Restaurant review: Pepitos, Milford

Pepitos' pan con tomate y yamon. Photo / Doug Sherring

Address: 154 Kitchener Rd, Milford
Ph: 0800 PEPITOS (737486)
Rating:

It was Pepito's second night when we went, but if you think a reviewer had no business being there, I should say that I received two explicit invitations to come.

The place was pleasantly busy with thirsty locals and it's not hard to see why. It's an attractive room, with its long bar on one side and cabinets full of conserves and olive oils on the other. The high tables are made from the tops of wine barrels and the list of Spanish wines, sherries and beers is extensive and attractive. It is very jolly and reminds me of Spain, though there is no sawdust underfoot.

But on the business side of that bar and out on the floor chaos reigned. After sitting at an uncleared table for a while, I inquired of a passing plate-laden waiter whether I was supposed to be ordering at the bar. He slowed briefly from a sprint to a canter to plead with me to do so, which gave the opportunity to have a close-up view of the mayhem.

The young barman whose attention I finally attracted agreed to take my order - only because he could see no alternative, as it seemed to me - but he couldn't find his order pad, so he grabbed a menu and scrawled on the back of it.

They had no sparkling water - Schweppes soda was as good as it got - though he made a magnificent job of pouring a glass of a Valencia tempranillo. But this was the beginning of a headlong downhill ride.

They had pretty much run out of tapas. In a tapas bar. On the second night. Before 7pm. The young chap said with a sickly smile that he would see what he could do about rustling up a selection, and would ferry my order direct to the kitchen.

We were cheered by the prompt arrival of some smoked salmon sprinkled with fresh dill, on a tangy Russian salad, the whole atop good bread grilled with olive oil. But I rather wish we had paced ourselves with the two pieces, since we had some time to wait for anything more.

During this long vigil, a tall, blonde waitress wandered past from time to time, bearing plates and calling things like, "Did anyone order potatoes?". Some of these dishes matched our order, but I was too slow to intercept her. After 20 minutes or so I asked her how our food was coming along and she asked us what we'd ordered.

In the end, three of the five dishes we'd asked for arrived and none was better than adequate, though the place bills chef Serafin Bueno Sanz, whose 38-year CV includes the Savoy and the Meridien in Barcelona, as the best tapas chef in Auckland.

That rustled-up selection, which came towards the end, consisted of two large, dry white anchovies; small greasy chorizos, cold as clay; and rounds of white bread in the Chinese hot bread shop tradition. When I asked about the calamares, I detected a note of defiant triumph in her voice when she said "they've run out".

A later similar request about albondigas (meatballs) was met with "they've got lost; we don't know where they are". I am not making this up. "Should I just pay the bill then?" I asked. She nodded vaguely.

To their credit, they knocked about 10 per cent off the bill (after I'd crossed out the stuff that didn't arrive) and co-owner Jose Luis Fowler said as he took my credit card, "We obviously have a lot to learn". I do not disagree.

Plates: $12.50 to $18

Verdict: Things can only get better