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The food is pretty good, and reasonably priced, at this chic tapas spot. So is the booze. Which is lucky, because you’ll need a drink—whether it be eau-de-vie, tequila, or Hungarian wine—to deal with the benign neglect of your overworked server, who desperately struggles to keep up with the demands of the ravenous room. It took ours half an hour to let us know that two dishes we’d ordered were no longer available. Since there’s no pork loin, he said, how about a croque señor? We figured it wouldn’t take too long to cook and went along with his game. In the meantime, we devoured a crock of brandade-like cazuela we hadn’t ordered and a spicy, lightly fried squid and shrimp plate we had. Avoid sitting near the door, where the mob waiting for tables will leer at your food. (P.N.)
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