"Have you been to a tapas restaurant before?" the host asks me as I follow him to a table. I instantly lower my expectations, and also feel I need to double-check the familiarity I feel with tapas. What year did Cafe Ba-Ba-Reeba open? (It was 1985.) I'd already worried about Boqueria, being a new outpost of a New York-based chain, too often a formula for underestimating Chicago's palate.
Turns out my cynicism wasn't warranted. Boqueria does the classic roster of tapas more than adequately, deserving a visit from both aficionados and the Rip Van Winkles who have never been to a tapas restaurant before.
The menu reads like the pantheon of tapas: various hams, croquettes, anchovies, olives, meatballs. Almost all we sampled outdid the average version without straying from the dish's formula. The anchoas del Cantabrico ($12), for example, plated anchovies, good butter and lemon zest with what initially looked like too much bread but turned out ideal for tempering the strong flavors.
Wooden tabletops, tiled walls and visible ductwork give the space a look that's now generically urban. Highboy tables sit close together.
Other than the weirdness about the exoticism of tapas, service acquitted itself well, timely and professional. Boqueria suits a boisterous colleague lunch or a work-break meet-up with friends, but less so any context where sharing plates gets awkward, like a less-familiar client. But you probably already knew that.
