Revolución de Cuba

Let’s get this out of the way straight away: it’s not a typo, you don’t need to adjust your set and you definitely don’t have to pay Specsavers a visit. This really is a review of Revolución de Cuba, Reading’s Latin American bar slash (chain) restaurant.

You might wonder what possessed me. Here’s what – I’ve been complaining for some time about Reading lacking a good tapas restaurant, a feeling which was compounded by a holiday in Granada at the start of the month. I returned even more bereft that I couldn’t find somewhere good to eat jamon, manchego, croquetas or chorizo in cider (let’s not dwell on the fact that in Granada you get something free with every beer: one step at a time).

On my first day back in Reading I sat in the courtyard outside Workhouse Coffee and ate paneer from Bhel Puri House while enjoying a crisp Estrella from the hotel bar next door, and it made a decent substitute but I still found myself wishing Reading had somewhere more suitable. That’s when the idea of trying the tapas menu at Revolución de Cuba entered my head.

After all, it might have been a chain but it was hardly a big one: less than twenty branches across the UK. And although it was part of the same group as Revolution, I’d been pleasantly surprised when I went to Revolution on duty back in 2015 (that said, I’d never been back, probably assuming that lightning never strikes twice in the same place). So on a Monday night I mooched over to Friar Street with my regular dining companion Zoë, wondering if my expectations would be surpassed.

My first impression was that it’s a striking – and gigantic – space. It used to be the old HMV building (I have plenty of happy memories of those days) and Revolución de Cuba waited a long time to open here, initially applying to take over the site in late 2014 and wrangling with the council before eventually opening two years later. The fit out had been nicely done – the long bar down the left looked especially inviting – and the room went back a very long way indeed, gradually getting darker and more conspiratorial.

Actually, that was probably my second impression. My first impression was that I wasn’t sure if I was in a bar or a restaurant, whether I could just plonk myself at a table or wait to be seated and whether it was bar or table service. We stood waiting near the front like lemons for some time before a solitary waitress told us to sit anywhere, before going on to explain that the two areas nearest to the front were probably more suitable for dining.

That might have been a more useful distinction at weekends when the place was busier, but when I went the place was pretty dead; there was a couple sitting at the tables nearest to the window, but the only thing they seemed to be eating was each other (in broad daylight on a Monday evening: I didn’t know whether to be appalled or impressed). Gladly they put their coats on and left seconds later – headed for the nearest Travelodge, I imagine – so we took the table next to where they’d been sitting. Was it my imagination, or did the banquette reek of sex?

The menu looked nice enough, although I don’t think it was the thing that had got them so frisky. It was divided into tapas and main plates, and was a mixture of Spanish, Tex-Mex and general 2019 box-ticking (halloumi, pulled jackfruit and so on). The tapas tended to come in around the six pound mark with three for fourteen pounds, so we decided to go for that, along with a couple of sides. While we waited for our food to turn up I had a pint of Angry Orchard which was just what I needed and not too dry (albeit oddly named: why so cross? Had it been reading the BBC website?) and Zoë had a bottle of Pacifico Clara, a serviceable crisp lager not that distinguishable from Modelo.

We’d asked for some guacamole and tortilla chips while we made up our mind, so this was the first thing to come out. A sign on the wall said it was freshly made, and although I wasn’t entirely sure it had been made to order it was decent, with just a little heat lurking in there. The previous week I’d been to Wahaca on the South Bank and their guacamole was better (as I had expected it to be) but not by a country mile. The tortilla chips were a little wan and not quite up to the job of dipping but again, for three pounds I was hardly devastated.

The tricky bit is what happened next: all the rest of our food was brought out at once. This wasn’t a problem in itself: god knows I’ve been known to bitch about the likes of Wagamama bringing out dishes as and when they’re ready, but for tapas this style of serving seems much more appropriate. But the real problem was that although the dishes were all brought out at the same time, some of them had clearly been sitting around a while. So much of what should have been piping hot was verging on tepid, and in many cases that made a world of difference.

