Saturday 16 February 2013

Rome


“Due to an incident at Fiumicino which has resulted in that airport’s closure, we are being directed to land in Milan in 50 minutes time.  We apologise for any inconvenience caused and will keep you updated with further information”. It turns out that there is nothing more annoying in the world than hearing this 10 minutes before you’re supposed to land in Rome, flushed with vodka tonics and success, and meet your friends who are having a late supper near the hotel and waiting for you to get the party started.  Also, don’t try making that announcement on a plane full of Italians. Half the passengers immediately stood up, shouting and gesticulating wildly as they registered their disgust.As much due to fears of mutiny as anything else, in due course we did manage to land in Rome and I appeared in a restaurant off Viale Trastevere to a chorus of cheers. Not really. There were some half-hearted hellos and a pat on the back.  The English abroad.

The last time we went to Rome we discovered the Trastevere district by accident on the last day, following a recommendation for a pizzeria after our trip to the Vatican and before our flight back home. It is incredibly pretty in a faded ochre, narrow cobbled streets kind of way, and totally different from the grand marble imperialism of central Rome.  I wished we had spent more time there but, as my grandmother used to say, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, so in fact what we did is waited 18 months, got another trip organized, and booked a hotel in the area.  Less magical, more realistic.

The next two and a half days were an exhausting mixture of pasta, wine, late nights, great friends, an incredibly disappointing rugby match, and a Roman taxi driver who was in love with ‘Papa’ Berlusconi and who had a signature trick of making the 20euro note you’d just given him turn into a 5 euro note, and demanding more money. Magical indeed.

Some recommendations:

Baylon Café
Via di San Francesco a Ripa, 151
00153 Rome

During the day this is an arty café with a brunch menu, fresh juices and live music.  In the evenings it’s a bar with a great atmosphere and strong drinks.  If your friend jumps on the counter and sings, for example, the Italian national anthem in an incredibly bad accent, everyone will join in and the barmen will applaud.   This makes a change from the normal end to that story which is ‘and then he got thrown out’. They also sell their wine to take away, which is handy when the hotel room is looking a bit dry.

Ristorante Da Candido
Viale Angelico, 275/277
00195 Rome

It was only about an hour into our ambitious plan to walk to the Stadio Olimpico (an approximately 300km roundtrip) that we became peckish.  Unfortunately the neighbourhood through which we were passing, somewhere to the north of the Vatican along a vast, empty road leading straight out of the city, didn’t look particularly promising.  Every couple of hundred metres there was a flyblown snack bar with a desultory square of pizza in a display case, but that was about it and even most of those were shut.  So stumbling upon Da Candido, full of Italian families having lunch, with the Stadium almost in sight and a casual hour and a half to go before kick-off, was pretty fantastic.  I can’t guarantee they felt the same about us turning up, but they were charming.  It was bowls of pasta all round - I had rigatoni with four cheeses and truffle which is probably the best thing I’ve ever spent 10 euros on my life.  It even managed to keep me going through France’s inglorious defeat, which I was forced to witness a few hours later.  I wouldn’t have thought you’d find yourself in this part of Rome deliberately, but it’s a representative example of the thing that is so lovely about this city: most nice looking restaurants will give you a decent bowl of fresh, interesting pasta and a glass or two of wine for about 15 euros.

Baccanale
Via della Lungaretta, 81
00153 Rome

Via della Lungaretta is right in the middle of the nightlife of Trastevere, and full of small restaurants and bars. This was just a particularly fun one that served lethal cocktails (including my personal favourite choice – Singapore Slings),but you won’t go too wrong pretty much anywhere nearby.

