Murillos, Marple, review

We live in a place called Marple. It’s often described as “leafy Cheshire”, meaning it gets lumped in with Wilmslow and Alderley Edge and thus all the baggage attached to the land of WAGs and gladrags.

Yet it is nothing like those places. It sounds like it is, because Agatha Christie created a twee detective with the name Miss Marple, inspired when she passed through on a train. It’s actually very, very normal, as a suburb of Stockport and is described on a certain blog of this parish with the moniker – “where Manchester meets the Peaks”.

It has a shopping street that still sells things you need. Marple doesn’t have a Piccolino; it has a family owned pizzeria called La Dolce Vita. There is no La Tasca with an SK6 postcode; but there is a Spanish tapas bar and restaurant called Murillo's Spanish Restaurant and Marple Tapas Wine Bar, owned and managed by a man called Felix from Madrid, with his son Simon doing the honours in the kitchen.

At approximately 20 minutes past 1pm on the second to last Sunday in November, our 7-year son, one of our brood of five, all aged 10 and under, proclaimed this establishment to be “the worst restaurant in the whole world.”

I need to make clear that he no longer holds this view. At that point he had only eaten a couple of my whitebait starter and a piece of delicious garlic bread as he was waiting for his tapas to arrive. He was hungry. In fact, he was beyond hunger, he was also bored and had completely exhausted every possible use for his bendy straw and the dregs of his orange juice. The music had only just been turned on, and he’d already been to the toilet, which is really just an excuse to get up from the table and explore the restaurant’s nether reaches.

We’d been there since 25 past 12, we’d booked the day before, so they knew we were coming. The wait was far too long, even if you factor in how impatient we are because we have five kids to entertain as they strain every sinew in their bodies to sit still in what felt like someone’s living room (it is a converted house). And to be fair, we’d probably faffed around with our order and spent too much time explaining to our kids the idea that tapas are a good idea. But still it was too slow.

Fortunately when the plates of tapas started to arrive there was a feeding frenzy which made us forget the delay.

Our five boys and my wife, were treated to sizzling chorizo, ribs in a fruity Spanish sauce, calamari, potatoes, chicken in garlic, meatballs, grilled king prawns, omelette, potatoes. And chips. The last time we came they all wanted chips, this time we just added a bowl as a filler.

The verdict was unanimously, enthusiastically and joyously positive. Each of them tried something new and liked what they ate. Each of them had a different favourite by the end. I almost wished we’d been even more adventurous.

I’d gone with the Sunday Roast menu and opted for whitebait to start, followed by mixed paella. It had a bit of everything in it, but the prawns were a bit rubbery and old compared with the fresh and juicy King Prawns I peeled for the boys. The rice was just so and had a spicy flavour. The fresh green beans and peppers were crunchy and full of flavour.

No restaurant can be faulted for the end result of happy children with clean plates and sticky fingers. Tapas is a fantastic way of eating out with children without appealing to the lowest common denominator of the hated children’s menu with nuggets. And Murillos do it very well. Each dish is sizzling and hot, each piece individual with a careful selection of dips and sauces. The atmosphere, once it gets going, is friendly and informal.

All in all, once we’d got over the initial wait, I’d say the visit was coasting towards a triumph. However, dessert was a real disappointment. Three of us had a sickly rich toffee fudge cake, which was meant to come with vanilla ice cream, but first we were told they didn’t have enough vanilla for all of the portions. Word then came from the kitchen that the remaining vanilla had melted. A substitute Knickerbocker Glory had loads of ice cream in it, but the fruit at the bottom seemed tasteless and frozen like the stuff you get in Iceland.

So the big question. Would I come back with the family?

The answer is yes, service time and dessert excepted, Murillos was worth a visit and will be worth subsequent ones. The total cost by the way for the six of us was a straight £90.

Venues are rated against the best examples of their kind: fine dining against the best fine dining, cafes against the best cafes. Following on from this the scores represent: 1-5 saw your leg off and eat it, 6-9 get a DVD, 10-11 if you must, 12-13 if you’re passing,14-15 worth a trip,16-17 very good, 17-18 exceptional, 19 pure quality, 20 perfect. More than 20: Gordo gets carried away