Mateo Bar de Tapas and the Case for Eating Spanish in Durham
Pan con tomate, jamón, a proper gin-tonic in a balloon glass — Durham showed up for all of it, and the croquetas are non-negotiable.
For a food region that punches this far above its weight, the Triangle has a strange blind spot: Spanish food. We have taquerias hiding behind gas stations, Vietnamese that rivals anything on the coast, barbecue people drive two hours for, a dozen serious Italian rooms. But say “let’s do tapas tonight” and the honest answer, for most of us, has one name attached to it. That’s not a failure of the scene. It’s a testament to how good the one place is.
Mateo Bar de Tapas on Chapel Hill Street proved something the rest of the country already knew and the Triangle hadn’t tested: that people here will sit at a bar on a Tuesday, order six small plates instead of one big one, drink gin over tonic like it’s a serious beverage instead of a well-drink afterthought, and be genuinely happy about it. This is a guide to eating that way — where to do it, what to order, and why the croquetas come to the table every single time whether you planned on them or not.
Mateo Bar de Tapas — Durham
109 W Chapel Hill St, Durham
This is the anchor, and it’s not close. Chef Matt Kelly — a James Beard winner who also runs Vin Rouge and Saint James down the block — opened Mateo as a love letter to Spanish tapas culture filtered through North Carolina ingredients, and the trick he pulled off is that it never feels like a fusion gimmick. It feels like a bar in San Sebastián that happens to have access to the best local pork and produce in the Piedmont.
Start with the pan con tomate. It sounds like nothing — bread, tomato, olive oil — and it is one of the most quietly perfect things you can order in Durham when the tomatoes are right. Then the jamón. Then, and this is the whole reason we’re here, the croquetas. Mateo’s are creamy-centered, crisp-shelled, and they disappear faster than any four people can pace themselves. Order two portions if there are more than two of you. You will not regret the second; you will absolutely regret not having it.
Beyond that, let the menu wander. The gambas al ajillo — shrimp in garlic and oil you’ll want to sop up with more of that bread — the boquerones, the ever-rotating vegetable plates that reflect whatever’s peaking at the market. The kitchen changes things seasonally, so don’t get too attached to any one dish, and don’t skip something just because you don’t recognize it.
And the gin-tonic. Served the Spanish way in a big balloon glass, loaded with ice, aromatics, and a gin chosen to actually complement the tonic instead of drowning in it. It’s a revelation the first time, and it reframes what a gin and tonic is supposed to be. The cocktail and sherry program here is as considered as the food — this is a room that takes drinking as seriously as eating, which is the entire point of tapas culture.
A few practical notes: Mateo takes reservations and gets busy, especially on weekends, so book ahead or plan to perch at the bar. Bar seating is honestly the ideal way to eat here — order a couple of plates, watch them land, order two more based on how you feel. It rewards grazing over committing. Prices run in the small-plate range where a table of two can keep it modest or run it up fast depending on how many rounds of croquetas you’re honest with yourself about. Check ahead on current hours, since dinner-focused spots like this shift their schedules seasonally.
Why eating Spanish works — especially here
Tapas is less a cuisine than a way of eating, and it happens to be the way of eating best suited to how a lot of us actually want to spend an evening. You’re not locked into one entrée you chose while hungry and now resent. You order in waves. You share. The table stays social because nobody’s heads-down over their own plate. For anyone who struggles to sit still through a long, formal dinner, tapas is the format that finally makes sense — small, mobile, low-commitment, built for conversation and second thoughts.
It’s also built for the ingredients we have. The Triangle’s farmers markets and pork producers are exactly what a good tapas kitchen wants: bright vegetables, serious cured meat, seafood that can be treated simply. The Spanish approach — a few components, olive oil, salt, garlic, don’t overthink it — lets that quality speak. That’s why Mateo doesn’t read as an import. It reads as a Durham restaurant that happens to speak Spanish.
Where else to go for small plates in the Triangle
Here’s where honesty matters, because I’d rather tell you the scene is thin than send you somewhere that’ll disappoint. Dedicated Spanish tapas is genuinely rare here. But if you’ve caught the small-plates-and-good-wine bug and want to keep chasing it, a couple of places carry the spirit even when the flag isn’t strictly Spanish.
Vidrio — Raleigh. 500 Glenwood Ave, Raleigh. A big, striking Mediterranean small-plates room on Glenwood South, all hand-blown glass and an open kitchen. It’s Mediterranean rather than strictly Spanish, so you’ll see Greek and broader Mediterranean influences alongside the Iberian ones, but the eat-in-shared-plates format and the wine focus put it in the same conversation. Go for a bar seat, order across the menu, and lean on their wine list. It’s the closest thing Raleigh has to the Mateo experience even if the passport doesn’t match exactly. Check ahead on hours and whether the full menu is running, since these rooms often split lunch, dinner, and late-night offerings.
Beyond that, the truth is you’ll find Spanish notes scattered — a plate of patatas bravas on a cocktail bar’s menu here, a Spanish wine list there — more than you’ll find full Spanish rooms. If you know of a taberna hiding in a Cary strip mall that I’ve missed, I genuinely want the tip. Until then, the move is simple: Mateo for the real thing, Vidrio when you want the format closer to Raleigh, and a standing willingness to drive to Durham for a plate of croquetas.
The rules of eating Spanish in the Triangle
A few things I’ve learned doing this more than I’ll admit:
Order the croquetas every time. This is not a suggestion. It’s the whole thesis. Whatever else you get, they anchor the meal.
Sit at the bar when you can. Tapas rewards improvisation. Bar seats let you order in waves, watch the kitchen, and change your mind — which is the entire point.
Get the gin-tonic at least once. Even if it’s not your usual drink, the Spanish balloon-glass version is worth understanding. It’ll ruin the sad well version for you forever.
Don’t over-order up front. Start with three or four plates for two people, then reorder based on what hit. The table stays relaxed and nothing arrives cold while you’re still working through the last round.
Go on a weeknight if you can. The good rooms fill up on weekends. A Tuesday at the bar, no reservation stress, a slow rotation of plates and a glass of sherry — that’s the platonic ideal.
The Triangle proved it would show up for this. Now the only real question is which night you’re going, and whether you’re ordering one round of croquetas or, correctly, two.
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