Sevilla, a sixty-year-old West Village standard seemed like a great place to celebrate the birthday of someone among whose avowed passions include fast cars, gravity sports, sushi and tapas. The crowds on this sodden evening made it evident this place has garnered a larger than life following, or at least, a larger than capacity following.
As one reviewer writes, “You may have to wait, but is that bad?” Seven isn’t an easy number to seat, but we did well, bellying up to the bar and taking on some delightful grand reserva rioja, while watching dishes containing every crustacean imaginable pass by.
The wait was worth it — lobster, paella, sausage, mussels, veal, a spanish omlette that could have fed seven, was all more than we could manage. The crowning moment? The tower of flan sporting a single candle accompanied by one of the most tuneful restaurant renditions of “Happy birthday to you” and kisses for the ladies (none of whose birthdays it was, ah the Spanish.)
Of note was the plethora of birthday bashes that seemed to be being celebrated last night. What was it about the month of August that inspired so many? With every table singing and cheering for every other table (sort of like a communal karaoke with only one song on the machine), the celebrant who garnered the most vigorous cheers was one middle-aged man who donned his gift: a black tee shirt sporting the message (in trademark typeface), “F*ck milk, got pot?”
To plan your own night out: Sevilla Restaurant & Ba, 62 Charles St. Read CitySearch reviews here.