Bravo Bravas!

I’ve never wanted to fight somebody over eggplant before. Enter Bravas, inspiring me to reach new heights of debauchery with their delicious cuisine. They opened their doors to their new ‘weird, Spanish-American restaurant’ at eleven o’clock sharp(ish) on this Tuesday morning. While I wasn’t the first person in the door, I was the first person parked there waiting for them to open–gosh darn anxiety kept me from rushing the door like a crazy person and, perhaps, that’s for the best. I let a nice couple beat me to the door. Their truck rolled into the parking lot after me and, for the record, I just want to be clear that I was there first–Bravas, I’m your number-one, weirdo, super-fan. 

A bright, white, clean interior with brightly colored art inspired by travels to Spain; Bravas is the cute, Spanish-American restaurant that the ‘07 needed, but maybe didn’t know they needed. In that same block, Bravas once had a burger and hotdog stand. Sadly, it closed. How the surrounding neighborhoods survived its absence, I’ll never quite understand. Now, they’re back, in a new building, with new cuisine. With tables and a bar made of reclaimed bowling alley floors, Bravas has a vibe that is unshakeable. Seriously: even with first day jitters, Bravas staff are friendly not just to patrons, but to each other. I can’t tell you the number of times I caught staff saying “thank you” to each other–even things like, “I appreciate you.” The abounding kindness, on what was surely a stressful morning, was enough to make my heart melt–don’t even get me started on the dancing cook. Seriously, if you’re feeling at all blue, just grab a seat at the bar and wait. This dude’s boogying is sure to bring a smile to even the sourest of faces. A fifteen percent gratuity is automatically added to checks, to be shared by both front and back of house staff. If you’re the kind of person whose butt clenches at the thought of automatic gratuities, 1) shame on you–we can never be friends and 2) watch the cook dance while serving up delish noms and then try to tell me fam hasn’t earned that fifteen percent. 

Bravas is currently operating in “Pilot Mode,” per the paper menus provided. I assume this means we might be able to expect even more delicious cuisine to be offered in the future, but–even with the limited menu they currently have–there’s more than enough to enjoy! Upon entering, water was poured for me and my dining partner. But, if you want more than water, there’s fountain drinks for $2.25 or a selection of draft, bottle, and can beers, cocktails, house wines by the glass, or even bottles. (I already have big plans to go back for a bottle of Cava–and when you’re making plans to return to the restaurant before you even leave, you know it’s freaking amazing.) 

To start my dining adventure, I went for a glass of the house red. At eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning, I couldn’t justify getting an entire bottle of wine–even though my dining partner tried to convince me otherwise. (I love bad influences; they’re some of the best people.) The wine list is inspired by memories and travels to Spain: you can read more about it when you visit the restaurant. For now, all you need to know is that it’s a really delightfully and thoughtfully crafted list. The house red is the Ah So Red–a fruit forward Garnacha wine aged in French oak and served in (hold onto your undies, wine snobs) a can. Bravas is proper and serves this wine up in a glass, allowing you to experience the aromas, but let’s get real, people–this is an organic, canned wine and it’s fucking excellent. Our server was boss and asked if I wanted my red wine chilled or nah–I went with nah, cause it’s a dry red. I did not regret my choice, it was seriously so delicious and incredibly food-friendly. I can’t wait to try more wines from Bravas: a lot of thought clearly went into the selection. I feel beyond spoiled to have a place like this that I can walk to whenever I want to go try some Spanish wine. 

Now for the part I’m sure we’re all most curious about: the food. While Bravas is currently serving up some familiar burgers that were previously available on the food truck, and a few other new-to-me sandwiches, what I found most appealing was their decently hefty list of tapas. I love trying new things so, rather than eat a burger I’d previously eaten and regurgitate to you the same old platitudes about how astounding their smash burgers are, I thought it best to go balls-to-the-wall for tapas. So, that’s what I did. I started with the marinated olives and Jamon Serrano: both excellent. The olives are served still intact: pits and all. But, they thoughtfully provide you with an extra plate, so that you have somewhere to put the pits. The olives I had today were served in an infused oil of bay leaf, thyme, garlic, and lemon. (Sorry if I missed anything: but I feel relatively confident that I got it all.) My dining companion was surprised to learn that you can eat the julienned lemon bits: but there’s really no reason that you can’t. It’s tasty AF. The only thing you probably don’t want to shove in your mouth is a bay leaf. Otherwise, if you try the olives, I recommend that you really try *everything* on the plate. As an olive lover, I might be biased, but I found it to be a delightful way to start a meal. 

