EL CAMINO LEADS TO PRAGUE

El Camino de Santiago is one of the most ancient pilgrimage routes in Spain, leading intrepid travelers to the supposed tomb of St. James.

Its namesake has found a new culinary destination in Prague—the holy grail of Spanish tapas.

It’s a quiet afternoon, just before a busy shift to prepare for the near arrival of ravenous diners. David Böhm and I sit in his restaurant’s outdoor courtyard under olive and fig trees. One can smell the earthy aroma of the potted rosemary and sage infusing the air. It feels like a meditative sanctuary, a kind of Spanish Garden of Eden. My senses are diverted to the steaming pot of sencha tea David has prepared for us, brewed with optimal 60˚C water. His acute attention to our beverage preparation isn’t so different from the sophisticated composition of his dishes. From infused oils and intricate marinades to slow reduction sauces and fine dusts, El Camino Tapas Restaurant gives you the heart and soul of Spanish cuisine, with a modern twist.

David is a culinary conquistador who began his journey in the Czech spa town of Mariánské Lázně. It’s where he and his family have, for generations, devoted their lives to hospitality. It’s no surprise that David started at a hotel management and culinary arts school at the age of 14.

“I was never good at math or grammar,” he says. “I knew I wanted to work with people and decided I would become a chef."

David spent his summers traveling to northern Italy for culinary training at various hotels in Lake Garda and Bolzano. His journey led him to a restaurant in Brighton, England, where he took a four-year hiatus from cooking, swapping his apron for a business suit as the new manager.

“I wanted to learn about a different part of the business, like front of house and hospitality,” he says, adjusting his horn-rimmed tortoise shell glasses.

Little did he know, his Spanish colleague would offer him the opportunity to help at his family’s restaurant in Spain. David agreed, unaware that what was an initial act of goodwill would change the trajectory of his life. He moved to Spain’s northwestern region of Castile and Léon, marking his definitive return to the kitchen and the onset of a Spanish love affair.

“It was at this moment that I experienced the most beautiful peak in my life,” recalls David, with a nostalgic sparkle in his eye.

We both take a sip of our sencha tea, now cold.

He settled into his new home of Fermoselle, undoubtedly the only Czech among the medieval village’s residents. He would spend the next eight years cooking in different tapas restaurants, learning and perfecting the techniques and recipes that would later form the menu of his first Spanish eatery, Medité, when he returned to Mariánské Lázně. After four years of operating his first restaurant, he felt stuck. He knew something needed to change.

“I realized my knowledge wasn’t good enough,” he says, with the humility of someone striving for excellence. “My first menus at Medité were very traditional and nicely presented, but with no sophisticated steps.”

(Think patatas bravas.)

To refine his menu and palate, David went back to where he began, this time exploring different parts of Spain and its varied regional cuisine. It wasn’t until after his final Spanish Grand Tour that he opened El Camino in Prague.

“El Camino means ‘journey,’” muses David. “This concept tells my story, but also explains the philosophy behind every recipe on our menu. What we are trying to do is borrow from the traditions of the past and add to its future as products of our own imagination.”

A Czech representing Spanish food is, if nothing else, an impressive act of culinary chutzpah.

“If you are so bold as to take on someone else’s cuisine, and call it their cuisine,” says David, “you have to be humble enough to ask yourself: do I really know as much as I can know?”

While El Camino has received endorsement from Spanish diners who frequently ask, “Who is Spanish here?” David and his all-Czech team continue the challenge of balancing authenticity and innovation.

David pauses to pour me more tea. I take another sip, wondering if this Japanese-Spanish fusion is some kind of culinary offense. Shouldn’t we be drinking wine?

“Certain combinations don’t always have to be understood,” explains David. “I often think these two things could never go together, but then it does.”

He gestures to our tea.

“This could be amazing to pair with a dish!”

When it comes to food, every plate at El Camino begins and ends with one non-negotiable ingredient: olive oil.

Diners undergo a kind of olive oil initiation before their tapas journey begins. It involves being served a pool of liquid gold—vibrant, shimmering, and deliciously begging you to dip anything you can into it. Enter hunks of salt-flecked bread.

You may snack on a smoked olive or two while perusing a menu that makes it impossible for you to choose.

Why don’t you start with one of David’s favorites: the salt-and-sugar-cured red prawns with shrimp croquettes and a suquet sauce. I have never heard someone describe “the sweet nectar of shellfish heads” with such gusto.

