Quite a few years back now, I went to Madrid for a story about a crew of feminist skateboarders. Yes, I know. Apart from being a pretty devastating piece of supporting evidence to the claim that late-2010s lifestyle journalism was especially ridiculous, it is a trip that I mostly remember because of what I ate and drank. Nectarean little cañas of icy Cruzcampo. Sharply rutted warm churros. And, most indelibly, a plate of flash-fried eggs showered in a golden mound of crisps. I think I had always thought I quite liked both these foodstuffs until I watched three diminutive Spanish girls go at them with a fervour that was as impressive as it was gently frightening.
Anyway, I thought of that dish again, recently, early on during lunch at Lolo: an all-day Mediterranean restaurant that is the latest twinkling node in José Pizarro’s ever-growing Iberian empire. It is a thin, fluffy sunburst of an omelette, layered up with glossy sheafs of Iberian ham, caramelised onions thickened into a sweet chutney, and a crowning pile of lacy, Torres-style Spanish potato chips. If you are thinking that this sounds like a combination that is almost transgressive in its wanton deliciousness, then you would be right. If you are also thinking that it feels a little chaotic and inebriated then you would, again, be right in quite a revealing way. Lolo is a soft-lit daydream of playful, punchy drinking snacks and burstingly fresh, high-glamour sharing dishes.