Salumeria Roscioli
Via dei Giubbonari 21
00186 Rome

Saving the best until last.  Our final day in Rome was also one of our friend’s birthdays. This restaurant at the back of a famous delicatessen had been well reviewed online and I’d booked with feverish excitement but, by the time it came to midday on Monday, a lot of us were feeling liverish. The complementary fresh cheese (some sort of tomme?) really sorted the men from the boys. As in the boys didn’t eat it, and 2 girls and one man did.  Not being in a position to make sensible decisions, we took their advice on an antipasti board and some more cheese to start.  Everything was perfect; including some really interesting cured meats that I would look out for again if I could remember their names beyond ‘something ending in ‘-ia’or –‘mi’’.  Soon enough, it was time for pasta. Apparently this place has the best carbonara in Rome, and I wasn’t about to pass that up, despite being borderline terminally full.  It really, really, really was the best carbonara I’ve ever eaten. You know what a carbonara is, I don’t need to explain, but it was a superlative example. The wine we drank, (check out how organised, actually wrote this down)- Allegrini Palazzo Della Torre 2009, was so delicious that I’ve ordered a case of it.  Puddings were the final frontier, so we didn’t go there, but it was an absolutely great lunch and I actually would say that you should look it out if in Rome.


ps. Despite looking for a great Rome based pun for the title of this post, I stuck to the fairly boring 'Rome'.  This is because I was thwarted in the creative process by my mother, who suggested the following:

- 'Romancing the Foam' ('if you'd had one of those foam parties darling, that would be brilliant')
-'It takes more than a day to build Rome' ('I think I mean 'Rome wasn't built in a day' -got there in the end Ma)
- 'Roman Holiday ('great film, and the fashion's back now, with those full skirts')


Tuesday 5 February 2013

Kitchen W8


Last week we went to Kitchen W8 en famille to celebrate my sister’s entry into her mid to late 20s. It was certainly a better way to spend a Friday night than my alternative, which was stressing about having entered a food writing competition/watching my flatmate watch reruns of Grey’s Anatomy.

The food arrived after a decent interval of champagne, salt cod croquettes and some gentle sisterly bickering.  Jerusalem artichoke risotto with truffle pesto and a spoonful of Vacherin Mont d’Or was the best thing I’ve eaten this year so far.  It smelt of autumn and earth, and the graininess of the truffle pesto did more than you would have thought to cut through the softness cheese and rice. Describing truffle as cutting through something is probably a stretch, but it’s true.  It made my arteries feel better.

Pata negra pork with its cheeks and rosemary polenta was similarly stand out. I very, very nearly couldn’t finish it, which is pretty unusual.  It’s not at all that the portions are too big, or that the ingredients are too rich, but the concentration of flavour that the brigade manages to get into these dishes is astounding. Everything is notched up and amplified to the extent that you feel you’ve eaten it three times. The pork was the piggiest bit of pig ever. The rosemary in the polenta sparkled.  I adopted a softly softly approach, managed to finish it all and still force down a really great selection of goats cheese. Everyone else had a hazelnut, chocolate and salt caramel pudding that looked incredible and made them all pull some really inappropriately pleased faces.

We drank a Pauillac as a treat for my sister and then an Australian Pinot Noir which was the friendliest wine ever.  It was uncomplicated, easy to drink and went with everything around the table. The equivalent of a smiling Aussie coming over and saying ‘hi, I’m Greg, how are you doing mate?’ and giving you a hug. In a non-creepy way.

You would perhaps expect a restaurant from Phil Howard’s team (The Square) to be excellent, but Kitchen W8 is something more than that.  This is very subjective and isn’t so much about any specific element of food, people, room (although all of those are pretty much flawless) as the fact that the whole place just has a great atmosphere. Despite being smart and beige and having tablecloths, it is cosy, convivial and buzzy, with none of those hushed tones and people following you to the loos.  Everyone who works there is incredibly efficient but also took the time to stop and say happy birthday to my sister.  Things like this are, for me, what make the difference between a good restaurant and a great one. 

Kitchen W8
11-13 Abingdon Road
London W8 6AH

ps. I won the food writing competition the next day!!