The Pain in Spain

Cafe Barcelona's Catalan cuisine struggles with consistency.

by Elisa Ludwig

NO DICE, RICE: Cafe Barcelona's paella is colorful but disappointing. : Michael T. Regan (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

When Cafe Barcelona opened last year in the quaint, cottage-y building that housed the Garden Gate and Labrador cafes, it raised an interesting question: How can a ladies-who-lunch spot become an evening destination?

Such an identity transformation can be a challenge, particularly without major physical transformation. CB has kept the eclectic charm of the space intact. The entry opens into a salmon-pink seating area with a wooden banquette and a beaded chandelier. A back room with exposed rafters offers a few more tables, and the seating spills out into a picturesque brick-laid patio for outdoor dining. With its hand-painted chairs and mismatched plates, there's a homespun, casual feel to the place, which makes it a refreshing respite from the design-firm slickness of so many area restaurants.

CB has also kept its predecessors' formula of offering daytime fare like warm "bikini" sandwiches, salads and espresso drinks. When the sun goes down, however, the cafe becomes a full-fledged Iberian eatery. A long list of specialty dishes, detailed in both English and Catalan, suggests that the endeavor is quite serious. But awkward service and inconsistent cooking make for a less-than-momentous dining experience.

Tapas are a decidedly mixed bag. This being a BYO, you have to supply your own wine or sherry to wash down the small-plate selections. We found that some of the better tapas were the least ambitious, like cubes of marinated Gruyere cheese tossed with red pepper flakes (though a sharper Manchego would have been a more memorable choice), or cantimpalo chorizo sausage, paprika-pink and grilled to crispness.

Eggplant caviar, a darkened paste spread on toasts, is a simple, wholesome bite, as is the butifarra and samfaina, a mild sauté of sweet sausage slices and olive oil-soaked eggplant, peppers and onions. The availability of lunch salads served after dark changes nightly, but we enjoyed the mesclun mix with crumbles of goat cheese and translucent slices of prosciutto.

In many cases, though, the most traditional items were a few notches short of convincing. Brandade de morue � salt cod mousse flecked with lemon zest � has the fluffy texture and bland greasiness of whipped butter. With its cleaving layers of egg and potato, a lackluster tortilla de patata derives flavor only from a dollop of pesto. Saffron garlic shrimp are served at room temperature in a cazuela, with a swirl of yellowish oil that lacks the garlic-herb punch it ought to have.

The biggest disappointment, however, has to be the paella, an acid-test dish that, when not transcendently delicious, can be utterly unappealing. In the entrée-size Valencia version, a handful of desiccated scallops, a few calamari rings and rubbery shrimp came half-buried in a moist brown mass of medium-grain rice in which any distinguishable notes of tomato, pepper or saffron were blurred; there wasn't a crispy crumb of soccarat in sight.

On another night, an appetizer of equally unremarkable squid ink paella came to the table with a last-minute sprinkling of pesto sauce and a single, paltry ring of calamari. When we inquired about the MIA seafood, our server apologetically brought over a plate of three shrimp and one small whole squid, cooked separately from the rice.

Entrée salvation comes in the form of poultry. There's the luscious, tender duck leg and thigh, roasted to a crisp-skinned climax with caramelized pears and a rich Marcona almond sauce. Catalan chicken arrives free of skin and bone with a cross-hatching of grill marks. Though the stripped-bare breast looks suspiciously joyless, the chicken is actually quite flavorful, enhanced by a cinnamon-spiked tomato sauce and braised peaches with thyme that add gentle sweetness. (On the other hand, the plate could've probably done without the scoop of pureed saffron potatoes that, by taste and texture, seemed to be a few hours shy of fresh.)

Heart-shaped piquillo peppers are available with both vegetarian and crab stuffings as a tapa or entree. We tried the dinner-size seafood version, which was tasty enough, though the delicate crab flavor was overwhelmed by the sweet onion.

Dessert was as uneven as the preceding courses. A caramel flan oozed aromatic burnt sugar syrup, but the custard itself was riddled with air tunnels. A chocolate flan served on a "bed of melted white chocolate" looked unappetizingly lumpen and left a powdery cocoa residue on the tongue. The best of the lot was a mini tower of cloudlike profiteroles filled with whipped cream and doused in a puddle of milk chocolate sauce.

While it would not exactly be fair to compare homey little Cafe Barcelona with the many flashier Spanish restaurants now vying for Philadelphia diners' affections, suffice it to say that this eatery will not be at the top of my speed dial for emergency paella cravings. That being said, should any ladies invite me to lunch, coffee or even a few selective tapas on the patio, I would not say no.

(e_ludwig@citypaper.net)

Cafe Barcelona

6 E. Hartwell Lane215-242-1519www.cafe-barcelona.comHours: Sun.-Thu., 11 a.m.-3 p.m. and 6-9 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 11 a.m.-3 p.m. and 6-10 p.m.Tapas, $5-$9.75; Entrees, $17.50-$22.75BYOB.Credit cards accepted.