Sunday lunch at Asador 44, Cardiff

On August 17, 2024 by The Plate Licked Clean

Well, this is long overdue.

The local lack of anything like a traditional Spanish Sunday lunch has long bothered me.

I don’t get that peculiarly British insistence on the Sunday roast. I don’t have that emotional connection to them that many do, that strangely predictable appetite for the same thing every Sunday, world without end, amen.

I’m puzzled by the demand which means pretty much every mainstream restaurant feels obliged to provide a version, however unrelated to their day to day menus. Weekday creativity gives way to ‘Oh well, I suppose we have to…’

But its absence here at Asador 44 has always struck me as an opportunity missed.

Because if there’s anywhere in Cardiff I’d expect to do something more in tune with how Spanish families might eat on a Sunday, it’s here.

Thankfully, that has changed with the arrival of their new Sunday sharing rice dishes, and I can’t remember a Cardiff menu I’ve anticipated so keenly.

As soon as I get wind of the new menu I’m counting the days: then, I’m kindly invited into the kitchen for head chef Paul Bainbridge to talk me through the cooking process, to watch his assured touch with the flames and to try the new dishes alongside managers across the group. Over the glaring heat of that parilla he layers each cast iron pan with sofrito, rice and stock, while the seafood (a mix of English and Spanish) and beef cook separately. The beef? Welsh-reared ex-dairy animals, very much in that modish Spanish vein, with their bones and fat making for a sumptuous stock to be ladled on to the base.

It comes together beautifully, though an impromptu photo shoot (the rice: not me, mercifully) upstairs on the Parador 44 terrace means there’s little time to savour. The full sobremesa will have to wait.

They’re all I wanted them to be. Let’s do it properly, though, I say to Jake of the highly recommended Burnt Basque blog as I tell him about the trial session. We come back a few weeks later.

I suppose what makes me so happy to see this is that elusive thing. ‘Authenticity.’ This won’t be a British roast with a Spanish accent, but a full-throated evocation of how many Spanish families eat together on a Sunday. An explicit presentation of food for sharing.

It’s how we eat as a family, after all. It’s how my aunts and uncles would feed me in Valladolid or Madrid or León, plates groaning with fat prawns to be torn apart and alioli-anointed; or garlicky chuletillas of very young lamb with huge bowls of salad streaked with red peppers, tangily dressed: or hake cutlets cooked on the bone, cut two fingers thick, dredged through seasoned flour and pan-fried arriving. The sense of plenty, of sharing, with busy hands across the table and several simultaneous conversations. Dig in, there’s always plenty, it’ll all get eaten.

And of course, famously across the country, there’s always la paella. And it’s about time, too.

I dare say it’s a risk. The very first response on Facebook when the change was announced was, ‘When will you be bringing roasts back?’

Tough gig, changing hearts and minds round here. So, full disclosure: I’m writing this to make the case for you giving it a go, one Sunday. For stepping away from the gravy and the Yorkshires. Just once.

And now you can skip the next few paragraphs if you’re not as fascinated by this stuff as I am. I wouldn’t blame you. This stuff is in my blood: I dont have the option. Skip to the bit about when we came back for lunch. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?

My respect for what they do here runs deep. There’s an admirable commitment to bringing excellent ingredients together. Not just in this change of menu, but in the lengths they go to to ensure it is as good as it can be.

It’s there in their olives- the best I’ve had, anywhere, these fat, briny Gordals. All others disappoint, somehow, and they have been a fixture here since owners Owen and Tom worked the 2013 harvest alongside Aceitunas Losada outside Sevilla. Not all Gordals are created equal: they are graded on size, run to just sixty per kilo, and then they are marinated in extra virgin oil, lemon peel, parsley and black pepper. Many menus’ effort extends to opening a tin from Perelló- good though they are- and decanting. It’s things like this which make the difference.