Take the chorizo in red wine and honey, for instance. Done well, this is a superb dish – I had something very similar in Granada – but Revolución de Cuba’s version was cold. Not fridge-cold, but cooked-some-time-ago-cold. It came in a terra cotta pot without any steam or sizzle, and the pot was cold to the touch. So, pretty much, was the chorizo which made me wonder if it had spent any time in the sauce or just been introduced to it right at the end like some kind of super-awkward culinary blind date. It had been cut into weirdly-shaped segments by somebody who appeared never to have seen or eaten chorizo before.

The patatas bravas – a staple of any tapas menu – were also distinctly underwhelming. They had been placed on the mat in the middle of the table as if they’d be scorching hot, but again they weren’t. There just wasn’t the crispiness I was hoping for, and the helping of spicy sauce and aioli was both disappointing and miserly: there should have been more of it, but I wasn’t especially sad that there wasn’t.

Better were the pork belly skewers, which were well cooked, all fat melted away and a crispy-crackling layer on top. I’m not sure I got the “signature spicy rum sauce” which had apparently been used, but I wasn’t complaining. These reminded me of the pork belly at The Real Greek, which is higher praise than it might sound.

I also enjoyed the jerk fried chicken, although that says more about my love of fried chicken than of Revolución de Cuba’s version. It was nicely seasoned, if a little too crunchy, and it didn’t need the rum mayo I didn’t dip it in. But even here it could have stood with being hotter, and although the texture was a long way from mechanically recovered meat, they didn’t feel like single pieces of coated chicken. Make of that what you will.

The more Latin American dishes we’d ordered were the ones that really fell flat. Chicken quesadillas might have been average if they’d been served hot but they arrived much closer to room temperature, wan anaemic things it was difficult to get excited about. We’d also ordered pulled beef tostadas, but the beef itself was claggy, bland and lukewarm. You didn’t get much of it before the dish gave way to the (cheaper) guacamole underneath and the tortilla shell, which pretty much made it the dish we’d started the meal with. The Cuban term for this beef is ropa vieja, which it turns out doesn’t translate as old rope: a shame, as it would have been apt.

Finally, we also had some crispy fried courgette. Well, two out of three anyway: it was indeed courgette but cut thick enough that getting it crispy was always going to be a challenge. I didn’t mind this, but even as I ate it I was aware of how many places do it better (especially Papa Gee). It was apparently served with Cuban gremolata, although barely enough to be noticeable, and if it had been fried in “Mojito batter” you really wouldn’t have known that either.

“This is a menu that reads much better than the food looks or tastes, isn’t it?” I said to Zoë as we surveyed the plates (mostly empty, although neither of us had shown much interest in the insipid chorizo).

“I’m afraid so. I’d come back for the guacamole, the chicken and the pork belly but that’s it.” I thought about it and tended to agree: three out of eight wasn’t exactly a stellar hit rate. I reflected on the other reviews I’d seen of Revolución de Cuba, so breathless, so enthusiastic, so positive. So comped, come to think of it. We decided to skip the churros (no doubt described somewhere on the internet as “yummy”) and asked for the bill. The whole lot – six tapas dishes, two sides, a pint and two beers – came to just under fifty pounds, not including tip. That’s not an expensive meal by most standards, but even at that price point your money would go much further in a many other places.

So far so meh, but I do have to say a word about the service. Georgina, who looked after us (and, seemingly, everyone else in Revolución de Cuba that night) was lovely – personable, polite and likeable. She came over halfway through – mid-mouthful, as wait staff always do – to check if our food was okay and we both muttered the usual pleasantries. But when she came with the bill she asked more than once, as if she actually wanted to know. So we told her. The food all came out at the same time because that’s how the kitchen did it, she said. We explained that it might be better not to and that some of the food had been cold as a result. She promised to feed that back, and I believe she did (every bit as much as I expect that feedback fell on deaf ears).

