REVIEW | Nueve, Didsbury

SPANISH restaurants aren't like The Magic Bus. Yet.

For a moment, he imagined himself in an ‘I’m a Celebrity’ bushtucker trial

Although they are well on their way to getting there numbers-wise. To understand and know about the Magic bus, you need to have either been a student in Manchester, or gone skint in Manchester. It was the latter for The Fat One, having gone spectacularly bust in 2002, finding himself with a cheque for £1.00 from a a failed internet star called Knowledge Management Software. It should have been £26 million, but something called 'the crash' happened.

Hey ho.

So, a bedsit in Fallowfield, a daughter paying his electric bill and a bouncing cheque paying the initial rental deposit found Gordo standing at the bus stop near Hardy’s Well pub trying to understand how to ‘catch a bus’.

He caught The Magic Bus. There’s thousands of the buggers. And it was only a quid.

The others were £2.30. Fatty, not looking forward to several months of being unable to afford a pint, did his sums. Twelve trips a week meant a saving of £15.60. That meant five pints of bitter on a Friday night, paid for out of the bus allowance carefully doled out by his parsimonious daughter, who was punishing him for the electric bill and treating her mother badly.

That, and a further £9.20 saved by walking twice a week, meant that for a six month period she could never figure out how the hell Gordo was suffering from a massive hangover on Saturday morning.

It could be said that Spanish restaurants are a bit like The Magic Bus. It took Gordo years, with little knowledge of them, to come around, yet today they are all over the bloody place and he’s a true convert. There’s always room for a new one. 

Which is why Gordo nearly had a little wee on his way home to Didsbury when he spotted a new one, next to Axons the butchers, called (a little unimaginatively) Nueve, looking all shiny and new.

Gordo walked up on a Sunday afternoon to check it out and give you lot the news.

Plato de Jamon Espanol

Was it going to be as good as San Juan in Chorlton? Or indeed better? And don’t forget Iberica, Tapeo, El Gato Negro, Lunya, La Vina and La Bandera; all worthy of our Mancunian dosh.

So, with his tail up, The Fat One walks into the very nicely fitted out space that has apparently been derelict for ages. Wooden floors, post industrial fittings, exposed brick work leads to a nice gaff, with young but well trained and very motivated front of house staff.

Sitting down and calling for an espresso, a bottle of fizzy water and a look at the wine list was where things started to go astray.

No fizzy water. Blimey. Ok, tap water. The coffee arrives like dish water. Let's not get too downhearted. Gordo is looking forward to a well chosen list of Spanish wines; they are now his favourites.

The drinks list falls open on the cocktail list:

PORN STAR MARTINI (£7.50).

Porn fucking Star Martini?

BAKEWELL FIZZ (£7.50)

Yes, it’s… ‘a boozy mix of amaretto, cherries and cava that is our take on a Bakewell tart”.

Tapas Paella Valenciana

Estofado de Cerdo

Gordo started to feel ill. This cocktail list is lazy. Totally bloody lazy. It got worse. The wine (non-Cava) list has thirteen bottles on it: five white, two rose and five reds. Six were from Spain. The rest came from France, Portugal, Chile, Argentina and err, France. It’s as though someone had built a wine list by begging from the neighbours.

The Ayrum, Tempranillo Tinto, Valdepanas (sic) was £5.25 for a 250 ml glass. It was weaker than Popeye’s girlfriend, acidic, shallow and totally lacking in the traditional masculinity of it’s grape variety.

The rest were just as shifty. Lets get through the food.

Calamares Fritos (£4.00) were, well, ok. They didn't taste of much, but didn't spit in Gordo’s eye.

The Plato de Jamon Espanol (£4.90) looked like they had been bought in packets from a supermarket. They tasted like it too. The bread they came with was stale, but ok for dipping in the Estofado de Cerdo (£4.50), ’best British lamb stewed in rich broth packed full of Spanish spices’. Hmm. This dish wasn't too bad, actually, bit too much paprika, mind you.

Tapas Paella, the Valenciana (£4.90) had mussels, chicken and chorizo in it. Gordo recommends the chicken, give the chorizo a miss, it’s a bit like Dot Cotton’s son, Nick - just plain nasty. The seafood is fresh enough.

Tortilla

Calamares a la Parrilla

Then the Calamares a la Parrilla, grilled squid finished with salt and lemon (£4.00). Gordo isn't sure where to start. It's the tube, cut like a hasselback roast potato. It quivered, all slimy and white, having had some strange clear herb and garlic dipping sauce dribbled on, which slid off by the time it got to Gordo's lips. Then, The Fat One found himself with something foul in his mouth. For a moment, he imagined himself in an ‘I’m a Celebrity’ bushtucker trial. This squid had never seen a grill. The top was luke warm, the bottom cold. Indeed, it was raw. It may well have been simply thrown into the microwave turned to the wrong setting. It had stuck to the plate.

It’s astonishing that anyone would open a place like this, with a decent investment in the building and interior, to serve such appalling food. Have these people never visited their competition? Set foot in Spain? Drunk a brilliant Madrileño gin and tonic? Tasted pinchos in the Plaza de Santa Ana? Tapas in Bilbao? Grilled crabs fresh out of the harbour in Andalucia?

There is little, if anything, to redeem this place. Gordo has no idea who owns it, but can confirm that not one member of the front of house team is Spanish, and, if the chef is, they ought to be ashamed of themselves.

Nueve, 9 Barlow Moor Rd, Didsbury M20 9NT. Tel: 0161 448 7500