Saffron, Not Salsa: Spanish Food in St. Louis and How to Order
Revised October 13, 2026
Is Spanish and Mexican food the same?
No. Spanish food is the cooking of Spain: olive oil, garlic, saffron, smoked paprika, seafood, cured jamon and sherry, served as shared tapas and pan-cooked paella. Mexican food grew out of corn, chiles, beans, lime and cilantro. The two share a language and a few colonial-era ingredients, and very little heat in common.
Keep reading ↓Spain gave St. Louis a building, and an Imo’s Pizza lives in it now. Stand at South Broadway and Market, Busch Stadium at your back, and you’re looking at what became of the Spanish Pavilion from the New York World’s Fair, now part of a hotel. It rode west in pieces by truck and rail and opened here on May 29, 1969, while a parade of 1,600 people and the Budweiser Clydesdales clopped from City Hall to the door. Spanish chefs cooked the pavilion’s inaugural St. Louis dinner.
Mayor Alfonso Juan Cervantes had talked the Spanish government into gifting the building and its contents to his city. He wasn’t reaching. St. Louis was a Spanish colony for nearly half a century in the 1700s, and on May 26, 1780, the defenders of the Franco-Spanish village met a British-allied attack in what is also known as the Battle of Fort San Carlos. Spain is in this city’s bones.
Then the turn. The Spanish International Pavilion closed in April 1970, eleven months after opening, and filed for bankruptcy a month later. The shell lives on inside the Hilton St. Louis at the Ballpark, a Starbucks and that Imo’s in other parts of it. The red tile floors are gone. One account says the statue of Queen Isabella may still be hidden somewhere in the hotel.
The lesson the city paid for: Spain doesn’t land as a spectacle. It lands at a small table, one dish at a time. A clay dish of shrimp arrives still spitting oil, the garlic gone gold at the edges, and you tear bread to drag through it before anyone says a word. A croqueta cracks under your teeth and floods hot and creamy. A glass of dry sherry comes so cold the glass fogs in your hand. And the move that makes the whole night work is simple: order the paella first.
Spain lives on in smaller rooms now. On The Hill, the neighborhood St. Louis knows for Italian food, Modesto Tapas Bar & Restaurant at 5257 Shaw ran for 15 years before it closed. Down the same street, Guido’s at 5046 Shaw Avenue calls itself a “Taste of Spain in the Middle of Little Italy.” Its menu lists a Paella Valenciana with chicken and fresh seafood at $27.99, a vegetable Paella de la Huerta at $20.99, and Gambas al Ajillo at $10.99, shrimp in olive oil, garlic and cayenne that come out still hissing. Under both paellas, the menu prints the warning that matters: “Please allow additional time for preparation.” It’s open Tuesday through Sunday, 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., closed Mondays, and you can book at (314) 771-4900. Menus and prices change, so check before you go.
Here is the whole order for a table of two, word for word, so you never freeze while the server waits: “Paella for the table, please, and go ahead and start it now. Something cold and quick while we wait, then the gambas and the croquetas. And whatever you pour that’s dry and cold, a fino if you have sherry.” Then sit back, tear the bread, and let the garlic oil do its work. Before you go, settle the question every table asks first.
Is Spanish and Mexican food the same?
No. Spanish food is the cooking of Spain, in Europe: olive oil, garlic, saffron, smoked paprika, seafood, cured jamón and sherry, served as shared tapas and pan-cooked paella. Mexican food grew out of corn, chiles, beans, lime and cilantro in North America. The two share a language and a handful of colonial-era ingredients, and very little else.
Your tongue tells you first. Spanish cooking is almost never hot; the closest it comes is the smoky, brick-red warmth of pimentón. And the chorizo trap catches everyone once. Mexican chorizo is fresh and loose, crumbled into a skillet of eggs. Spanish chorizo is cured, firm and sliced thin, oily and red at the edges, eaten with bread and wine. Same word. Different sausage. Calling the two cuisines the same is like calling a toasted ravioli and a pierogi the same because both are dough around a filling.
The menu that reads like a pop quiz
Most Spanish menus sort into four drawers: small plates, rice, cured meats and cheese, and a short run of sweets. Learn the drawers and the strange words stop being strange, because the same classic dishes show up from kitchen to kitchen.