As far as the Jamon Serrano goes, don’t even get me started. It’s just a simple plate of Jamon Serrano, but it’s deliciously meaty and salty. That’s the thing I found about the tapas at Bravas–so many of the plates are simple, with limited ingredients, but the quality is unsurpassed and the flavor achieved is insurmountable. It all comes down to craft. This really became clear to me during the next two plates that I enjoyed: the Seasonal Veg and the Pan Con Tomate. If you speak zero Spanish, allow me to explain that Pan Con Tomate is just bread, with olive oil, rubbed with garlic, and served with some tomato. While eating it, I literally kept uttering, “Bread has no right to taste this good.” Like, dude–it’s just bread. But this bread is beyond magical. Our server blew our collective mind when he was like, “Yeah, and the great thing about the bread is you can kind of pair it with other things, like the Jamon…” I am not being facetious when I tell you that my brain was like, “Oh my god, you CAN do that!” My dining companion topped a slice of the bread with Jamon; it was choice. I dipped some bread in the flavorful oil left behind when we finished the olives—and I’d do it again, and again, and again. 

As for the Seasonal Veg, right now it’s fried eggplant with honey and goat cheese. I’ll ask you to recall the first line I penned to open this blog post, “I never wanted to fight somebody over eggplant before,” but when I thought my dining companion was possibly gunning to take more than their fair share of this dish, threats were made. (Sorry, not sorry. The eggplant is more than worth it.) I got aggressive over eggplant and I’d do it again. I didn’t even think I liked eggplant all that much before today. Now, I’ve found an eggplant that I would marry and make beautiful babies with. I kept having this problem–it was a first-world-problem at best–where every time I ate something I’d be like, “Okay, this is definitely my favorite plate.” Then I’d eat something else and say the same thing. I said it about the eggplant: but I also said it about the dish I ate before the eggplant and the dish I ate after. It’s clearly not an issue that only I have suffered with. Our server kept saying every dish we ordered was one of his favorites; but I don’t think he lied to us even once. Everything I tried was just *that* good–so it felt like the best thing that ever happened to me while I was experiencing it. If I was held at knifepoint (I am seriously phobic of sharp things) and had to pick a favorite, it might be the Pintxo Moruno: grilled marinated chicken skewers in a bed of lemony yogurt sauce and topped with vibrant red onion. If you have a baby-tongue and can’t handle heat, you might need to hold somebody’s hand while you eat this, but I think you’ll get through it just fine. It’s got flavor out the wazoo, a smidge of heat, and if I didn’t think Bravas would be slammed enough on their first day without me causing problems as a repeat customer, I’d consider going back tonight just to grab these skewers. (By the way, veggie-holic friends, you can sub out cauliflower for chicken on this plate. So, if you’re meat-free, don’t feel like you have to miss out on this–it’s absolutely one of those not-to-be-missed dishes.) 

To close out the meal, we opted for a familiar plate of Patatas Bravas. Can you really ever get Bravas and skip the Patatas Bravas? Those fierce little potatoes are why they started their business: we know them, we love them, we need them to be part of every Bravas meal. As always, those potatoes never disappoint. The tapas-sized plate of Patatas Bravas is definitely more than you’d get in a single serving off the food truck (and rocks in at $12 for the plate) but, for me, it’s the perfect sharing size. Last but not least, the Croquetas; or savory dessert as I found myself deliriously calling it. Perfectly fried exterior, exceedingly creamy interior, bespeckled with Jamon–you can’t go wrong. Unless you hate nice things, there’s nothing to dislike about the Croquetas. Truly, I wish I could have tried more from the tapas menu, but my poor little tummy can only handle so many nom-noms.

To summarize: run, don’t walk. Get there now. Eat all the things. Have zero regrets. Selfishly, I want to tell you not to go, so that I can have it all to myself. The art, the food, the wine: all genuinely brilliant. I can’t recall the last time that I felt so completely blissed out while eating a meal–my monkey-brain released enough pleasure chemical to give me a nice buzz, that’s how good the food is. I would hug each and every one of the Bravas team and tell them how insanely impressed I was with their opening day: they should be beyond proud of themselves. (I don’t know if y’all are huggers but, if you are, hit me up: I owe you hugs.) Bravo, Bravas! You didn’t just do a good job: you knocked it out of the fucking park. You did so well that only one word in the entirety of the English language fully expresses your brilliant achievement. Exceedingly, extremely, tremendously, immensely, insanely, vastly, and excessively simply don’t cut it– it’s fucking delicious.