Itchy wasn’t immediately convinced by Copita’s more-bar-than-restaurant vibe. Even early on a Tuesday evening the place was a little unpleasantly noisy, filled with trendy City-types perched on tall bar stools at inconveniently small tables. It’s self-consciously ‘authentic’, we thought, with its terracotta bowls and untranslated Spanish menu that forces you to surreptitiously google the dishes on your phone in order to avoid looking ignorant in front of your fellow diners.
It was with some reservation, then, that we clambered gracelessly onto our bar stools to peruse the menu. Faced with a page of tapas dishes we didn’t recognise – Copita is not a tortilla kind of place – we quickly ordered a bottle of house white. This was the first pleasant surprise of the evening. At £18 it’s not the cheapest drink we’ve ever had but it was delicious and got the meal off to a good start.