The small plates carry the night. Patatas bravas are crisp fried potatoes under a smoky paprika sauce, often with a stripe of garlic aioli. Croquetas crack open to a molten, creamy center of ham or salt cod. Gambas al ajillo arrive still spitting in a little clay dish of olive oil and sliced garlic, and the oil is the point: you drag bread through it. Pan con tomate is grilled bread rubbed with ripe tomato, olive oil and salt, so simple it feels like a trick. Tortilla española is a thick potato and onion omelet, served in wedges, never folded around anything.
Further down you’ll meet pimientos de padrón, small blistered green peppers under flaky salt, most of them mild and the odd one hot enough to make you grab your water. Boquerones are white anchovies in vinegar, bright and nothing like the salty ones on a pizza. Albondigas are meatballs in tomato sauce. Pulpo is tender octopus dusted with paprika.
The cured meat drawer is where Spain shows off. Jamón serrano is dry-cured ham sliced so thin you can see the plate through it. Jamón ibérico comes from the black Iberian pig and tastes richer and nuttier, with fat that goes soft and glossy at room temperature. It costs more. It’s worth one plate. Manchego, the firm sheep’s-milk cheese, usually comes alongside with a sweet slab of quince paste.
Then the sweet end. Churros con chocolate are ridged sticks of fried dough you dunk into hot chocolate thick enough to coat a spoon. Crema catalana is a custard with a burnt-sugar lid you crack with the back of your spoon. If the churros are fried to order, you’ll smell them before you see them.
How does ordering tapas actually work?
Everything is shared and you order in rounds. Plates come out when the kitchen finishes them, not in courses, so the table fills up unevenly, one sizzling dish, then a cold one, then a lull. That’s the design. Once you expect it, the meal relaxes.
Open with the fast, cold things: pan con tomate, olives, a plate of jamón, a wedge of tortilla. They land quickly and keep everyone’s hands busy while the hot plates cook. Then pick a few hot ones, gambas, croquetas, bravas, the padrón peppers. When those are wiped clean, look at each other, look at the menu, and decide whether there’s room for another round.
Ask the server what comes out first and say how hungry the table is. It’s a normal question in a tapas room, and a good server will pace the order with you. If paella is on the way, they may tell you to go lighter on small plates.
Want to go one country west of paella? Here is what to order when you find Portuguese food in St. Louis.
If the menu splits every dish into three sizes, here’s how to read a tapas bar menu.
The rookie mistake is ordering everything at once. A dozen plates hitting a four-top in a rush means cold shrimp, elbows in the aioli and a table that looks like a buffet line. Two rounds, maybe three, keeps every plate hot. It also keeps the bill honest, because you stop when you’re full instead of when the menu runs out.
Hungry for saffron and garlic this week? Open the list of Spanish restaurants across the St. Louis metro on St Louis Near Me Directory, pick two that look right, and call ahead with the one question that matters: how long does the paella take?
If you’re the tapas bar, the paella cook or the one-person catering crew, list yours. Diners hunting for gambas and socarrat are searching right now, and a Gold listing puts your menu, photos and story where those customers are looking. See your options →
Why the best thing on the menu makes you wait
Paella is cooked to order in a wide, shallow pan, usually for the table, and it takes real time. The rice cooks uncovered in a thin layer, drinks up the broth, and then sits on the heat until the bottom turns into socarrat, the crisp, toasty crust that crackles when your spoon hits it. That crust is the prize. A kitchen that rushes paella never gets it.
So order it the moment you sit down, not after the tapas are gone. Ask how long it takes and whether there’s a minimum number of people. Then let the small plates carry you while the pan cooks. If your evening has a hard stop, a Cardinals first pitch or a show at the Fox, say so when you book.
Judge it by the rice, not the shrimp on top. Good paella rice is tender but separate, each grain gold with saffron and broth, never mushy, never swimming. Scrape the bottom and listen. If you hear the crackle, you found a kitchen that knows what it’s doing. Taste a bite plain before you squeeze the lemon.
Sherry is the insider move
Spanish food was built around Spanish wine. A dry red like Rioja or Ribera del Duero stands up to jamón and chorizo. A crisp Albariño or a Verdejo suits shrimp and paella. Cava, Spain’s sparkling wine, works from the first olive to the last churro. Sangria is the tourist pour.
