Casa Julián

I have eaten in a lot of dining rooms that try this hard. Casa Julián is one of the few that pulls it off without looking like it is trying.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: tiny Tolosa room, three tables, decades of cooks. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with burrata with peaches and basil, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a heavy California zinfandel, no apologies, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: chuleta of buey, the dish that puts Casa Julián on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. The signature touch — the salt-crusted bone-in rib, charred over coals — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for creamed spinach so rich it should embarrass us and wild mushrooms in butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was the bread pudding with bourbon sauce, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.