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This resilient Spaniard, a West Village institution since 1941, has all the trappings of an Old World tavern—in fact, Sevilla boasts the original bar and wood-cut ceilings from its stint as an Irish pub in the twenties and thirties. Nowadays, the wood-paneled walls are interspersed with matador hats, porcelain bric-a-brac, and two mounted bulls' heads. Whirring fans and ship wheels, their pegs strung with small lanterns, hang above the central clump of tables, with numerous booths on either side. Importantly, pitchers of terrifically tart and robust sangria are served at lightening speed. Sevilla gets its paella right, too, serving salty, ample portions of flavorful rice along with any mix of mussels, clams, shrimp, chicken, and vegetables. The kitchen focuses on seafood staples in simple white wine, green, and hot garlic sauce variations. (The green is an unusual, subtle blend of olive oil, parsley, garlic, and onions.) The booths attract groups and some families, though the noise and frenzy make it less than ideal for kids. As it gets later, the demographic skews younger and trendier, a coup of sorts for jam-packed Sevilla, considering all the modish restaurants that have sprung up, and often shut down, nearby. — Kate Appleton

There's almost always a wait on Fridays and Saturdays thanks to Sevilla's no-reservations policy, but turnover is quick and the well-stocked bar upfront should keep you distracted. They don't deliver, but you can order take-out.

Paella à la Valenciana, $23; mushrooms stuffed with crabmeat, $10.75