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Jesús Núñez’s flamboyant little brownstone restaurant, Graffit, which opened several months ago on a staid, very unflamboyant block of West 69th Street near Broadway, is really two restaurants in one. The first is effectively a tapas bar in the front of the house, where you can perch at a white-stone counter and sip well-chosen glasses of Rioja or Tempranillo while picking at more or less recognizable Spanish classics, like crunchy Ibérico ham croquettes, and stewed octopus and potatoes sprinkled with Spanish smoked paprika. Then there’s the proper, sit-down operation in the back, where the walls are painted with giant toreadors (actually, one giant toreador) and where Núñez, who’s operated two popular Mediterranean-fusion restaurants in Madrid, indulges his passion for splashing all sorts of strange and eclectic colors on the plate. Except for a few early dishes, however (white-bean stew with chorizo, an imaginative savory carrot “cake”), many of these experiments seemed to be colored in hues of beige or swampy green. At various points in our meal, there were muddy oxtail ravioli wrapped in floppy wonton skins (they tasted better than they looked), fake truffles made with falafel and something called “edible earth” (which tasted less good), seared duck breast (very good but very brown), and a lamb creation (seared loin, and rolled eggplant smothered in another muddy sauce) that was so transcendently ugly that I had to snap a picture of it. The archly named desserts (“A Study of Spanish Moscatel,” a chaotic creation called “Spring”) are mostly a mess, so take refuge in the Spanish ­cheeses, which you can complement with shavings of excellent Ibérico ham served with slices of ­tomato-covered Catalonian toast. — Adam Platt

Savory carrot “cake,” duck breast, cheese plate.