfolding in front of us throughout the meal. Our backs to the window that looks out onto the street, we had the whole restaurant to bask in and enjoy, something which enhanced the ambience as if we were sat in a theatre watching an orchestra.
We ordered a mixture of our go-to tapas dishes and some more outlandish endeavours that we’ve never had before, not just in a tapas environment but as a whole. Starting off on our main go-to, patatas bravas. It was unlike any other bravas I’ve sampled before. The sauce was separate from the potatoes and was more liquid-like and without ali-oli. I may show some ignorance here but I’m not sure which is the most authentic, to be honest. I would say my palette did miss the contrast between the smoked paprika hints and the cold and sharpness of the garlic ali-oli. That being said, it was good. The calamares were a delight. It’s a dish that is simple to make but can go entirely wrong due to its fine margins. This hit. The batter was light and the seasoning loud. It worked.
The standout dishes though were the monkfish and beef cheek. I picked up a piece of the beef cheek with my obscenely small tapas fork and it fell apart. The tenderness was exceptional and the taste was even better. I’m not an animated person. It takes a lot to get me wanting to jump out of my seat in emotion like I was Jose Mourinho after his Inter Milan team had just scored. The beef cheek did that. As I took my first bite, my body was filled with euphoria. It was slow-cooked in a homemade gravy that was enigmatic, delectable and decisive. It was truly special and probably the best piece of meat (in my memory) that I’ve had at a restaurant. Phenomenal. And as a first-time monkfish sampler, I’ve discovered my new favourite fish.
We’d been for a few drinks beforehand because after all, it was date night. At a bar across the road from the restaurant, I’d already warmed up with some Guinness. So, when we sat down we decided to go with a sharer jug of sangria. Standard stuff, yes, but as a person who’s not a huge advocate of the normally-for-hot-weather wine-based drink, this one was spectacular and actually quite dangerous due to how juice-like it was. A great companion to the food, it’s as if the Spanish had planned it.
I’m definitely a fan of tapas but I wouldn’t rush down to the club shop for the new season’s kit. The best tapas I’ve ever had lies in Hamburg followed closely in second by another joint in Altrincham, my place of residence, and then El Nacional in Barcelona where I first discovered the glory of Catalan bread. Bar San Juan struts confidently as if it was being played by Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman straight to the top of this list. The place is that good. I’m not going to be pushy and constantly suggest you pay a visit but there is a reason why this place is so highly spoken of on such a regular basis. I’m already awaiting a chance to pay another visit, even if all I order is a big jug of sangria and multiple plates of beef cheek.