Malagón takes diners on a tour of Spain with a robust wine list, diverse tapas plates (2024)

From the outside, Malagón seems pretty unassuming. The converted single-family house is painted beige. The only signage is a round brown panel with a single tall M on it, though “Malagón” is inscribed in stylish but discrete gold letters on one plate glass window and “Mercado y Tapería” on the other.

Against that modest facade, the bright-red door really stands out. What waits behind it is a remarkable exploration of Spain’s many culinary regions.

Each visit begins with a complimentary dish of quicos, fried corn kernels that are very salty and hard enough to rattle your fillings, yet surprisingly addictive. Chunks of tender spiced lamb ($18) arrive in a flat brown bowl, speared with toothpicks for easy dipping or, rather, for undipping, since they’re half submerged in an oily pool of paprika-laced marinade.

More primly plated is La Bomba del la Barcoloneta ($15), a golden brown orb topped with a piped swirl of white aioli and bright green parsley leaf. Beneath the crisp-fried crust, a layer of soft mashed potatoes encloses crumbles of savory ground pork with a sneaky but pleasant surge of spicy heat.

Some of the small plates can only be described as odd. One would expect bold flavors from smoked lamb shoulder ($19) that’s sliced thin and layered with fermented peaches. There’s barely a trace of smoke or fruity sweetness, though, and the soft yellow slices of peach fade almost to nothingness on the tongue.

Being odd is not necessarily a bad thing, of course. What looks to be a plate of sliced ham is actually cured tuna belly ($13) shaved into long rose-hued strips and drizzled with olive oil. If you follow your server’s advice and fold a thin slice around one of the accompanying marcona almonds, you create a salty, umami-rich package that’s a little gritty and leathery on the tongue, but in the very best way.

Malagón opened in March 2019, and over the past five years has embedded itself somewhat quietly into the local scene. Old-timers will remember the small ground-floor space as the former home of Artisan Meat Share, and the basic layout is the same: long bar counter to the left, a few larger tables in a niche on the right.

A scattering of white marble two-tops lets you dine amid the mercato offering. Bottle after bottle of Spanish wine line long shelves along each wall, interspersed with cans of imported paprika and tinned fish.

The restaurant is a collaboration among Fanny and Patrick Panella, the restaurateurs behind Bin 152 and Chez Nous, and chef Juan Cassalett. It’s just around the corner from Chez Nous, where Cassalett was once sous chef, and his wife, Jill Matthias, still leads the kitchen. Though similarly small in size, the atmosphere and menu at Malagón seem almost a world away.

I have an issue with that menu, too. It consists of eight sheets of cardstock of increasing lengths, bound vertically so that, when closed, you can see the headings at the bottom of each page —“Para Picar/Snacks” at the very top, “Café y Postres” at the bottom.

It looks sharp, but such a format is bewildering to those who remember things spatially. By the time I flipped my way to “Del Mar/From the Sea,” I struggled to recall the three tempting options we had settled on from the tapas tabs. Even more flipping ensued when the server arrived and asked, “Now what did we say we wanted from the Vegetables section?”

But that’s all forgotten once the dishes start to arrive. They do so at random intervals as each is ready, in proper tapas fashion, which injects an element of surprise and delight. (“Oh, look, lamb! Did we order that?”)

The two pages of tapas include the requisite crisp-fried patatas bravas ($9) and also two of the best small dishes I’ve had this year.

The ensalada de calamar ($16) looks quite unlike a squid salad and more like a cold noodle dish. The squid is sliced into long spaghetti-like strips that are delightfully al dente in texture. They’re tossed in a slick of good olive oil with a bang of salt, lots of chopped chives and just enough garlic to impart a sharp finishing note.

Equally surprising is a seemingly simple plate of three stout-but-soft white asparagus spears ($16), each with two slivers of anchovy perched on top. Daubs of garlic-scented aioli flank the spears, adding a creamy accent to what is otherwise a funky, astringent plate. It’s the kind of aggressively flavorful combo you either love or hate, and I loved it.

Amid such a parade of small bites, the larger dishes are worthy of attention, too. The fish of the day incorporates fresh local catch into inventive preparations like cabbage-wrapped black grouper in a bright orange chorizo sauce. There’s a rotating paella, too, which might incorporate grouper cheeks and Jimmy Nardello peppers one day, and squid, mussels and clams the next.

