New Spanish restaurant Dali looks like a promising outfit, Magyar Hus serves real Hungarian goulash
Kyiv is not known for its Spanish food. While we certainly have the world’s best varenyks and borsht, and we even have very serviceable continental European fare, there is something about the Iberian Peninsula’s lifestyle and cuisine that often eludes the would-be Spanish chefs in the capital.
While there are plenty of similarities between the two peoples: both cultures are obsessed with pork. Both love to drink and dance ‘til dawn. Both have paralyzed parliaments that are, however, slowly getting better. When it comes to the food, though, Ukraine and Spain might share a continent but are worlds apart.
Four-month-old Dali, however, is trying to change that. Descending the stairs and pushing open the heavy wooden door is the equivalent of stepping into a sleepy village cantina in some picturesque Southern Spanish town, replete with hanging legs of cured sausage and ham.
But the restaurant is also living tribute to its namesake. And while every stoned college student had at least a Dali painting or two on their wall, here the choice is thankfully a little more tasteful, bordering perhaps almost on refined. Some of the lesser-known works of this Surrealist master hang in various sizes amidst reprints of fliers advertising his famous exhibitions. However, in addition to his paintings, Dali’s expressive face and famous moustache – sadly absent from most of his work – were always two of his greatest and most expressive works of art. Here you’re treated to a glut of humorous photos of him doing everything from bathing to painting with his famous “moustache” brush.
The menus too are small galleries exhibiting their own collecton, many of the pages left free of food to show off a lovely image or print. The lights were low, the music was passable and the mood was perfect for facilitating conversation. What’s more, the waitstaff was incredibly attentive and took a great deal of time answering all our questions – but perhaps that’s because we were the only ones there. However, service and decor are one thing: how’s the food?
Spaniards are famous for eating slow and drinking a lot of wine, so try no to be in any sort of a rush if you stop at Dali (me and my guest, I think, clocked in at a healthy five hours, drank a bottle each – and were never once hurried or even given a dirty look). Though they only sell the Iberian wines by the bottle, why not splurge? You can drink plenty of cheap Saperavi when you hit the bar afterwards. For Hr 220, we drank a Cosecha Valdubon that was one of the nicest wines I’ve sipped in a long time. And, while tapas may currently be king (and Dali offers a substantial number, including bona fide Serrano ham for Hr 90), their real focus is on the hearty peasant dishes of the Spanish countryside.
They offer, of course, the obligatory paella, but, at Hr 350 for two, we didn’t want to risk it (please let us know if we missed something spectacular). Instead, we began with the “crunch of salmon salad” (Hr 25), a nice light mix of greens with five crispy fried fingers of fish served with two wedges of lemon, which the only dressing they’ll need (and it’s all blissfully mayonnaise free). The “pickles tripolskie” (Hr 21) was another pleasant, if puckering, way to begin the evening. The brined garlic is exquisite – though, if this is a first date, you might want to pick something a bit more conducive to conversation. The olives (Hr 8) were a bit disappointing, especially when you consider their potential. Stuffed with marinated garlic, their first impressive burst of flavor was fatally marred by a surprising lack of salt.
The entrees were not disappointing at all, though, if a bit simplistic at times. For instance, pork crusted with cheese (Hr 38) was exactly that: two pounded cutlets of pig covered in a melted yellow veneer that tasted surprisingly like cheddar. Whatever it was, it was greasy, it was filling and it was good. However, the chicken fillet with nuts (Hr 40) was not only delicious, but interesting as well, capturing both the palate and the mind. A small earthenware covered pot revealed a tender stew of vegetables, soft-boiled nuts and perfectly cooked wedges of fowl. It was at this point that my guest and I ordered that second bottle, a Saperavi for half the price of the Spanish red. Why wait for the bar when the food and the conversation was so compelling right there? It is here that the rest of the evening grows a bit hazy and somewhat less accountable. But deftly cutting through this thick fog of delicious excess was a fabulous fondue (Hr 50). Once the pot of simmering chocolate was lit, the table was cleared and then presented with a large square white piece of china, covered in various tender morsels of fruit, each corner of the plate bastioned with a citadel of whipped cream. What more is there to say? Fresh fruit. Warm melted chocolate. Cold whipped cream. A perfect coda to a perfect meal.
