Gabriel Pryce and Missy Flynn’s brainchild has graduated, after pupating as a Dalston bodega for nearly a decade. And, despite the culinary cacophony of Soho, Rita’s has well and truly made a name for itself. We finally managed to snag a table, which wasn’t easy, as the dinky diner’s 34 seats are almost always occupied.
Since Rita’s is named after the signature cocktail, we started with the house margaritas. Little did we know, the punchy elegance of the cocktail would set the tone of the meal. Case in point: the gildas. Traditionally, a gilda is a Basque pintxo, comprised of an olive, pickle, anchovy and chilli, skewered on a cocktail stick. Here, the olive smuggled in a tang of blue cheese, while the jalapeno’s heat was supercharged by a pool of chilli oil. As the friendly staff cleared the plates, they smiled knowingly at our obsession with the simple snack.
Saltfish taquitos arrived all guns blazing, their crisp shells laden with spicy peanut oil. Beside them, clams bathed in a sauce enriched by chipotle and black beer. Both were excellent, pushing salt and chilli levels that incite heavy drinking. Having thoroughly mopped the clam bowl with Idaho scones, we braced ourselves for more heat from the mains.
The fiery flavours, however, were soon succeeded by more complex combinations. A sugar pit pork chop was masterfully partnered with grilled loquat (a distant cousin of the kumquat), elevating the classic dish to new, global heights. Succulent five-spice lamb, meanwhile, was balanced by dandelion and a delicate, yet mouth-numbing Szechuan vinaigrette. Considering the vast difference between courses, it was a miracle the bottle of Sicilian white we ordered didn’t clash.
We had two thoughts as we left Rita’s. Firstly, aren’t gildas named after that Rita Hayworth film, making for some bizarrely subtle wordplay? And secondly, how soon can we snag another table?