Their oil, too: they have been working with OMED, one of the world’s leading producers, for a decade, and blending their own ’44 Rama’ for nearly 6 years now; and lately they bottle their own manzanilla sherry and other wines from a unique blend of grapes produced in Ribeiro.

It’s in the choice of shellfish, whether it’s a seasonal British catch from Devon and Cornwall, or via Andalucia’s renowned Hispamare, who have grown from third generation fishermen to suppliers of prized carabineros, Huelvan gambas blancas, camarónes and more to some of Spain’s most renowned kitchens.

And of course, for the job in hand, it starts with the rice, and the distinctive scarlet and gold-embossed cloth sacks of Molino Roca ‘Dinamita‘. Aged for up to three years before release, and similar to the more familiar Bomba, but prized for its high absorption rate while keeping its shape and bite, this is what you’ll find in three star Michelin kitchens across Spain. It’s used by David Muñoz, Aponiente’s Ángel León and many more: and if someone nicknamed ‘El Chef del Mar‘ is using your rice for his seafood paella, you’re probably doing something right.

It is the passion project of Eduardo ‘Edu’ Torres- a controversial figure to some, with his refusal to belong to the local Arròs de València designation of origin (DO), a fourth generation family producer whose company was founded by his greatl-great-grandfather José Roca in 1903.

He does things his way, thank you very much, and that’s how it will stay, jealously safeguarding the integrity and origins of this rice (‘I refuse to reveal the seed because when it is harvested on a large scale it will degenerate into something else. Why don’t I reveal it? Because I don’t feel like it!’) with the magnificently truculent, ‘When Coca-Cola releases the formula I will say where ‘Bombita’ comes from…We pay our farmers well, 30% above the usual daily wages, we guarantee fair trade and we sell the most expensive rice in Spain.’

Well, that’s you told. It’s somehow absolutely on-brand to hear the man himself came to Bar 44 Bristol recently to demonstrate modern Spanish rice cookery and its nuances. It’s part of what makes this place remarkable, I believe: the time and effort- and, of course, cost- invested in marrying excellent Spanish produce, with the best of Wales. What’s just as important, is that the head chefs, with their sous chefs and teams- as well as front of house- are immersed in this mentality too, with time well spent with boots on the ground, meeting producers in the UK and in Spain.

You know what? You don’t don’t need to know any of this. I can’t expect you to be as nerdily invested in this stuff as I am.

Where were we? Ah yes. The meal ‘proper’.

Two choices, £30 a head. We have both, of course, with superb peppers from the flames (the same Piquillo de Losada you’ll find at Asador Etxebarri and Casa Julián) and a refreshing salad of Romaine, walnut, apple and truffled Manchego.

The idea of a knife is laughable- you could cut this ox cheek beef with a withering glance- and it’s essentially a larger version of the arroz which has never left weekday menus and which was my favourite meat dish of the year in 2023. You probably already know how good it is: it is nothing less than a local classic.

The other rice is remarkable, too. That stock, the heart of the thing, has patient days’ worth of flavour- heads, shells- for impressive heft, and alioli made by dipping a glowing ember from the grill into Rama 44 olive oil before emulsifying. It’s chock full of baby squid, mussels, prawns- you know the deal by now, suck the head or you’re dead to me- the rice toasted to a lightly crisp, browned soccarat base, with plenty of bite. It’s deftly done. It’s exciting, evocative stuff. I have waited years for this.

It’s a format with potential, of course. A larger version with the confit duck and XO from past à la carte menus must surely be inevitable. In essence though, these rices are a lovely addition to your Sunday options. They capture that sense of generosity. No, don’t need to be this nerdily invested in the detail to enjoy these new Sundays at Asador: but you might like to know that what you eat is grounded in diligence. Attention to detail.

A benign obsession, if you will.

So. Please. Pretty please. Por favor, Cardiff. Your Sunday roast ritual can wait a week. Can’t it?

14-15 Quay St., Cardiff CF10 1EA

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