Codorniz Al Xocolat at Taberna de Haro

Like a lot of Bostonians, I find Spanish food sexy as hell. It's not just for the thoughts it evokes of torrid dalliances in Madrid and Barcelona and Seville: I made the connection between tapas and enamoramiento long before I ever vacationed in Spain. At a restaurant like Taberna de Haro (999 Beacon Street, Brookline, 617.277.8272), it's not hard to guess why. To begin with, the room is seductively warm: saffron- and burgundy-toned walls, brick and cobalt porcelain tile, amber lighting and the fiery glow of the open-kitchen hearth reflecting off copper cookware and trim. Its ambiance is lively yet relaxed - glasses clink, earthenware clatters, dozens of conversations bubble and hum.

Then there's the vivid cordiality of chef/owner/sommelier Deborah Hansen, who gracefully navigates the usually-packed room to welcome walk-ins, chat with regulars, and lend a hand with service. She's also the curator of the city's finest all-Spanish wine list, a passionate, erudite voice for the undersung virtues of Iberian wines. This taberna is very much a reflection of this formidable hostess's personality, from the charm and attentiveness of her servers to the unfussy traditional tapas that flow from her kitchen. But ultimately it is the insistent Spanish flavors of Hansen's cooking that seed the romance here - bracing seafood, fragrant olive oil, intense aromatics, earthy potatoes, vibrant peppers, spicy sausages, rich offal, salty cured pork. There's something elemental and unmediated in the sensations these foods deliver that connects profoundly with our animal brains: they are the fuel of uncomplicated desire.

For instance, papas arrugadas con mojo picón ($9), Canary Island-style boiled new potatoes, seem absurdly simple and rustic until you start spooning the oily, crimson sauce of smoky dried peppers over them, at which point they become sultry, intoxicating. Arroz negro ($25), paella with squid ink and allioli, is so lustrously dark and luscious that it seems vaguely illicit. And there's something unutterably sensuous about codorniz al xocolat ($15), braised quail in a sauce of hazelnut, almond, and cocoa, lolling on a bed of intensely garlicky white beans like a sunbather luxuriating au naturel, brown as a Brazil nut, on the sparkling sands of Ibiza. Glide along with a 2005 Dominio de Atauta ($70), a dreamily intense Ribera del Duero, and finish with pudín de chocolate al jerez ($6), a too-creamy-for-words sherried chocolate pudding, and you may well feel euphoric, even slightly dazed. This is one place where dinner can feel like a voluptuous roll in the dunes. Cigarette anyone?