Spoonik Club

Spoonik began as a clandestine supper club four years ago in the Plaça de Lesseps home of chefs Jon Giraldo and Jaime Lieberman, and eventually evolved into an official restaurant in nearby Sant Gervasi. Giraldo and Lieberman, from Colombia and Mexico respectively, have gone on to be recognised as two of the most innovative chefs in the city, and have recently returned to their roots, once again opening their home—now dubbed the Spoonik Club—to the public. At this elegant and theatrical supper club, reservations are mandatory and operating hours vary.

The day before our Tuesday evening dinner, I received a text message telling me to be at a specific address in Plaça de Lesseps at 9pm sharp. We rang the bell at 9.01pm and before the door could be opened, Giraldo appeared from around the corner of the building in his street clothes. He was instantly recognisable by his distinctive shaved head, mutton chop sideburns, stylised mustache and tightly-cropped goatee. We had never met him in person, but we were soon to discover that his eccentric and edgy appearance perfectly complements his flamboyant character.

Lieberman wasn’t present the night of our dinner, which began with welcome glasses of champagne in the verdant garden entrance to the house. The Spoonik sommelier chatted with us briefly before Giraldo made his first official appearance, greeting the 14 guests for the nine-course meal that would continue until 1.30am. After telling the story of Spoonik and describing how he and his business partner’s backgrounds led to the ‘creative Latin cooking’ concept that defines it, we were ushered inside to our assigned seats to begin the feast.

Spoonik Club is a home with a single, open space and an open kitchen to one side. Strung lights dangle from the high ceiling, and an eclectic collection of artwork—from kitsch to classical—adorns the walls, each piece either a meaningful momento from the chefs’ lives or a gift from friends and customers. A framed painting of Luz Marina Zuluaga, the first ever Colombian to be named Miss Universe in 1958, takes pride of place. Giraldo tells us it’s a family heirloom. In the corner sits an upright piano and a host of other instruments. They were played for us throughout the night by a talented multi-instrumentalist whose musical compositions were chosen to reflect the theme of each course—from lounge-style piano during our entrance to spritely plucking of the Andean charango (a stringed instrument in the lute family) while we savoured our trout ceviche with ginger leche de tigre, sweet potato purée, choclo, trout roe and fragrant leaves of huacatay.

The menu progressed from smaller bites to more substantial plates, though none of the food felt paltry nor overly filling. The balance and pacing were perfect, and four and a half hours seemed to fly by. The room was so dark I couldn’t even read the menu when we first sat down, but as the meal began, the lights came up and the ambient piano music transitioned into uplifting live guitar playing, ushering us into an unforgettable evening.

The first dish, a crispy, bite-sized taco filled with black beans, peanut sauce, pasilla chillies and dried tomatoes, was served with the ‘Cocktail Spoonik’, a mild blend of tequila, pineapple, tajín chilli, peach and lime. The crispy taco is meant to be wrapped in the tender leaves of the accompanying butter lettuce, like a taquito crossed with a Thai spring roll.

The next three dishes formed a great progression, though each was distinct from the last. The Colombian-style fried empanada of beef fillet with spicy ajiaco, avocado cream and fried capers was garnished with a deeply-concentrated jus of black-legged chicken, which was packed with more flavour than I could have imagined and had a superb balance between spicy, fat and salty. It was my first empanada with chicken jus and it might just be the best empanada I have ever had. 

Next came the ceviche, followed by a single papalisa (a tuber similar to a fingerling potato), smeared with smoked corvina roe and laid atop a dollop of double cream, reduced down to achieve a staggering level of 90 percent fat. The cream was velvety and luxurious, with a bit of tang that calmed the pungent caviar.

Other dishes, such as the meaty turbot served with guayaba fruit and pine nut vinaigrette, and the complex and earthy chocolate tamale, made for a meal that never felt predictable. With each new pour from the ‘Singulares’ optional wine pairing list (unusual wines from Spain and France), I felt myself settle deeper into utter contentment.

My favourite dish of the evening was definitely the fifth course, the ‘royal’ of suckling Iberian pig topped with a fried oyster and garnished with achiote mayonnaise, chilli oil, coriander and cacao nibs. Paired with an exceptional single-cask Oloroso sherry from the bodega Lustau and heavenly, live opera singing, this delicate dish resembled a sublime custard and gave me goosebumps with the first bite. Perhaps that spoonful of food on its own would not have been so moving, but the wine, the food, the music and the ambiance converged to form an exquisite moment, and I’ve concluded that those types of moments are what Spoonik is all about.