El Capricho

Walking into El Capricho for the first time is a small piece of theatre, and that is before any food has arrived.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: village cave dining room you have to drive to find. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with bone marrow with a small salad of capers and parsley, 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: chuletón of retired oxen, the dish that puts El Capricho on every short list. There was a thumb of butter melting into the cross-hatch, and a single sprig of thyme on top, and not one thing more. The signature touch — José Gordón's animals, raised to old age — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

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

Dessert was crème brûlée with a proper glass crust, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

It is not cheap. It is, in this case, worth it.