Sardine Can: An unfocused culinary journey

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Sardine Can

Location: 26 Powell St., Vancouver 604-578-1350

Website: thesardinecan.ca

Prices: Small plates from $5 to $10

Cuisine: Spanish tapasStars: One

Is Gastown the new Barcelona? Sardine Can is the latest tapas restaurant to spring from cobblestone streets in Vancouver's historic district. On a recent Friday night, the bustling neighbourhood almost looked like a joyous slice of Spain.

Summer had finally deigned to arrive. Everyone was out in short sundresses and sandals, basking in the long-awaited sultriness. We spent the evening strolling from Judas Goat to Sardine Can and later on to Boneta, stopping in at each for small bites and cool beverages. It all felt so European.

The aptly named Sardine Can is a cozy hole-in-the-wall comprised of 19 seats squeezed up against three high-top tables and a tiny open-kitchen bar. Launched in May, it's the newest venture from Andrey Durbach and Chris Stewart, owners of Cafeteria, La Buca, Pied-a-Terre and the late Parkside Restaurant.

A high ceiling and classic white-tiled floor help the joint feel more spacious than it is. But the no-reservations room fills up fast. So unless you don't mind a horde of hungry diners standing behind you, salivating over your food, I suggest you arrive early. With doors swinging open at 3 p.m., it's a good place to begin your crawl and get a jump on the festivities.

Thoroughly Spanish, the bar offers a nice, tightly edited selection of beer, wine, sherry and brandy. Start the night off right with para picar, a grazing plate of oil-marinated olives, spiced almonds and chickpea spread, complemented by a tumbler of sparkling cava or dry tongue-smacking fino (a fine aperitif for whetting the palate, though perhaps an acquired taste). Then work your way through heartier dishes with sweet solera, juicy garnacha and bold tempranillos. Finish with 10-year-old torres to lick up a savoury dark chocolate terrine, spread over oily toast with chili pepper and sea salt for dipping.

Sardine Can doesn't boast a full kitchen. Like the nearby Judas Goat and Salt Tasting Room, there are no grills or burners behind the bar. Dishes are prepared in an off-site commissary and heated to order in a convection oven or on induction plates.

The split setup might explain why the food is inconsistent, both in vision and execution. Take for instance, the divine pork belly crustado, a special on a weekend menu two weeks ago. The thick bacon was cured in its own fat, preserved in duck confit, rolled into a flat spiral and crisped to a crackly crust. Served with insanely buttery creamed cauliflower (so velvety it must have been cooked with the same 50-50 ratio as Jöel Robuchon's famous mashed potatoes) and a glossy oloroso sherry reduction that tasted like apple-infused maple syrup, the heart-attack pork was awfully ambitious for a restaurant at which you help yourself to cutlery from metal cans on the table.

By comparison, signature smoked sardines feel nervously cautious. These are fabulous sardines, fresh and not too fishy. But they're smashed into pabulum and spread across a mask of dry oily toast. Why not serve whole sardines or, even better, anchovies? Is the deliciously rich baitfish, standards on any Spanish menu, deemed too daring for timid Vancouver? Or is the chef underestimating our appetite for adventure?

Asparagus has been a regular special in the past couple of weeks. On one occasion, it was perfectly firm with dark char marks, drizzled with luscious jambon vinaigrette that tread a fine balance between tart and umami. But another visit, the green spears were overcooked and mushy, served with a bland romesco sauce lacking salt and acidity.

You have to wonder how much control restaurant chef Jose Galindo has over the menu. When we asked for a shellfish recommendation, he shrugged and suggested meatballs. The meatballs, cooked in a rich tomato and Rioja wine sauce, are packed with flavour, though a bit dense and overwhelmed with fennel.

After a bit more prompting (we were really in the mood for shellfish), the effervescent chef suggested steamed clams cooked in a white wine broth that was very buttery and extremely salty. The clams were from the East Coast, Mr. Galindo explained, apologizing for the walloping sodium. Okay. The Atlantic is saltier than the Pacific and their clams taste different. But if the kitchen can't source the product that it typically uses, is there no leeway to alter the seasoning?

Pollo moruno, chicken braised in Moorish spices, suggests the prepackaged dishes may not allow room for flavour adjustments and finishing. Much like the guidado de pulpo, not-so-tender octopus stewed with fingerlings, chorizo and green olives, the chicken tasted unfocussed. Both needed a squeeze of lemon or dash of vinegar to marry the ingredients and brighten the sauces.

The food's not outstanding, but it's decent enough for the price. And if you pay with cash, they'll even give you a generous 10-per-cent discount. That's awfully friendly.

While perhaps not a destination in its own right, Sardine Can makes a pleasant addition to the Gastown snack-and-stroll, a casual crawl that could also include oysters at Cork and Fin, gyoza at the Diamond and cocktails at L'Abattoir. And much like a Spanish tapas route, I think that's the intention.