Address: Level 1, 12 Wyndham St, City Phone: (09) 366 1271 theblackhoof.co.nz
Open Tues-Sat Cuisine: Tapas From the menu: Queso $13, Goat’s cheese croquettas $11, Patatas fritas $9, Ceviche $12, Southland clams $14, Chicharrones crunchy pork $16, Quince & almond tart $12 Drinks: Fully licensed Rating: 8/10
I remember when all the best places to eat and drink in our city were either above or below street level. I'm talking the early 80s here. Character-filled venues lay waiting up or down flights of grungy stairs; they oozed a haphazard charm, inevitable really given they were housed inold buildings, warehouses and basements.
Over the next two to three decades they gradually either moved or disappeared as new developments sprung up, dining "precincts" took over and street frontage became gold. But as I ducked through a narrow doorway the other day I couldn't help but wonder if we are about to see a return of "the hidden gem", given the number of inner-city dining locations that are being tucked into corners long forgotten.
The Black Hoof, in Wyndham St, is one such place. Climb the stairs and you pop up right into the middle of this new tapas restaurant and bar. The exposed brickwork, vaulted ceiling and arched windows make for a warm and welcoming atmosphere. An impressive line-up of jamon iberico - hams, Spanish style - hangs over the bar and I stared in awe at their fat chumps and became mesmerised by their little black hooves. I snapped out of it long enough to wave at my lunch companion and get us settled into the menu, which features charcuterie, cheeses, finger food, tapas and larger plates.
Testament to how well it reads, we dithered with indecision and, not for the first time, I longed for a tapas bar in our city where the plates of colourful food are set out on the counter, as they are in Spain, so that one is able to choose just by pointing at those morsels that tempt you most. But (sigh) I guess our uptight rules and regulations will continue to prohibit this carry-on, so meantime we relied on the fabulous staff at The Black Hoof to paint a vivid picture of each dish.
What better way to warm up our taste buds than a plate of good quality imported Spanish cheese. Idiazabal got our vote, a slightly stronger sheep's milk cheese than manchego, sharp and caramel, and at The Black Hoof they serve their cheeses with a lightly sugared olive oil torta (baked crisp bread) and soft quince paste so we thought we'd died and gone to heaven.
Continuing with the cheese theme, a dish of soft goat cheese croquettas turns up, with each beautiful crisp shell giving way to a tangy, melting centre and the drizzle of honey and toasted marcona almonds making them all the more dreamy.
I can never go past patatas bravas and a bowl of these seemed to disappear rather quickly from our table - we couldn't stop reaching for one more, one more, scooping each chunky fried potato through the gorgeous red pepper sauce and aioli on the way to our mouths.
It was time to move away from the fried stuff with a plate of fresh raw tarakihi, cubed and tossed in preserved lemon and green olives and piled on to crostini, with marigold petals and borage flowers for garnish. It was pretty as a picture but lacked the requisite acidity to make it anything special. Contrast this with a bowl of crunchy pork, which was unattractive to look at but once we tasted the juicy meat and crunched through the crispy crackling we were singing its praises. The simple preparation of fennel seeds, lemon and parsley was all it needed.
The Southland clams on the menu at The Black Hoof. Photo / Dean Purcell.
A steaming bowl of clams with jamon and sherry was a highlight, with the shellfish cooked just until the shells popped open. The plump, glossy cockle flesh was tender, sweet and salty and the juices and broth begged to be mopped up with the help of thick slices of char-grilled bread. Comfort food that's light, juicy and tasty doesn't get better than this.
Tapas are like little vignettes, each dish telling its own delicious short story, and our final "story" was proof you should never judge a book by its cover because when the flat triangle of icing sugar-dusted almond tart arrived we could never have imagined it would be so fragrant with quince and moist beyond belief. It was a happy ending indeed. Had it not been lunchtime, I'd have topped it off with a wee jerez for sure, but I guess that'll have to wait until next time. I can't wait.
