The Spanish Butcher

A Rough Start, but a Glorious Finish.

Review: The Spanish Butcher, Glasgow — Where Redemption Is Served Medium-Rare

As a big American and former restaurant professional, I’ve learned two things: one, never trust a dry slider; and two, great food can redeem almost anything—even a rough start. So let’s dig into The Spanish Butcher in Glasgow, where my evening took a surprising arc from disappointment to delicious redemption.

Starter Course: The Cautionary Tale of the Sliders

We kicked things off with the beef & marrow sliders, truffle cheese, harissa aioli—a trio that promised decadence and delivered... dryness. These sliders were so overcooked I considered calling the fire brigade. Bone marrow? Nowhere to be found. Maybe it ghosted. For a restaurant that proudly calls itself a steakhouse, meat missteps like this are cardinal sins. Now, I’m no stranger to a bad day in the kitchen—I've had a few—but this one set a low bar. That said, I judge not to tear down, but to help lift up. There’s potential here; it just didn’t show up in this course.

Now We’re Talking: Jamón Ibérico and Carpaccio

Redemption started swiftly. The jamón ibérico de bellota (30-month aged, 100% acorn-fed) was a beautiful reminder of what happens when nature and patience collide. For the uninitiated: this is the Kobe beef of ham. The pigs are raised on a diet of acorns, and the result is a marbled, nutty, melt-in-your-mouth experience. Served simply, with a couple of guindilla chillies for bite, it needed no dressing up—just a moment of reverence.

Then came the fillet of beef carpaccio, with guindilla chilli and Payoyo cheese (a sheep-goat blend from Cádiz that deserves its own fan club). This dish was a love letter to texture and restraint. The beef was sliced whisper-thin, dissolving instantly, while the chilli gave just enough zing. The cheese added creamy tang and depth. This was harmony, plated.

The Main Event: Galician Glory

We ordered the Galician Blond fillet, 230g of pure bovine poetry, served with mojo verde. For context: Galician Blond cattle (or Rubia Gallega) are pasture-raised in northwest Spain, famed for their deep beefy flavor and generous marbling. Think of them as the rockstars of European steak culture.

This fillet? Tender. Charred just right. Cooked exactly medium rare—as ordered—which, after the slider debacle, felt like a personal apology from the grill. The mojo verde, a punchy green sauce made from herbs, garlic, and citrus, delivered the acidic kick that cut through the richness with elegance.

The Sides That Stole the Show

The cauliflower cheese—a British staple and, honestly, one of my guilty pleasures—was comforting, creamy, and rich enough to double as a duvet. The cheese was sharp, the sauce perfectly thick, and the top had just enough golden crisp. If you’re not dipping your steak in it, you’re doing it wrong.

We also ordered the grilled bone marrow, which more than made up for its phantom appearance in the sliders. It arrived piping hot, smothered with caramelized onions, and kissed with sherry vinegar—a perfect pairing with the leaner cut of steak. Unctuous, sweet, and savory, it’s the kind of dish you want todrink from the bone like a barbarian. And I did.

Final Thoughts: From Fumble to Finish Line

Now, Google has this place at 4.2 stars. I’d nudge that to a solid 4.5. Despite the false start, the restaurant showcased what it’s capable of—and it’s capable of a lot. There’s heart here, a sense of culinary identity, and the potential to be great. With a little more consistency, it absolutely will be.

Tonight, The Spanish Butcher earned a Beard-O-Meter score of 8 out of 10.

Why 8? Because while dry sliders are a sin, I believe in grace—and in bone marrow that makes you forget the past.