After finishing your grilled oxtail sandwich with red wine granita, you might transition to crema de marisco, an impossibly buttery seafood saffron bisque that makes you want to melt into your seat.

Servers wear crisp white shirts, well-ironed aprons, and black ties as they whisk their way through the restaurant with effortless suave. Every dish they carry is a story that arrives at your table. Its characters are an emulsion of flavors that both captivate and perplex. Many of the ingredients are sourced from Spain—a testament to the taste and quality of every dish. Seasonality takes precedent and determines menu rotation throughout the year.

In the winter, you might indulge in the warm embrace of creamy mahón cheese with candied quince and a sherry reduction. Come summer, an all-tremendous rendition of fresh marinated rainbow carrots served on a concentrated sauce made of orange, cumin, and wild oregano that will easily seduce any carnivore. And of course, the one dish where seasons have no bearing: whisper-thin rosettes of jamón Ibérico. They will inevitably make their way to your table, whether you ordered them or not. Like an aging fine wine, they have been dry-cured for months, rendered into well-marbled fat for the perfect salty bite. They might be served with a fig or two for some sweet company.

But of course, no Spanish dish is complete without its most essential companion: wine.

“Pairing your dish with wine puts it into context and introduces another flavor dimension,” says David, who poetically rhapsodizes about regional vintages with an energy that gets you buzzed before you’ve even taken your first sip. Upon opening a bottle, he presents the cork to the table, convening you into a Dionysian kumbaya of earthy or fruity aromas.

A selection of Spanish wines are elegantly displayed in the restaurant’s entryway like a work of art, illuminating their colorful labels, the bottles resting on their sides as if anxiously waiting to fill your glass.

Designed by Ateliér Horyna, the decor is sleek and achieves a Nordic ambience. Purposeful simplicity meets quiet elegance. A subdued and controlled palette of black and brown tones are defined by clean lines and smooth finishes. Tall, crisp wine glasses patiently rest on tables made of 180-year-old oak barrels. It’s a gentle, satisfying sight.

“We wanted to explore the Spanish mentality through our design,” explains David. “We use a lot of oak because oak produces acorns, and acorns are used to feed Iberian pigs.”

If you happen to look up, paella pans are unexpectedly fashioned into stylish light fixtures, creating a dimly lit space that looks like a Renaissance still life. The alchemical play of shadows and highlights turn the restaurant into a theatrical visual experience—from the dark slate bowls hiding the delicious pleasures within to the bright golden hue of your Rioja Blanco wine.

But perhaps the most striking architectural element is gracing the back wall of the restaurant: a wooden trilla, studded with quartz and granite, traditionally used for threshing grain. It commands the attention of the room, paying homage to this agricultural relic and the people who once used it.

In some ways, the decor reflects David’s own fashion style—elegant and made to measure.

“If I wasn’t a restaurant owner, I would be a tailor,” says David, rolling up the sleeves of his white collared shirt as he artfully arranges fresh mint into a water carafe with Ikebana sensibility.

You will surely pass the open window into the kitchen, where final touches are made before service, be it drizzles of olive oil or delicately placed sprigs of parsley. The chefs move quietly and gracefully, in a practiced choreography that is just as mesmerizing to watch as it is to relish.

David describes his professional family as a proud parent might of their child, navigating the delicate balance between supervision and independence.

“You have to give people the space to grow, even if you are afraid they will become better than you,” says David. “My chefs now are better than me, but this is also the continuity. It’s like a relay race. You have to pass it on to the next person to keep running.”

Running it is, but not at the raucous pace of Spain’s storied running of the bulls. Despite its efficient operation, everything at El Camino feels slow, still, at ease. Time seemingly disappears and meals are served and savored in an unrushed manner, making one more attentive to the present moment.

To find a single word that captures these feelings seems impossible, until David shares his simple definition of hospitality.

Happiness.

“The best thing about hospitality is that you can see the impact of your work immediately,” insists David.

It’s true. As David and his team serve you, as if you were the only person in the entire restaurant, you can’t help but feel like a guest of honor. That time, attention, and personal touch is what you remember the most. It’s the reason you keep coming back.

Following in the footsteps of past pilgrims, you will arrive at El Camino, surely greeted at the door by Prague’s patron saint of Spanish tapas. He will be smiling, always dressed in coat and tie, and a matching pocket square folded with the delicate grace of a dinner napkin.

The journey is in a story and the story is delicious.