Dali (16 Yaroslaviv val., 230-9460)
Open daily from 10:00 a.m. until 11:00 p.m.
English Menu: Yes
English-speaking staff: No
Average price of main dish: Hr 70
A hearty helping of Hungarian
I was lucky enough to have eaten traditional Hungarian food in a few rural Transylvanian restaurants about ten years ago. Visions of the patrons and the portions have faded little with time: Large thick men with hairy hands sat and devoured huge platters of heavy steaming food that would most likely provide the fuel for an afternoon of cutting trees or slaughtering farm animals. And entering Magyar Hus, I was quickly returned to that verdant summer and the endless meals, consumed with feverish passion, huge chunks of meat either stewed or fried or grilled – any preparation was fine, as long as it was big and you could ask for more. Though, this being Kyiv and not Romania, while there were still your typical hulking ethnic Magyars and their massive plates of food, there were also tables full of stylish devushkas swallowing dainty mouthfuls of ever daintier fare, young groups of Ukrainian men toasting to the beginning of the weekend and, of course, your typical harried waitstaff trying to keep everyone relatively content.
I’d warned my guest earlier that to eat a proper Hungarian meal, we’d have to be incredibly hungry and order completely guilt-free, so, after making a pact to get some exercise (we swore we’d walk the few miles to the bar afterwards), we decided our waistlines be damned.
The menu makes it relatively easy to choose: only the first few pages are real Hungarian staples. The rest is that common hodgepodge of “European” and Ukrainian food that often fills the last two-thirds of an ethnic restaurant’s menu. We swore to stay Magyar all the way.
Ordered with unrestrained relish, our first dish was obvious: What would a trip to a Hungarian restaurant be without goulash (Hr 33)? The bowl they brought was deceptively small, but the color looked hopeful – a radiant grease-slicked red broth broken only by tempting buoys of beef and potatoes. The flavor was appropriately spicy (a worry sometimes when piquant dishes get translated by Ukrainian cooks) and the little bowl – as with everything else Hungarian – was more filling than it looked. The next on order was chicken paprika (Hr 41), another staple of the cuisine. This dish, like borsht, has as many variants as it does chefs, and I’ve been lucky enough to have myself a few. With pride, I report that this was genuinely one of the better renditions (and one of the larger portions) I’ve had. Thin knotted strips of chicken, some deliciously fatty skin still clinging to some of the pieces, doused liberally with a sauce as spicy as the goulash, if not a bit more complex. A boring-sounding side of homefries (Hr 15) were actually one of the best things we ordered: a small mountain of sliced and flavorful potatoes seasoned with a fair amount of subtle grease and salt. Order a side of garlic sauce (Hr 5) to make them even better. Only the fried cheese (19) – a dish more common in the Czech Republic than in its Southern neighbor – was disappointing, though it was certainly aptly named: a hunk of breaded cheese the size of a small loaf of bread, with a layer of ham running throught it as if deep-friend dairy on its own wasn’t self-indulgent enough. Heavy and greasy, yes. Bright and flavorful, no. I like decadence as much (and probably more) than the next guy, but it has to have a purpose.
So, out of guilt, we ordered the salad Kapou, an odd combination of bedfellows (pickles, tomatoes, cucumber, avocado and beans) that sorted its flavors and textures surprisingly well. We were both impressed.
And don’t forget to try a few drinks. It seemed that many patrons were ordering only that. The wine list was relatively extensive, with a unexpected number of French bottles (at unfortunately expected French prices), and the bar man was competent and amiable.
Sopping up the leftover goulash and paprika sauce with a generous helping of house bread (Hr 3), I realized how often I’m underwhelmed by what’s brought in a breadbasket in Kyiv. But here the dark rich softness of the slices was really a standout and a bargain. Finally, a loaf worth paying for. Dessert? You’ve got to be kidding.
Hungarian House (111/113 Chervonoarmiskya, 521-1908)
Open daily from 9:00 a.m until midnight, Mon. to Fri.; 11:00 a.m. to midnight, Sat. and Sun.
English Menu: No
English-speaking staff: NoAverage price of main dish: Hr 70
