Food and drink blog

The Hostal Sa Tuna (€130 a double, a night, min 4 night stay in high season) opened in 1944, back in the day when the Costa Brava was still peopled by Hollywood starlets and young artists like Picasso, Man Ray and Dalì. It still exudes a certain aura: small put perfectly formed with the kind of décor you might expect to find in Maine: sisal matting on the floor, white and blue paintwork, a large balcony looking out to sea.

The beach is rammed like a can of sardines, but the grot of developments like Lloret del Mar further down the coast has been avoided, and for the most part the little shingle bay is lined by pretty fisherman’s houses turned upmarket holiday homes and the water is as clear as a glass of gin. The scent of umbrella pines still perfume the air despite major forest fires at the start of the season. No doubt about it, Sa Tuna’s got class. It’s also got fantastic fish and seafood.

If some of the mains seem a bit overblown for the place, like monkfish gratin with honey alioli, or a pea stew with blood sausage and cod tripe, the fish of the day simply grilled, or baked Costa Brava style on a bed of potatoes, onions and tomatoes are done to perfection. On our first visit we had boat-fresh sole and pearly John Dory, both grilled and pleasingly unembellished, and served with a choice of chips or steamed vegetables. I had the vegetables, but probably wouldn’t again. The chips looked better.

Thus inspired, our second visit called for a full blow-out on “pica-pica” dishes. Mostly it's fish and seafood with a token plate of jamón Iberico tagged on at the end. Portions are easily enough to satisfy two. We have a pile of Galician clams a la plancha, barely cooked through and bursting with brine and minerals; sweet fleshed langostinos en tempura are hot, crisp and crunchy and come in a paper cone; chubby scallops seared on a hellish hot grill reveal rich, buttery meat; and squid are char-grilled just long enough to turn the flesh pink, while the tentacles emerge blackened and delicious.