We’ve all gone to a foreign city and suffered at the hands of unscrupulous restaurateurs. You know the type. Glitzy signs, menu in your language, friendly waiters beckoning you in. No matter how much of a world traveler you are, this option is sometimes as tempting as iced water to a marathon runner. This tale of two tavernas shows you what happens when you’re led astray and what to look for so it doesn’t happen again.

No European flags in sight, no word of English, German or French anywhere. Instead, a cozy place that could’ve been the living room an exotic auntie.

Pride of place

After a hard day’s traveling made worse by a delayed flight, I arrived in Alicante. Hungry and tired, with my wife and toddler in tow, I set out to find a place to chow down. Alicante has a beautiful seaside promenade. Miami Pizzeria was right on it.

Alicante is also located next to a cliff, on top of which sits the Alicante fortress. On the second day, we were exploring the steep, twisting hillside streets. That’s where we found La Taberna de Charly. It was by pure chance.

A cool customer

The reason we went in Miami, against our better judgment, was because it looked like loads of locals were sitting there too. It turned out loads of locals were sitting on their own deckchairs outside of it. Inside it was just tourists.

There was one customer sitting outside La Taberna de Charly. He was smoking and reading a paper. A dog sat at his feet. From the way he was relaxed in his chair it was clear he’d been there before.

The host without the boast

The host at Miami was nowhere to be seen. The blurb on the wall of the restaurant described a family enterprise, but the teenage waiters were clearly not brothers and sisters. The kitchen was hidden from view, and I very much doubt a Mr. Miami was donning an apron there.

At La Taberna de Charly, which was just about to close for the afternoon, we were greeted by a friendly man who told us not to worry – we could eat and drink whatever we wanted, he’d keep the place open for us. Later he said that Charly, who normally made the couscous dishes, was away that day, and that he’d cooked everything on his own. The results were amazing.

The Mecca of décor

On the covered terrace of Miami, the walls were bare save huge, multilingual placards praising the fresh ingredients and the artisan touch behind their mouthwatering dishes. In hindsight, we should’ve realized that the food should speak for itself (and it didn’t). Clearly, they needed to big themselves up like that because no one else would.

At La Taberna de Charly, there was a handwritten menu in Spanish on a blackboard outside, while the interior of the tiny restaurant was cluttered with Moroccan-style lamps and curiosities. No European flags in sight, no word of English, German or French anywhere. Instead, a cozy place that could’ve been the living room an exotic auntie… and judging from the aroma, that auntie was an excellent cook!

The judge’s verdict

At Miami the food was rubbish. The service was average. The bill was a ripoff.

At La Taberna de Charly, the food and wine were both fantastic. One of the best meals I’ve ever had in the whole of Spain. The service was exceptional. It felt like eating around a friend’s house. The bill was a total bargain for what we had.

The moral of this story. If it looks like a trap, it is a trap. If it looks local, it might be a gem.