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In its previous incarnation as Marichu, the renamed Alcala serves as a serene, satisfyingly Spanish retreat for United Nations mover-shakers and in-the-know locals pleased to have a hearty, pretension-free eatery on a gastronomically sorry stretch of First Avenue. The Basque kitchen has a penchant for spicy seafood and carne, and, of course, paella, the national dish. The plato campero starter is a good introduction, with an array of spicy sausages and cured meats complemented by a savory chunk of slightly charred, fluffy bread rubbed with tomatoes. Very tender, tiny lamb ribs, chuletitas de cordero a la parilla, come artfully arranged on a heap of scalloped potatoes, as does a hearty slab of too-tough tuna, grilled through and seasoned simply with lemon. An exception to the rule, the chilled white asparagus splayed over Piquillo peppers sounds intriguing, but disappoints—it's moist to a fault, and utterly bland unless you combine a forkful of peppers with the bite. Alcala's deceptively diminutive façade reveals an inviting, dimly lit dining room: Colorful ceramic plates decorate an ochre wall on one side, wooden planks crisscross to form an X over exposed brick on the other. A corridor  leads to a lovely, airy garden enclosed by a cherry wood fence and a canopied roof. It's as idyllic as the breezy Basque countryside—tiled stones, potted plants, candles, and a gurgling fountain—and best enjoyed with a bottle of one of their 100 top-tier Iberian wines, most of which are from the Basque region. — Kate Appleton

Plato campero, $15; chuletitas de cordero a la parilla, $30; atun a la plancha, $30