Almost Canarian Potatoes in Farringdon

Dear reader, on Thursday I had the pleasure of eating almost Canarian potatoes in England.  Almost as they weren't cooked in salt or their skin.  What was the similarity then?  The sauce.  This orange Spanish Mojo sauce.  (You know how much I love my Canarian potatoes, and it's the sauce that does it for me not the volcanic soil or salt.)

As well as almost Canarian potatoes I also almost had a slippage on a stool due to height and lightweightedness of stool combined with tightness of my skirt in a ratio that caused hilarity.  The result, I couldn't get up on said piece of furniture. This was much to the amusement of my colleague from Kenya who I was entertaining at work that week. I can tell you I was onto a winning formula with my various small leaps onto the stool so if you need to entertain colleagues from overseas  do remember the stool trick. It's good for a good half an hour. 

The Canarian potatoes and stool escapade occurred in a Spanish Tapas bar in Farringdon London called Iberica. Myself and my Kenyan colleague were meeting two business contacts from South Africa.  It was the South Africans who had found and booked this gem of a restaurant or Tapas bar. 

The location was excellent for me as I was able to get a direct train home from the doorstep.  I suppose the reverse can be true and I can get a direct train there too from my doorstep . Now there's a thought! Canarian potatoes just an hour's train journey away.

The wine was absolutely superb.  As velvet as you would expect in a high quality Tapas wine bar. We finished with a digestive which was a lot like a sherry.  (Might have been a sherry.) 

We ate small boards of cured meats, hams and some cheeses, and almost Canarian potatoes. 

There were no dogs allowed, for those wondering.

The loos, restroom, ladies/gents was a place to make friends  (in the nicest possible way) as cubicles for each were in the same room but not either side of the room.  Instead interspersed or alternate, and no one knew where to go. Conversations were had with the opposite sex from other tables in this room as one played 'where's the gents?' And  'umm, am in the wrong room. ' One man called out for his wife, I think he was in fear that I was chatting him up over the paper towels.

There are no pictures of the restroom but here is a picture of a shabby chic lamp, looking upwards into the shade, with its ripped and burnt material and melted candle light holder effect.