Sherry is the one that surprises people. Forget the sticky bottle in your grandmother’s cabinet. Fino and Manzanilla are bone-dry, faintly salty and served cold, and next to a plate of olives and fried croquetas they taste like the sea air they came from. Amontillado and Oloroso are darker and nuttier, good with mushrooms and cheese. Pedro Ximénez is the sweet one, poured over vanilla ice cream. If a menu lists sherry by the glass, the kitchen probably takes the rest of the menu seriously too.
On a sticky St. Louis July night, ask for tinto de verano: red wine over ice with lemon soda, lighter and less sweet than sangria. After dinner, a cortado with a plate of churros is the proper way to end it.
Paella sitting heavy? Leash up the dog and walk it off. Here are the St. Louis dog parks worth the drive.
Two at the bar, or eight around one pan
For a date, sit at the bar or a two-top, order small rounds and split one paella. Nobody guards an entrée, nobody watches the other person eat while their plate is still in the kitchen. A couple driving in from Alton can put in for the paella, share the gambas, and let the evening stretch over a glass of Albariño. If you’re building a whole night around it, our guide to the best date night restaurants in St. Louis covers the rest.
For a big table, a birthday crowd from Des Peres or a work crew coming over from Fairview Heights, hand the menu to one person and let them order rounds for everyone, so plates land together and nobody has to defend a single croqueta. Ask ahead whether the kitchen offers a chef’s selection for groups. Order two different paellas so the seafood people and the meat people both go home happy.
How to spot a kitchen that cooks Spain on purpose
Look at the pantry the menu reveals. Does it name the ham, serrano or ibérico, or just say “ham”? Is the chorizo cured and sliced? Is there at least one dry sherry by the glass? Does the paella come with a stated wait? A menu that puts tacos next to paella and leads with a sangria pitcher is a “Latin” blend, which can be fun, but it isn’t Spain.
Fusion isn’t a crime. Just know what you’re ordering so the meal matches the craving. If your appetite runs toward other bold regional cooking, our guide to Cajun and Creole restaurants in St. Louis is a good next stop. For another kitchen with Spanish roots, see where to find Cuban food around St. Louis, and for the wider picture, our roundup of the best restaurants in St. Louis.
Frequently asked questions
What is the most famous Spanish dish?
Paella, the saffron rice cooked in a wide, shallow pan and shared straight from it, is the dish most people name first. Close behind are tortilla española, the thick potato omelet, plus gazpacho, jamón ibérico and churros with thick hot chocolate.
How to eat tapas for beginners?
Share everything and order in rounds. Start with quick cold plates like pan con tomate, olives or jamón, then add hot ones such as gambas al ajillo, croquetas and patatas bravas. Eat as they arrive and order more only if you’re still hungry. Ask the server what the kitchen is proudest of that night.
What is a typical tapas menu?
Cold plates like olives, jamón, Manchego, pan con tomate, boquerones and tortilla española, then hot plates like patatas bravas, croquetas, gambas al ajillo, pimientos de padrón, albondigas and pulpo. Paella usually sits in its own rice section, followed by a short dessert list with churros and crema catalana.
What is the proper etiquette when eating tapas?
Share every plate, take a modest portion, and ask before claiming the last croqueta. Use the serving spoon when there is one. Dragging bread through the garlic oil left in the gambas dish is expected, not rude. Splitting the bill evenly is the usual move for a shared table.
How many tapas should you order?
Fewer than you think, at first. Order a small first round for the table, see how big the plates run, then add a second round. If paella is coming, go light, because the rice fills you up. The server can tell you how hungry a table usually needs to be for their portions.
What do Spanish people eat daily?
The Spanish day runs late. Breakfast is light, often coffee with toast rubbed with tomato and olive oil. Lunch is the big meal of the day, eaten in the afternoon. Dinner comes late and lighter, and tapas with a drink often fill the stretch in between.
Written by a dedicated team of St. Louis locals who live, work, and play right here in the St. Louis metro. Founder Lane Forman and team are committed to building the region’s most trusted directory by verifying listings and connecting local businesses with loyal customers across Missouri and Illinois.