In conversation with Zoë, who tends to ask lots of questions, Georgina told us that she was studying for a Masters in criminology (a part-time job which involves looking out on Friar Street on a Friday and Saturday night probably forms part of her dissertation, come to think of it). It can be rare in chain restaurants to feel looked after rather than processed, and Revolución de Cuba would have got a lower mark if it wasn’t for the service. I wanted to tip her extra, just for enduring the canoodling couple from earlier on (“it was definitely heavy petting”, said Zoë later, “you’d get kicked out of a swimming pool for that”).

I never saw Revolución de Cuba as the kind of place I might eat on a Friday or Saturday night – I’m far too old and unfashionable for that – but I did hope it might be a serviceable small plates restaurant for a school night, or a spot of lunch on the weekend. Sadly, I think it doesn’t quite hit that level either. Some of the dishes are decent enough, but you can get them better elsewhere – Mission is better for tacos or burritos, The Real Greek better for small plates and Bhel Puri House better still. Whenever I ask what chain restaurant people would most like to see in Reading the response is overwhelming: people would love a Wahaca to open here. Based on my visit to Revolución de Cuba that gap in the market is still there. My own personal gap in the market also remains empty: if I want to feel like I’m in Andalusia, I’m going to have to get on a plane.

Revolución de Cuba – 6.6
138-141 Friar Street, RG1 1EX
0118 2077016
https://www.revoluciondecuba.com/bar/reading/

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Round-up: the last few months

Well, it’s been four months since I stopped writing reviews on ER, and three months since I published anything on the blog. It’s a weird feeling: the keyboard is dusty, my writing muscles are flabby and unflexed and, of course, life has gone on. Free of the constant need to keep visiting the new, I’ve been able to relax and enjoy eating at my favourite places, whether that’s grabbing momo at Sapana Home on the way back from work, guzzling beautiful massaman beef at Thai Table (I’d quite forgotten how good it is) or my occasional midweek treat of chicken biryani from the lovely Royal Tandoori. I’ve hopped on the train and discovered new favourite restaurants elsewhere (the peerless Branca in Oxford, I’m looking at you). I’ve even been known – conceal your shock if you can – to make the occasional trip to Pret, to Nando’s or to (judge all you like) KFC.

It’s been liberating, as has slowly starting to eat again without having to wonder If I Like It or Whether It’s Good Value, to be able to visit a restaurant without thinking about its concept, its relationship to food trends, without imagining how the final paragraph will read before the final mouthful has been swallowed. This must be how English Literature graduates feel when they finish their degrees and try to learn how to read for pleasure again although I suspect that, just as Jason Bourne can never forget all the emergency exits in a bank, I’ll probably never be able to read a menu without thinking “how much?”, “that won’t work” or “not that AGAIN”. Oh well, c’est la vie.

Anyway, not only has my life gone on, but the culinary life of Reading has moved on too. With that in mind, I thought it might be useful to offer a little round-up (just like old times!) of all the changes since I hit publish last. Here’s hoping that it’s useful.

Closing

The big surprise was RYND, which closed in August at very short notice. I was never a fan, although I admired the way they ran their Twitter feed (apart from the occasional passive aggressive favouriting of Tweets by me saying I wasn’t a fan) and I liked the way they tried to offer something different by showing films, putting on comedy and all that. I suppose once Bluegrass opened just down the way doing actual proper pulled pork and burgers RYND lost much of its USP and perhaps the name stopped looking edgy and cool and started looking like someone had accidentally switched on caps lock by mistake.

Also closed were, err, most of the places I reviewed in Wokingham by the looks of things. Gluten-free Jessy’s – a place I’d really wanted to like, without any real success – became trading-free Jessy’s, and Jackson’s California Lake stopped doing its high-end food in the evenings while the chef looked for somewhere more suitable. Again, a pity but not a tragedy.

We also lost My Kitchen & Coffee in September, forced out I suspect by the plethora of similar places in town. I feel for My Kitchen, because although I quite liked it it was always the bridesmaid, never the bride when I was picking somewhere to have lunch. The food wasn’t quite good enough, the room wasn’t quite attractive enough and the coffee certainly wasn’t enough of a draw. I remember when C.U.P. opened everybody said that Reading wasn’t big enough to support another coffee place: at the time, I thought they were wrong, but maybe they were right and My Kitchen, the weakest link, paid the price.

