I had to look up the word bulla. A noun, female, said the 2021 Word Reference Dictionary, best translated as ruckus, commotion, racket, uproar.

Interesting. I wondered if I’d soon be raisin’ a ruckus about the new San Miguel restaurant with the unlikely name of Bulla after my initial visit.

I was certainly anxious to get there. At my overripe old age, Spanish cuisine has become my most-appreciated cuisine. And with the demise of Oli on Calle Reloj, there was no restaurante tradicional español left in San Miguel de Allende. Until, about four months ago, when Bulla opened its doors.

The restaurant had its beginnings near the museum of Anthropology in Mexico City when a group of Spaniards decided to build “a place that reminds us of the cuisine of our childhood, that of our grandmother, that of the bars and restaurants of all our lives.”

They brought a partner into the fold named Pedro Martin, a Spanish chef who’d become a bit of legend with El Secreto, a restaurant in the capital that you couldn’t walk in to, couldn’t make a reservation, could only be “invited” to. Hmmmmmm!

I liked the menu at Bulla in Mexico City. I liked that the menu at Bulla in San Miguel de Allende was, to the best of my old brain, identical. I liked that the menu was old-fashioned, not bending to trendy ingredients, not attempting to Mexicanize old standards. The starch was bread not tortillas. The peppers were padrón not jalapeño.

I went to the online menu and pencilled and pocketed a want-list before we left home. I wanted croquettes (I always want croquettes). I wanted anchovies. I wanted baby squid (that are called chipiróns in Spain). I wanted morcilla (that I call black pudding and Don Day’s Wife calls disgusting). I wanted oxtail or pork cheeks or, perhaps, even both.

We got off to a bit of a rocky start at Bulla. I wanted an inexpensive bottle of Tempranillo. The waiter said he had a couple of vinos tintos de la casa he would like to recommend. I asked him for the prices. The cheapest was $1900. 

Yes, I know he was doing his job. Yes, I know a restaurant’s profits all come in bottles not on plates. But.

I did the pensioners’ poverty plea in my best Spanglish and asked him to bring a bottle of red under $1000 pesos. He brought a bottle from Valencia called Atance made from a grape I’d never heard of.

Did we want water? “Yes, please”, said Don Day’s Wife, “the agua de casa is fine.”

The waiter brought us a fancy bottle of a “limited edition” water with a maximum pH of 8.5. I wondered if a maximum pH of 8.5 is a good or a bad thing. I wondered what the hell this water was costing me.

We started with croquettes. We liked that you could order half orders. It meant we could get both the cod and the ham (at a very affordable 95 pesos each). There’s no better way to measure the skills of a Spanish kitchen than with their croquettes.

I took a dark one, the pork. Don Day’s Wife took a pale one, the cod. She pursed her lips and nodded. A light crispy outside. A rich creamy inside. Some interesting salsa smears. I nodded back. This was a skilful kitchen. The wine made from a grape I’d never heard of was starting to taste much better.

Next up were the grilled chipiróns. I don’t know where Spanish restaurants source these baby squid. I wished I did. So tender. So juicy. Not rubbery like their elder brothers. Bulla grills them with a good olive oil, a little garlic and a touch of citrus. I was almost but not quite forgetting to fret about the price of the limited edition water.

What shall we order next? I began negotiating for either the anchovies or the sardines. I’m rarely successful when trying to woo Don Day’s Wife with the joys of what she calls “fishy fish”. Yes, I failed once again.

I switched my attention to red meat. Bulla has both stewed cachetas (pork cheeks) and rabo de toro (oxtail) on their menu. They’re two of our favorite cuts of slow-cooked meats but, because of the cleaning that’s necessary, not two of Don Day’s Wife’s favorites to prepare.

“Heads or tails”, I said to Don Day’s Wife, knowing I was going to win either way.

“Let’s do both, half orders again”, she replied. I was getting to like this ability to order tapas-sized dishes from what are usually mains.

Melt-in-your-mouth is such a culinary cliché but it’s the best way I can describe the consistency of the cheeks.

Fall-of-the-bone is another almost as bad cliché but that’s what the oxtail was. A rich red wine sauce became the ideal gravy for mopping with forkfuls of the mashed potatoes and crispy leeks.

I asked the waiter (who was as good at serving clients as he was at upselling wine) if that giant of a guy behind the bar was the chef. 

“That’s him”, he replied. “Would you like to meet him? Shall I ask him to come over?”

The chef, who became even more of a giant when he loomed over our table, introduced himself as Jesus Pedraza, told us he was from Madrid, blamed a woman (his wife) for luring him to Mexico and, when I complimented him on the kitchen’s food, made sure that Pedro Martin received all of the plaudits.

“And what should we finish our dinner with?”, I asked. “Which of Pedro Martin’s creations should be our finale?”

“How about I bring you one of his desserts and bring you one of mine?”, said Chef Jesus.

I’m not sure which one of us said “yes” the quickest.

First to arrive was Chef Martin’s classic arroz con leche. The Spaniards might just be the champions of rice pud and the hint of cinnamon made this version cinfully good.

Then out came Chef Pedraza carrying a very simple looking cake.

“This is a tarta de Santiago tradicional”, said the chef, then turned and walked back to the kitchen carrying the very simple looking cake, leaving us with puzzled gazes.

Seconds later Chef Jesus returned. “This is my tarta de Santiago”, said the chef. “This is my tarta de Santiago liquida”, as he positioned a cupcake sized version in the middle of the table.

In went Don Day’s Wife’s spoon and out oozed this molten mass of almond joy. 

“Awesome”, I said, as I wiped the syrup off my beard. “But what if Pedro Martin knew you were messing with one of his classics.”

Jesus chuckled and said, “He does”, as he showed me a photo on his phone and pointed to a security camera up in the arches of the classic courtyard.

I took the last sip of the red wine. I took a photo of the label. I wanted to remember the name of that grape. I wanted more of it.

I wanted more of Bulla as well. I wanted more of that kitchen’s food. Not just the anchovies, the sardines, but, with perhaps some sweet-talking, even the morcilla with padrón peppers.

There are some restaurants you go to, have an absolutely wonderful meal, but never return to. I think our trip to Bulla may be the start of a meaningful relationship.

Bulla Gastronómico is located at Calle Hernandez Macias #82 in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. The restaurant is open on Sunday, Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm to 10:00 pm; Thursday, Friday and Saturday from 1:00 pm to 11:30 pm.