In a corner of Bury playing host to a disproportionate number of casual Italian restaurants - Porada, Baci, Mezzaluna, all in a row - it's refreshing to see somewhere that's branched further across the Mediterranean.
Spanish restaurant Campo Blanco opened in 2018, and was welcomed into the Whitefield fold with open arms.
Its fairy light-scattered wooden frontage twinkles like a beacon against the glare of the Bury New Road traffic jams. Push open the doors and you'll find Aztec cushions, Cuban music and a waft of garlic and paprika in the air.
Visiting on a Wednesday evening, the place is packed on both floors, as it so often is.
It's a tried and tested local spot that the residents of Whitefield seem to gravitate back to like boomerangs, and I'm here to see if it's worthy of so much of the neighbourhood's disposable income.
We settle into a corner seat, shuffling jazzy cushions out of our way, and nurse a couple of cocktails while we struggle with the menu.
It can be hard enough to pick a single item on a standard menu - trying to find six requires flow charts, Venn diagrams, shortlists and a brief bicker (my partner would just order everything beige and fried if I didn't intervene with an occasional vegetable).
Both the negroni (£7) and the old fashioned (£8) are longer and milder than we'd like, but lifted by a fragrant twist of orange.
It's a bit of a disappointment when the restaurant also operates the speakeasy bar Campito around the back - though after spying a Ferrero Rocher espresso martini on that menu I'd be willing to give their bartender another chance.
The tapas plates come out so quickly it’s like I’m on the receiving end of a tennis ball machine - except instead of fuzzy neon balls it's potatoes coming for me.
Crab mantecadas (£5.90) are a strong start. A clump of crab meat sticks together with smoked aioli and avocado cream, presented atop a homemade manchego biscuit.
The salty, shortbread-esque base and a couple of discs of chilli and radish carve through all that rich meat inbetween. If you served me a big platter of these in a garden, in summer, with a glass of prosecco, I'd be a happy Lady Muck indeed.
Another seafood dish slides - quite literally - onto the table next. Tostada de boquerones (£4.80) are dainty silver anchovies on a crisp slice of rustic bread.
The menu claims these are 'drizzled' in paprika oil, but they're bathing in so much oil it spills over the edge of the board and all over the table, creating a culinary slip-and-slide. I have to wonder if the chef lost the spout off the bottle.
I'm glad the anchovies took such a thorough soaking, in hidsight. The citrus and salt of the fish, with the smoothness and smoke of the oil, is a match made in el cielo.
Ham and cheese croquettes (£5.90) fall a little flat. We've been spoiled for too long by the paste-like filling of those at Iberica to be truly satisfied by these looser, watery innards, even if their exterior is perfectly light and crisp.
We're also underwhelmed by the patatas bravas (£4.30, plus 20p for garlic aioli), which have spent too long boiling and nowhere near enough time being fried.
They're missing the crisp golden edges you'd usually find on such a spud, though we do find an added extra tucked in the sauce - a small chunk of chorizo. It's no bother to us and we're happy to leave the matter alone after a profuse apology from our waiter, but vegetarians might not have been so forgiving.
There are a few empanada options on the menu, including pulled beef or prawn and cheese. Ours comes with a spinach and feta (£5.60) filling that looks a lot like pesto but tastes smoother and richer.
Crispy chicken (£5.90) served on a smear of chipotle mayo (everything in here seems to come with some sort of mayonnaise - I spot a bright pink beetroot mayo zig-zagged across other plates) is a stop-everything, take-me-to-the-chef, teach-me-your-secrets moment.
The chicken thighs are coated in a house spice blend and fried to juicy, tender perfection. They're presented in a little pyramid but I reckon we could tackle a bigger pile. Bring on the Great Pyramid of Crispy Chicken.
Service starts strong but trails off as the evening wears on.
We sit surrounded by empty plates and that ever-expanding puddle of paprika oil from the boquerones for longer than it takes to actually eat our tapas - but eventually manage to order dessert.
I'm glad we persevered.
There's a generous wedge of cheesecake (£6.20), which changes weekly. This week's flavour is chocolate and raspberry, with dark chocolate marbling the dense filling.
It's a good choice, but the churros take the dessert crown. Presented in a basket with two sauce pots glued to the side, like a patisserie solar system, the churros themselves have ragged edges coated in sugar and cinnamon.
They'd be heavenly on their own but are only elevated by a thick chocolate sauce - superior even to the famed San Ginés in Madrid.
I wish the dulce de leche had the same viscosity. It's too thin to properly coat the dough and I have to embarrass myself by eating it with a spoon (I'm not even a little embarrassed, let's be honest).
There are a few careless creases that need ironing out at Campo Blanco, but for the most part it's doing things just right.
It might be easy enough to buy Instagram followers or influencer endorsements in this day and age, but it takes a special kind of magic to build up a loyal local following like this.