The roasted rabbit ($42) is deceptive in its simplicity. Two haunches, their skin seared golden brown, are stacked atop a long spear of rosemary and a thin pool of light-brown sauce. A slice of that silky white meat might seem a touch dry until you dredge it through the buttery jus, which sparkles with lemon and rosemary.

Malagón has no liquor license, but its aperitivo list offers a selection of vermouths and sherries, a few of which are blended into co*cktails. Served in a stylish long-stemmed glass, the Adonis ($15) is a sweet, crisp marriage of amontillado and vermouth with a kiss of orange on the finish. Though it seems unlikely, a garnish of a green olive wrapped in lemon peel proves to be an excellent briny counterbalance to the sweetness of sparkling cava and red vermouth in the Malagón’s Spritz ($15).

The real center of gravity, though, are the wines, which hew to theme and don’t stray beyond Spanish borders. A solid glass of red like the Viña Alberdi from La Rioja Alta ($16) or a young, light Gramona Mart rosé ($15) are fine matches for the plates’ spice and acid. If you’re up for a splurge, the garnet-hued 2012 R. López de Heredia Viña Tondonia ($29/glass), a Tempranillo blend, has a remarkably smooth, almost earthy cast and a long, dry finish that makes you linger over each sip.

Like the wine, the food hews to Spanish traditions, offering a tour of the country’s various regions. It’s tied to the Lowcountry primarily via the array of fresh vegetables and fruit from local purveyors, like Lowland Farms and Ambrose Farms.

An impressive summer fruit salad ($18) balances the bright sweetness of local peaches, figs and cherry tomatoes with a tart vinaigrette and just a hint of spice. A few firm wedges of plum pop up in the mix, and a sprinkle of chopped Marcona almonds adds an excellent buttery crunch.

There is one distracting note on the plate, though — broad leaves of fresh parsley, which intrude with a raw, grassy bite. The same sharp note recurs on the grilled carrots ($16), which are tender and richly sweet but land quite harshly on the tongue thanks to big leaves of parsley and a stiff dose of paprika.

That second note is applied with too generous a hand elsewhere, too. Against the spiced lamb’s wonderfully tender but chewy bite, the pool of warm, paprika-laced oil seems harsh and quite salty. The same stiff punch jars against the concentrated tomato sweetness in the Bomba de la Barceloneta’s supporting sauce.

The bold capsicum is quite welcome, though, when it lurks subtly in the background, as in the arros con cangrejo ($29), a real standout of a plate. A mound of short-grained, almost crumb-like rice glistens in lush brown sauce infused with squid ink. Tucked inside are lumps of blue crab, and those sweet bits really pop against the tender, lemony grains.

The restaurant’s showcase plate remains the tortilla Española ($14). A fluffy deep-dish omelet, it’s baked in a small cast-iron pan then flipped over so the beautiful golden-brown crust becomes the top. A blanket of aioli, thick and creamy as bechamel, is spread over the surface. Inside the eggy goodness are layers of onion and superbly tender slices of potatoes, which take the dish right over the top.

Even the dessert card offers unexpected regional delights. No, not the sugar-dusted churros ($8), which are just as crisp, hot and delicious as one would expect. The real head-turner is the Basque cheesecake ($11), a crustless concoction with a surface caramelized also black and, beneath that, a layer of firm, silky cheesecake that gives way to sweet, gooey custard on the bottom.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the importance of place and what it means to be “a Charleston restaurant.” Does Malagón qualify?

From one angle, the answer is a firm “no.” There are no “Spain heads South” mashups, no country ham amid the charcuteria, no Iberian spins on shrimp and grits. I could stretch a bit and declare the crab rice a Spanish take on a Lowcountry classic, but the only similarity it bears to local dishes by that name is that it contains crab and rice.

In other respects, though, Malagón seems a thoroughly Charleston restaurant. The use of fresh local vegetables grounds it in the local terroir, as does the fresh-caught seafood. More important, the food has a direct lineage in the city’s fine-dining scene and fits nicely into the larger culinary aesthetic.

Cassalett cut his teeth in the kitchen at Carolina’s under the tutelage of Jeremiah Bacon, and the grounding in technique and focus on quality ingredients really show. The preparations may adhere closely to Spanish traditions, but the vibe seems very Charleston, especially in the depth and intensity of flavors and the willingness to stretch diners’ culinary boundaries.

The restaurant is located just a few short strides off Upper King Street, under the shadows of hulking new apartment buildings. Amid the bustle and commotion, it’s easy to walk right past and not notice the little tapería, but if Malagón’s not on your radar screen yet, it certainly needs to be.