When you have a newborn you want to devote all your time to it, but neglecting your other children might cause them to hate you, sending them down a dark spiral of depression, alcoholism, and becoming the President of the United States. Tending to their baby without shafting their firstborn, the couple behind Morito.
After years spent putting off a second spot for fear they'd lose track of their first, the husband/wife behind Moro have finally opened a sequel right next door, a white-walled rustic tapas room festively pizazzed with a bright orange bar, where they can "come in to cook every day" instead of just hoping the nanny doesn't shake it till it gets a concussion. Inspired by Spain with a touch of Damascus, the menu kicks off with grilled "plancha" dishes such as a cumin/paprika lamb chop and finely sliced Octopus Salpicon, as well as "montaditos" like the lomo/jamon/green pepper Serrano (montaditos means "open sandwich", so don't be surprised if it tells you it wasn't ready when it lost its virginity). Meanwhile, the fried-mini section stars flavoursome salt cod croquettes (soaked overnight before being poached in milk), while the slow-cooked banner waves over the likes of "chicarones de Cadiz", a traditional Andalucian dish made from crackling -- just like pork scratchings, except you won't have to kill someone if you don't get another pint of the wife beater immediately.
Not-meat runs from a mechouia grilled vegetable salad to "patatas mojo", whose new potatoes are grown on the side of an actual Canary Islands volcano, boiled in seawater, and covered in a garlic/paprika sauce called "mojo" -- or brash self-confidence, too much of which can turn a world leader into a real pa-prick.