"Founded in 1941 and named after a city in the sunny south of Spain, Sevilla assumed the premises of an older Irish bar on a townhouse-lined West Village corner. As you approach, a garlic wind wafts from a kitchen door that opens onto Charles Street. Inside the main entrance, the dining room proves deep and shadowy, with nautical lamps hanging from the ceiling and smudgy reproductions of paintings by El Greco and Velázquez plastered on the walls. On weekends Sevilla stays mobbed from early afternoon until late evening, every table occupied by canoodling couples and convivial chattering foursomes. The appetizers are profuse in size, including some wonderful empanadillas — half-moon pies filled with picadillo. The octopus, Galician style, is also good, and the clams in green sauce is a particular delight, tasting powerfully of garlic, parsley, and the brine of the sea. But the dish on every table is paella Valenciana, glowing a shade of yellow so bright you almost need sunglasses." - Robert Sietsema
