First and foremost, which restaurant doesn’t present at least a general menu to their customers? Even 3-Star Michelin restaurants (where the food is at times beyond our wildest imagination) have at least some sort of a menu. While this place seems like a higher end local restaurant, the food is average at best. We tried the tuna with the tomatoes which was nothing special but at least fair in price. The squid had a wonderful flavor, it was grilled to perfection and the size was more than adequate for two people. The croquettes were tiny and we have certainly tasted better ones in other parts of Spain before. My wife and I ended up sharing an entrecôte steak for our main course. It was around 400 grams and it came with a lot of fries. The flavor of the meat was nothing spectacular, but the potatoes were delicious. We finished our dinner with a chocolate cake and merengue flavored ice cream. The ice cream complimented the texture of the cake so we were both happy with this tasty pairing. Now came the surprise. The total bill for everything was 90 euros. They charged 3.50 for a glass of average rose wine and 4 euros for a glass of red wine, not mention 2.50 for potato chips and another 2.50 for bread that is usually complimentary in most restaurants. My wife and I are avid restaurant goers and we just spent last weekend in Santander. For the same amount and much higher quality food, we ended up paying around 70-75 euros there. Even here in Valencia, there are places like Cinnamon across the street where you can get better quality meals for about half the price. The worst part is that we couldn’t finish our steak so we decided to take it home. After arriving at our place, we discovered that they didn’t give us the potatoes that came with the meat. They charge 38 euros for the dish and then forget to include the side. What a joke! The people who claim El Venterro to be the best restaurant in Valencia don’t understand the essence of good food. The service is good and the place has it charm, but the quality is far from great. I would even give it a second try for lunch, but I’ll probably take my money...
Read moreI was taken here by a local Valeciano, because he felt it was a classic Spanish restaurant. He was right. The food was no different, in name, than any joint in town. However, the quality was leagues ahead of their brethren.
We had a grilled artichoke that was delicately sliced and cooked to a savory al dente that makes my mouth water just describing it.
I had a piece of Dorado that the chef respected sufficiently to allow its natural flavor to lead. It's refreshing when a culinary pro doesn't feel the need to riff.
The service was also outstanding. Attentive, but not oppressive. This is great special occasion place, even if that occasion is that you long for traditional Spanish cuisine done with...
Read moreEn El Ventorro no hay cobertura, pero oye, mejor: así nadie puede localizarte mientras te zampas un arroz a precio de rescate. Total, lo pagan los contribuyentes, y si hay que recortar prevención, servicios públicos o refugios para la próxima DANA, pues se recortan. Porque prioridades, cari: primero el chuletón del político, luego ya si eso las alarmas de emergencia.
El silencio es la guarnición oficial. Si algo va mal, aquí se calla todo el mundo, no sea que se estropee el sainete de los negocios oscuros que se cuecen entre copa de vino y puro barato. Es como una misa laica del enchufismo: todos calladitos, miradas al suelo y a brindar.
La decoración es digna de boda rancia de los 90, los camareros parecen extras de un pleno municipal y la sobremesa tiene la misma transparencia que una adjudicación a dedo. Lo más “gourmet” que encontrarás es el mutismo cómplice: ni el mejor alioli tapa el sabor a chanchullo.
Y por supuesto, no podía faltar la estampa: Mazón aquí, bien sentado, el mismo día que la DANA arrasaba media Comunidad Valenciana. Mientras fuera se ahogaban los vecinos, dentro se brindaba con Rioja. Eso sí, sin cobertura, para que no haya pruebas de semejante numerito.
El Ventorro no es un restaurante: es un capítulo de Aquí no hay quien viva financiado por tus impuestos. Un cabaret de poder sin lentejuelas, un karaoke de chanchulleo con barra...
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