Oh, and Ed’s Easy Diner in the Oracle closed too – but if you’re sad about that I’m not quite sure why you’re here.

Moving

Another interesting trend, which made my old reviews a little bit tricky to edit, is the musical chairs that has gone on over the past few months as restaurants moved house in the hope of ending up in a better neighbourhood. First to move was Bhoj, which went from its home down the Oxford Road (next to SkunkWorks, fact fans) to a spot a couple of doors down from Pepe Sale. I’ve not been since the move, but everyone who has gone has told me two things – that the food is as good as ever and that it’s a bit dead there. I hope that shift works out for them (Reading without karahi lamb would be a far poorer place), and perhaps they’ll benefit from better parking there if nothing else.

Back in Wokingham, Sanpa Stores moved from its spot on Peach Street to the building vacated by the unfortunate Jessy’s. Again, I’ve not been but that’s a good move because it’s a lovely building with lots of period features (listen to me, I sound like an estate agent) and the food at Sanpa – especially those fantastic garlic prawns – deserves a far wider audience. Fingers crossed that they continue to do well.

Last of all, Reading’s original nomad I Love Paella moved to its third address in a year, leaving The Horn to relocate at The Fisherman’s Cottage. An interesting tradeoff – The Horn is widely thought to have a bit of a rough clientele in a good area whereas the Fisherman’s Cottage, now all craft beer and beards, linked to the Greyfriar in some nebulous way I don’t fully understand, has a lovely clientele but is in a bit of a rough area (I walked down Orts Road once: it was like being in Grand Theft Auto: Reading). Well, I’m sure they’ll flourish there – I for one would eat I Love Paella’s food in a bus shelter, if that was the only option.

Winning

A couple of awards worth mentioning, both of which tell you a lot about the establishments in question. Back in September the Reading Retail Awards gave Restaurant Of The Year to Himalaya Momo House, a move which made my heart sing: I love that place (the award was sponsored by Deliveroo, which is a bit like Nigel Farage judging Exchange Student Of The Year, but never mind). Then in November Restaurant Magazine gave Coppa Club one of its “R200 awards”. Was it for best food? Best décor? Best service? No, of course not: instead the Sonning establishment won “Best New Scalable Concept”, which essentially means they are going to pop-up soon in ex-branches of Strada all over the country. I don’t know about you, but this is exactly what I’m looking for: why go to a lovely restaurant when you can get in on the ground floor of a seriously whizzy scalable concept? Sign me up!

Opening

Reading has been surprisingly blessed with quite a few new establishments since I last wrote, all in the last few months. First of all there was Public Reading, in the spot vacated by RYND, a “new concept” involving games, craft beer and burgers served by “pop-up caterer Relish”. Well, where to start? I mean, it’s only a new concept if you’ve never been to, say, the Nag’s Head or the Lyndhurst, both of which have had board games knocking about for yonks. For that matter, it’s only really a new concept if you’ve never been to or heard of Hoxton or Shoreditch, have never read the Guardian, never watched Nathan Barley etc. etc. But beyond that it sounds suspiciously like SMASH (note again the over-enthusiastic use of caps lock) which has brought together the unholy trinity of craft beer, artisan pizza and – yes, I’m afraid so – table tennis. I’m sure Public Reading is lovely if you like that sort of thing, but personally I’ll be in the Nag’s eating some dry roasted peanuts, drinking a pint of Stowford Press and playing Cards Against Humanity.

Where else? Anatolia Restaurant has opened where Faith Kitchen used to be before it got shut down – I’ve not been but I’ve heard good reports, although it only has to be better than Mangal was and sadly that isn’t difficult. Speaking of the Lyndhurst, that has reopened too with an interesting and promising menu. The chicken burger I had on my first visit was okay, but the toasted cheese and marmite sandwich was a very nice touch and I’ve rather got hooked on their Scotch eggs with brown sauce which are a glorious synthesis of firm sausagemeat and spot-on runny yolk and a real treat at only four pounds. Nice cloudy cider, too.

