Paul Southgate
Google
Some places try too hard. They faff about with deconstructed patatas bravas, drizzle balsamic reduction over everything, and serve you tapas on a slate like it’s a GCSE art project. La Chata is not one of those places. It’s a proper Madrid tapas joint, on a proper tapas street, doing exactly what you want it to do—pouring cold beer, serving great food, and letting the atmosphere take care of itself.
The Padrón peppers arrived glistening with olive oil and a dusting of coarse salt, blistered to perfection. One in every ten has a surprise kick, but that’s half the fun—like culinary Russian roulette, but the worst outcome is just reaching for another drink. The noise of chatter and clinking glasses fills the air, conversation flows, and for a brief, glorious moment, I almost felt Spanish.
No pretension, no gimmicks—just beer, food, and the kind of effortless conviviality that Madrid does so well. What more do you want?
