The website for Maravella (Carrer del Río, 397, Poblados del Sur, València; +34 666 176 813; maravellarestaurante.com/en/) describes the restaurant as an alquería, or ‶farmhouse.″ That’s technically correct. The back of the property does contains a large huerta, or ‶garden,″ where much of the produce is grown. But there’s nothing rustic about Maravella. It may sit among the rice fields in the wetlands of La Albufera, but the bar (above) is as slick as any in Valencia city and the restaurant itself is clearly ‶smart casual,″ and by reservation only. The bicycle path from Valencia’s port passes right behind Maravella but it was too hot to pedal on the day I visited with a group. But we were easily accommodated at a big table in the dining room. In keeping with the tone, the food was relatively simple but delicious and beautifully presented.
The menu draws extensively on the garden (of course) as well as on the local catch. I spotted both ocean-going fish and red mullet from the Albufera on the menu. We elected to drink a nice crisp Sauvignon Blanc from Utiel-Requena, so we started with some croquetas and a tomato salad (both below).
But not just any tomato salad. The big pear-shaped Valencia tomatoes were just coming into season, Maravella wisely did little more than cut them in wedges. But then the kitchen added homemade cured tuna belly, half-dried octopus, and some sweet piparra pepper. The tomatoes were the star — the fish were the seasoning. Humble shrimp croquetas were likewise given a fresh look with a red prawn tartare and steamed prawn heads. (Yes, you suck the heads.)
Just because it is Valencia, rice is the star of the meal
I could easily have stopped there, but our table of eight had two rice dishes coming. They were technically not paella, though the pans were the same and the technique was similar. One was a simple baked rice with rock fish and red mullet — delicious but mainly a brown expanse to look at. Our second arros was a Valencia-area specialty of rice with small meatballs (mandonguilles) and slices of mild white sausage (blanquet).
Like a paella, it was seasoned with sweet Spanish paprika, saffron, wine, and broth. Cooked over a open flame in a 60-cm. (just under 2- foot) steel pan, it made a dramatic presentation on the table. We were all sated from the earlier courses, but that didn’t keep us from vying to scrape up the soccarat, as the crusty layer at the bottom of the pan is called.