One of the most interesting openings was Gooi Nara on Whitley Street in October, bringing Korean food (and specifically Korean barbecue) to Reading. One to take your carnivorous friends to, I think: there’s a hot plate in the middle of every table and a menu packed full of dead flesh for you to order and cook there and then in front of you. I went in a smaller group and was unimpressed by the dolsot bibimbap (I hate to say it, but Coconut’s was better) but I felt I hadn’t ordered brilliantly and would gladly go back and try it again. Lovely kimchee, incidentally, and the interior is very handsomely done.

Perhaps even more significant was Nomad Bakery – confusingly named as it’s not really nomadic and much more than a bakery – which also opened in October. It’s a bakehouse and café on Prospect Street in Caversham, on the site formerly known as Delicious, and a very interesting prospect indeed. Run by Pop-Up Reading, with the considerable assistance of Reading’s redoubtable Caversham Jam Lady it’s rather a powerhouse of Reading’s food scene, offering superb bread, jam, a regularly changing menu of specials, some homewares and spectacular fudge by Reading’s Hartland Fudge (the After Eight fudge, topped with emerald-green minty crystals, rather rocked my world recently). I’ve only been once, because it’s not really my side of the river and I’m not at that end of town for lunch often, but everything I tried was jolly decent and friends of mine are huge fans (“better than Ottolenghi” was one particular paean of praise I heard recently). Also the menu is largely vegetarian, although you could be most of the way through your lunch – and utterly delighted with your choices – before you realise that.

Revolucion de Cuba finally opened in late November, in the old HMV building on Friar Street. This prompted a huge amount of nostalgia from me for the good old days when Friar Street had a massive HMV and the Friar Street Bookshop rather than a string of nacky pound shops, a derelict mall and the questionable delights of Lola Lo. But all that said, I went to Revolucion de Cuba a little while back for a quick drink and what they’ve done to the place is really quite impressive. It’s a lovely fit out, the live music was a really pleasant surprise and the menu looked decent. Could it be the closest we’ll come to Wahaca, or is it a huge spot waiting to become Sodom or Gomorrah on a Friday and Saturday night? Time will tell.

Last of all, bringing us bang up to date German restaurant and bar Bierhaus opened last week on Queen’s Walk, between Pepe Sale and Bhoj (an area my stepfather likes to wryly refer to as “the demilitarised zone”). It’s not a cuisine I’ve ever had much exposure to, but you’ve got to give them credit for trying something different so if you want big steins of beer, bratwurst, schnitzel or (if this tickles your pickle) pork knuckle then Bierhaus might be the place for you. I know people who are keenly anticipating this one, although I’ve also heard gripes from the CAMRA brigade that it only does one German beer on draft (shows what I know because I heard that and thought: how many do you need?). I’m glad it’s managed to open before the end of winter because that all feels like wood-panelled comfort food to me. I’ve not been myself, but the picture of the schnitzel, sauteed potatoes and sauerkraut I saw on their Facebook page made me peckish.

Of course, that’s not all because there are always new places in the pipeline. So at some point we’ll get a branch of Comptoir Libanais, the Lebanese chain restaurant. In the Oracle’s latest attempt to squeeze returns out of finite space – because it’s all about the Benjamins with those guys – this will be in a new patch of the Riverside. Comptoir Libanais, good though it might be, opening just down the road from the terrific Bakery House reminds me of the time when Abercrombie and Fitch set up shop at the end of Savile Row. I hope Reading’s diners remember which side their pitta is buttered, so to speak.

And finally

Thanks to everybody who has told me they miss the blog, miss my reviews and all that. It’s brilliant to see so many people still stop by to read the lists and figure out where to eat next, or ask me for recommendations on Twitter, or click on the archive links when I send them out. I do keep being asked whether I’ll go back to it, or what I’ll do next. I’m still trying to make up my mind (I haven’t exactly been besieged with offers to write for other publications!) but I expect I’ll have a better idea in the New Year.

As soon as I’ve figured it out, I’ll let you know.