Restaurants, restaurants everywhere, but nary a place to eat. In my dream Review food critique, this would be where I talk about how normally disappointing the Hanover food scene is, full of restaurants that have grown arrogant and tasteless in their longevity (e.g., Molly’s). I would have loved to celebrate, finally, one shining gem in our rusty local crown. But we can’t always have our dreams, and, so, I finish the rhyme: Duende tastes like feet (credit to an Ohioan Reviewer). That would be, however, if their waitstaff had feet. Duende, the Upper Valley’s own tapas destination, serves middling Spanish fare in what they call “Spanish style”—45 minutes late, and you have to get up to order the food yourself. For each dish, we walked up to the restaurant’s bar where a hostess kindly took down our orders.
Last Friday, my friends and I entered Duende, which occupies the space vacated by Candela Tapas, impressed by the restaurant’s tasteful and region-specific decor. Imagine old wine barrels, piles of canned Iberian foodstuffs, and tile-seated chairs. These Hispanic touches, coupled with the venue’s location, right under the old League of New Hampshire Craftsmen building, gave the place a tucked-away sort of feel. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that felt tucked away at Duende. The Review party started the night out with disappointment: Of the 20-odd items on the menu, Duende was out of at least five.
Undeterred, however, our first order included two of the house’s platos frios, or cold plates. We attempted to order their empanadillas (read: turnovers), but this plate had bought the dust. Our Review delegation instead settled on Duende’s charcuterie plate, tablo de quesos y jamon, and marinero, an anchovy-topped potato-tuna salad. None of us four had ever been to the previous occupant of the space. Combine that anticipation with a day’s worth of intermittent fasting from each of us, and you’ll get a sense of our excitement.
Thirty minutes after our first order, however, we had devoured Duende’s complimentary nuts and olives, and our tablo and marinero might very well have still been flying over the Atlantic. In an act of gastronomic titillation, we decided to order our second round: the platos calientes, or hot plates. I attempted to order the patatas bravas (spicy fried potatoes), but the hostess alerted me to the fact that Duende was also fresh out of this delicacy. (Curiously, we had chosen the marinero, which included potatoes, less than an hour earlier.) Nevertheless, I still asked for croquetas variadas with beef, the pork-tomato stew magra con tomate, and huevos rotos con jamon, “potatoes, fried eggs, and serrano ham.” Lest my friends go hungry, I—on a whim—also ordered a bocadillo catalan: a sandwich of grated tomato, olive oil, and serrano ham.
Around 15 minutes later, the platos frios arrived. The Duende team had arranged the tablo de quesos y jamon beautifully, but looks often lie. While the dish’s prettiness almost justified the long wait, the cured ham was stringy, dry, and, as my friend declared, “leathery.” The toasted bread was chewy and hard to eat; of delectable Maillard crust, there was none. The highlights were the raisins, which paired delightfully with the mild Mediterranean cheeses. The marinero’s curious combination of potato, egg, and tuna was actually enjoyable. The saltiness of the anchovy topping cut through the creamy but bland salad.
Next, our platos calientes finally arrived. We devoured the croquetas with beef, or at the very least we wanted to. Despite their attractive presentation, lined up like they were facing down a firing squad, they were not as well salted as we would have liked. The magra’s savory tomato base also lacked this critical condiment—the most delicious part of the stew was the bread, which tasted like it was bought at the Co-Op. The heavy huevos rotos could have also benefited from salt. One might call this aversion to seasoning Duende’s very own Spanish Flu.
The catalan bocadillo was the best thing our party tried. The acidity of the grated tomato matched well the fattiness of the ham and olive oil, even with the disappointing bread. It was a simple yet memorable flavor profile that I imagine would go well with any number of Spanish wines. Unfortunately, my friends and I were on the wagon that Friday night. Perhaps a glass of wine or two would have made our nearly 90-minute meal all the more enjoyable.
The Review can’t call Duende a positive addition to the already mediocre Hanover restaurant scene just yet. When I think of Spain, I think of zest—for life, for music, for good food and fine drink. When I think of Duende, I think of bland fare in a well-decorated basement, albeit with good pricing. (The small-plate tapas portions go for $8, while the larger racion plates go for $19.)
However, the restaurant opened only this past summer. My friends and I have chosen to give Duende the benefit of the doubt: Perhaps the menu’s very real weaknesses are just growing pains. Or perhaps we simply ordered wrong; other associates of mine have spoken highly of other Duende selections. Nevertheless, the prospect of a true Spanish restaurant in this continental climate is alluring. The Review looks forward to going back to Duende in the winter to see whether our experience was a fluke and the restaurant has grown into itself. As for now, I believe we’ve had due enough of this Duende.
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