José

Croquetas at the open pass

Croquetas leave the open kitchen hot enough to demand patience. José Pizzaro, chef at José in London, keeps the Bermondsey tapas bar close to the Spanish table he has built across the city since 2011. The room is small, the cooking direct, and the method depends on forms that give the kitchen little cover: pan con tomate, patatas bravas, tortilla, boquerones, jamón Ibérico, Padron peppers. Each plate has to land by seasoning, texture, and the quality of the ingredient in front of the cook.

Pizzaro’s London work runs through restaurants rather than biography alone. Before his own rooms, he worked at Brindisa; at José, opened as his first solo tapas bar, the language became more personal. Spain remains the reference, with Extremadura behind him and Bermondsey as the working address. He now carries the same discipline through Pizarro Restaurant, José Pizarro at the Royal Academy of Arts, José Pizarro Broadgate Circle, Lolo, The Swan Inn in Surrey, and Abu Dhabi, but José keeps the scale that tests the hand most plainly. A small plate arrives quickly, and any weakness arrives with it.

A short board and a Spanish glass

The program at José is built around tapas rather than courses. The kitchen works from a short à la carte rhythm and chalkboard specials, with Spanish classics forming the grammar: tomato pressed into bread, potatoes under aioli and spicy tomato, croquetas kept light rather than greasy, tortilla cut for texture, fish and shellfish brought into the day’s list when the kitchen has them. The approach is traditional, but not slack. It asks for control because the gesture is so visible.

The wine program follows the same line. Spanish wine and sherry sit beside the food as part of the bar’s structure, not as decoration. A glass can meet jamón, anchovy, pork, or fried cheese without pulling the table into ceremony. That matters in a room built for small plates and counter dining. The drink has to move at the same pace as the pass, with enough acidity, salt, and grip to stay useful across several dishes.

The room works at close range

On Bermondsey Street, the counter is not atmosphere added after the cooking; it is part of the method. Guests stand, lean, sit where they can, and watch the open kitchen work through orders in a room that can feel louder than its size. Exposed brick, timber, Iberian tile, murky light, soft Spanish music, the sound of the pass, and the pressure of bodies at the bar all compress the service into close range.

That compression suits the food. Pan con tomate does not need distance. Neither do Padron peppers, boquerones, or croquetas passed across a crowded counter. José has the feeling of a room used hard and often, a place where polish comes from repetition rather than staging. Pizzaro’s wider group may keep changing shape, but this address still returns the work to the same test: a small plate, a glass of sherry, and the counter on Bermondsey Street.