The world has many wonderful clarinetists, including David Shifrin, Sabine Meyer, Ricardo Morales, and Martin Fröst. Isn’t that enough? Do we need any more, given how few opportunities there are for the solo clarinet? Well, we have another one: the young Spaniard Jose Franch-Ballester.

He gave a recital at Merkin Hall on Tuesday afternoon. But that was not his first recital in this city: He made his debut two years ago at the 92nd St. Y, after winning first prize in the Young Concert Artists International Auditions. Mr. Franch-Ballester has won a slew of prizes — and it’s no wonder why.

He has all the tools, including a multiplicity of sounds, gobs of technique, and a sure sense of music. On top of that, he has a charming stage presence. He talked to his audience between pieces on Tuesday afternoon (beginning with “How are you today?”). To me, Mr. Franch-Ballester sounded like Seve Ballesteros, the golf great.

Accompanying him — Mr. Franch-Ballester, not Seve — was a Uruguayan-born pianist with the fabulous name of Pablo Zinger. A conductor as well, Mr. Zinger is an expert on Spanish and Latin American music. And this was a heavily Spanish and Latin American recital.

The two began with a piece by Astor Piazzolla called “Libertango” — and that title more or less sums up Piazzolla’s career. He liberated, or at least expanded, the tango. Mr. Franch-Ballester initially played with a somewhat muffled tone, unusual for him. But he soon got free, and put over the piece winningly. Mr. Zinger played very boldly, extrovertly.

They continued with Carlos Guastavino’s “Tonada y Cueca.” Guastavino was a song master, and this piece does indeed come from songs. Mr. Franch-Ballester sang the first part nicely, although Mr. Zinger did not — I’m afraid he banged more than sang. But both musicians were pleasing in the second part, which had a lovely gay swing.

Next was a work by Joaquín Turina, whom the now-retired pianist Alicia de Larrocha did so much to introduce to the world. His Sonata No. 2, “Española,” was written for violin and piano; but Mr. Zinger arranged it for clarinet and piano. And Mr. Franch-Ballester was marvelous in it — oozing his charm and other helpful things. In the second movement, Vivo, he demonstrated evenness of line, a musical glassiness. And Mr. Zinger contributed a fine sprightliness. In the last movement, Mr. Franch-Ballester was so songful, so relaxed, you could have floated away.

The first piece after intermission was to be Leonard Bernstein’s sonata. But Mr. Franch-Ballester announced that he and Mr. Zinger had attended the Music School for Politicians — and did not have to keep their promises. They instead played the Poulenc sonata, one of the staples of the clarinet literature (and one of Poulenc’s very best pieces).

Mr. Franch-Ballester simply put on a clinic. Of what? Of musicality, of technique, of savoir-faire, of dazzle, of taste. He was slick, sly, nifty, elegant, jazz-tinged (without being jazzy). Where appropriate, he was ultra-, ultra-French. The final movement — Allegro con fuoco (Très animé) — had a virtuosity and zest not to be believed. But it wasn’t the least showy, merely delicious. Poulenc would have beamed with pleasure.

And Mr. Zinger made a worthy partner.

The printed program ended with more Piazzolla, his “Three New Tangos.” Mr. Zinger worked with the late composer, and showed true knowledge. Mr. Franch-Ballester was similarly idiomatic, to put it mildly. The second tango, “Milonga del Angel,” had a footstomping soul. Indeed, I might call it a kind of soul music, Latin American division.

Mr. Franch-Ballester played one encore, an arrangement of “It Ain’t Necessarily So.” He made his instrument talk, growl, wail, and sing. Pete Fountain in his prime could not have bettered this playing.

And the recital as a whole was performed at the highest level. Mr. Franch-Ballester should be selling out Carnegie Hall; but we can be grateful for a Merkin afternoon. Oh, and I want to tell you about what I consider a perfect Merkin moment. (Bear in mind that this hall tends to attract our most seasoned concertgoers.) Before the recital began, an official of the hall, or concert series, came out to say a few words. And before he could open his mouth, a lady in the audience barked, “Speak up!”

One more footnote, giving a complaint I have made before: Would it be all right with the ACLU if plastic bags were banned from concert halls? When fondled, these bags make the worst noise. I’ll take cell phones over them any day.