The experience continued to deflate with dessert. Slices of persimmon poached in prosecco could have been cooked in anything; they were so bland that we barely finished half an order. Everyone loved the intensely chocolaty Castilian cocoa that came with an order of doughnut holes, but the holes themselves -- about which I'd heard good things -- were leaden, awful lumps. Was the pastry chef out sick?
It was hard to make sense of it all. Should a few, unforgivable misfires overshadow an otherwise fine meal? People, there's no excuse for bad pastry, and unless you hear otherwise from a reliable source you should avoid any baked goods at Andalu like grim death. But would I go back? After all, the prices are right, the dishes go surprisingly well together, and the sangria just plain kicks ass. So, out of a possible total of one, I'm giving one thumb up. Make sure you try the sardines.