This unexpected marriage caused some head scratching in the business. So much so that some scalps were bleeding. People were shocked. I was one of them. But the partnership, Steve explained, was a product of their friendship and one pivotal trip to Spain together when the idea went from pipedream to reality. And so Eric Ripert, with his executive chef Brian O’Donohoe (sous chef at Le Bernardin for eight years) are cooking Spanish food for Steve Hanson. Crazier things have happened, right? Right?

Anyway, what could really be bad about Eric Ripert cooking anything, anywhere? I mean give him peanut butter and jelly at a corner deli and he could turn it into masterpiece. The guy is a genius. But I couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to pull off Spanish food at Hanson’s crazy pace of 300+ people a night. And so I began eating at Barça on a fairly regular basis to find out.

On my first visit with my friend Adrienne, we ate at the bar, one of my favorite places to dine. We started with a platter of charcuterie ($12). While it’s nothing innovative, it is delicious and quite visually appealing. A butcher block comes topped with wide ribbons of jamon, coins of chewy, spicy chorizo, and triangles of nutty Manchego with two long wedges of pan con tomate—two halves of a hot and crusty toasted baguette rubbed with garlic and tomato flesh, and drizzled with olive oil and sea salt. It occurred to me that I might like to rub someone special in garlic and tomato flesh and drizzle him in sea salt and olive oil after eating that bread. It’s that good.

While working our way through a pitcher of sangria, served with frozen granita (Eben Klemm’s cocktails are sure to take the edge off any sorrow in your heart or anxiety in your head), we also nibbled on a bowl of olives and Marcona almonds topped with some lemon confit ($6) and a plate of the blistered pardon peppers, with sea salt and olive oil ($7) that were as addictive as potato chips. The Serrano and potato croquetas ($8), however, were more like fried mashed potato logs to me than croquetas. I could not taste the Serrano ham, all I got was potato (and no béchamel). Which would be fine if you wanted tater tots, but not if you want ham and potato croquetas. Just to make sure we had enough fried potatoes in our diet for the night (I am sure there’s got to be a study somewhere about how great fried potatoes are for you), we also had an order of patatas bravas ($5), which are an imitation of the ones at Tia Pol. While they are good—hot and crispy and doused in spicy mayo—they are not as good. Tia Pol’s chef Eder Montero knows his way around the bravas like no other chef in New York City because he worked at Bar Tomas, their place of origin in Spain. I am not going to give away Eder’s own secret ingredient, but it comes from his time working at Nobu. You’ll have to guess.

I went back for lunch later that week with my friend Kate, where we spied Hal Rubenstein from New York Magazine across the room from us. He rushed into the restaurant, New York Observer tucked under his arm, apparently late to meet his companion. But once he got settled, he seemed happy, and so were we. While the room is a bit bright during the day, and feels cavernous, the strange atmosphere did not affect the food, which was quite good. We had a truly exceptional bowl of almejas tiernas ($10)— sweet, plump, and briny baby clams bathed in a vibrant green seafood broth fired up with salsa verde. We also tore through a great octopus salad ($12), tender and chewy and smoky from the grill, tossed with olives, sweet pepper confit, lemon juice, and olive oil.

But I was afraid to try the Bacalao Coca—a salt cod pizza with Manchego and grilled peppers, red onions, and olives ($10). I was not sure about the interplay of cheese and salt cod, but Kate was into it so I went along. My fear was for naught. I loved it. It was a perfect coca—which is a very crispy flaky dough, sort of like a dense phyllo rather than a pizza crust—topped with silky slices of just salty enough cod, and translucent shavings of Manchego, and thinly sliced onions and peppers. I loved the textures and the contrasting flavors. Who knew?

On a final visit for dinner with a bunch of friends—Kiri, Steven, Debbie, and Court—we tried the remaining cocktails (we all agreed that the Gaudi was primo), appetizers and worked our way through some of the larger plates. I loved the crispy calamari ($9) with a racy romesco sauce. The calamari is cut in half lengthwise, not into ribbons, and this method takes out the toughness and leaves the flesh unbelievably tender against the light golden breading. Brilliant. But what was decidedly not brilliant was Ripert’s version of tortilla d’Espana ($7). Usually a simple dish made from layers of potatoes and eggs topped with garlicky aioli, Ripert has gone off the deep end here, adding blood sausage, asparagus, piquillo peppers, black olives and Manchego cheese to the mix, as if to scream: I CAN USE ALL OF SPAIN’S CLASSIC INGREDIENTS IN ONE DISH! Not smart. The result is an unfortunate inedible brick. The lesson here would be less is more.

Less is more is the theme of the rodaballo, what is better known as turbot ($24). A gorgeous filet of fish— dense, sweet, moist, flaky—is cooked on a slate and drizzled with a simple warm herb vinaigrette. We also liked the rabbit, crunchy skinned with tender, flavorful meat, modestly served with a sweet garlic aioli ($22). As for the paella, you have choices. We found the Paella de Langosta Y Camaron ($28)—lobster, shrimp, mussels and chorizo and chicken—to be a bit dry, but the Paella Negra was delish—a great inky rice stocked with lots of plump rock shrimp, mussels, calamari, and sepia, dotted with peas and peppers ($24). It’s hard to say what happened there—one was so good and the other so not.

The desserts ($6), a collaboration between Michael Laiskonis of Le Bernardin and Elizabeth Katz of Fiamma, include the must have churros with spiced hot chocolate, and a great café y crema—impossibly creamy mascarpone mousse with malted milk chocolate rum ice cream.

The room at Barça 18 could use a little help. The face-lift was done in a flash (six weeks) and while the changes are nice—big red banquettes, amber-cloaked lights, and an exorcism of the Liberace-like display of candles—it needs a few more elements to make it feel less vault-like. Maybe some floor rugs, a few robust flower arrangements, and better ambient light.

So can Ripert pull it off? Yes. Overall, despite the few glitches on the menu, I liked the food at Barça 18. I live a block away so it’s nice to have another place to go when Bar Jamon is transformed into a sardine can. It’s a perfect spot to meet a friend for drinks and a bite at the bar, a totally civilized place for lunch, and a fun place to hit for dinner with a group of friends. The menu is large and varied enough to offer something to please everyone. And perhaps that is what Steve Hanson does best. Whether with Eric Ripert, Paul Sale (Blue Fin), or Michael White (Fiamma), he aims to please everyone. And on some level, he does.

Barça 18 is located at 225 Park Avenue South, b/w 18th and 19th Streets, 212-533-2500.

Andrea Strong