Bocca di Lupo, Soho

When I told friends that I was being taken for dinner at Bocca di Lupo, so many of them asked if it was a date that I actually started to question whether it was. Call me naïve, but it had never occurred to me that Philip, the handsome, single lawyer who I'd met at a party and who'd offered to take me out might have any motive ulterior to wanting the pleasure of my company. 

It would seem however that, in the couple of years since it opened on Archer Street - an unremarkable Soho back-alley - this smart, buzzing Italian has developed a reputation as much for being a popular and impressive date destination as for its exceptionally good food. On the strength of my (purely Platonic) experience, I can see why  - on both counts.

Bocca di Lupo's striking red brick frontage, with the name picked out in bold relief, has the look of having always been there despite being barely two years old. The restaurant behind it has the same feeling; it's a classy interior, with a long marble-topped bar over-looking an open kitchen and a small, smart dining room at the back done out in warm browns and creams. The overall appearance is of somewhere that could have opened twenty years or twenty minutes ago and always be contemporary. 

Bookings are taken for both the dining room and bar; our reservation was for the laid-back but lively latter. Notwithstanding the icy draught which blew past us every time the door was opened - which in a place this popular was quite often - it struck me as being the nicer space of the two and a perfect 'date place'; sitting back-to-back with your fellow patrons means sitting cosily knee-to-knee with your companion.

Chef Jacob Kenedy - yes, [sic], only one 'n' - has devised a clever, quite lengthy menu which explores the many regions of Italy, breaking dishes down into half a dozen categories and offering about as many choices under each. Almost all of these are available as small or large plates - perfect for romantic sharing or selfish solo consumption respectively - with the exception of Fritti, fried nibbles which are priced by the piece and Arrosti, a heavenly sounding selection of whole roast birds and fish. Even though I wasn't on a date, I decided to pretend that I was, and let the gentleman - an habitué of the restaurant - order for both of us.

To start off with Philip picked us a Piedmontese battuto - a simplified steak tartare  - from the Raw & Cured section, a couple of mozzarella bocconcini from the Roman fritti and that day's special of grilled scallops. It was all wonderful, the battuto light and sophisticated, using just oil to flavour the freshest minced beef, the bocconcini crisply oil-free on the outside, oozing but just retaining some bite on the inside. The scallops however were the real stand-out dish; a good half-dozen whoppers, corals attached (this delighted me but made Philip squeamish; never mind - opposites attract) grilled with a knob of butter and a squeeze of lemon until just cooked through. Couldn't haven't been simpler, couldn't have been lovelier.

We followed this with a variety of small plates from the Pastas & Risottos; the waiter's eyes widened when Philip asked him to suggest four for us to try but my non-date was determined that I should experience as much of the menu as possible. When the food came, the reason for the waiter's reticence became apparent; each 'small' portion was of a size I would have happily accepted as a regular pasta course. 

Orrecchiette with red onion, tomato and 'nduja - a fiery, chilli-hot salame typical of Calabria but made by the restaurant - was my favourite for its salty, spicy punch, while Philip preferred the sounds-weird-but-it-works pumpkin and amaretti tortelli with butter and sage, the plump pasta parcels sprinkled with crushed amaretti biscuits. I'm not a fan of anything almondy but tried the dish out of curiosity, and found it a very interesting - and not at all untasty - combination of flavours and textures. A Treviso and Asiago risotto was accomplished if unexciting.

With no room left for any more savoury, we decided to share a dessert - how romantic - and were very happy with our choice of a brioche sandwich of pistachio, hazelnut and chestnut gelati. The gelati, all made by Bocca di Lupo's gelateria-cum-deli offspring Gelupo across the road, were beautiful - creamy, smooth and tasting abundantly of what they were supposed to,  something which seems to happen far less often than one would wish - and the sweet brioche layers made the dish feel like a dessert proper rather than just a bowl of posh ice-cream. More adventurous diners than we might want to try the Sanguinaccio - a 'sweet paté of pig's blood and chocolate'. Sounds yummy.

Philip being teetotal we drank only water, but in the name of research I took a look at the wine list and it's a good one. With the exception of Champagne it's all Italian and, like the menu, tours the whole country from thigh to heel, not forgetting the islands; a Sicilian Cavallina is one of several bottles available for well under £20. For anyone really wanting to impress their date or simply push the boat out there's also a 'Cellarkeeper's List' of rare and unusual bottles which reads like oenophile erotica. Service is deeply knowledgeable, admirably passionate and generally efficient, although blatant up-selling of extras introduced an unwelcome corporate note into the otherwise convivial proceedings.

As if his delightful company, erudite conversation and infectious joie de vivre weren't enough, Philip also showed himself to be the perfect gentleman by picking up the bill. Even without a drop of liquor it won't have been cheap; pricing is stiff, with small plates mostly around £8 but soaring higher for seafood and large plates easily averaging £18. I would guess that with service added Philip won't have got away with much change from £100 for our just-good-friends feast. I'd call that fairly good value for the consistently excellent quality, but it wouldn't hurt to have a few more accessibly-priced dishes for those on a budget as well as a date. This gripe aside, I left Bocca di Lupo full of affection for both the restaurant and my host and recommend it to you with a happy heart.

A note about the Duran Duran video which illustrates this post in place of the more usual exterior photo: the 'striking red brick frontage' described above was behind scaffolding on the night we visited, and in any case the battery on my phone died thus precluding the taking of any other photos. So in homage to the restaurant - it's name translates as 'The Wolf's Mouth' - I thought I'd treat you to 80s classic 'Hungry Like The Wolf'. Don't say I never do anything for you.

Bocca di Lupo, 12 Archer Street, London W1D 7BB Tel: 020 7734 2223 http://www.boccadilupo.com

 

Andrew Edmunds, Soho

Years ago, when I was rather less worldly-wise than today, I remember being terribly impressed when Toptable launched a service it grandly called 'Book The Unbookables'. The premise was that Toptable's crack team of bookers would obtain for us mere mortals a table at any one of a number of ultra-exclusive restaurants to which, a reverent Joe Public was steered to believe, they had some sort of magical hotline number.

A few years on, when for a time I held one of those invitation-only charge cards which entitle one to the services of a 24-hour concierge wherever one may be in the world and a foot massage on your birthday, I was similarly impressed by the facility to have a table booked for me at restaurants boasting any number of stars, rosettes or hats, across continents and time-zones, simply by placing a call to a friendly, insomniac team in a Brighton call centre.

These days, Toptable has ceased offering to book the unbookables for us, and the adamantium card has gone back because astonishingly sensibly for me, I realised that the Croesus complex a limitless credit limit engenders in one is neither healthy nor fiscally sustainable. And yet, despite having once been so impressed by both, I miss neither, for the simple reason that I know now that there is no such thing as an 'unbookable' restaurant, merely ones with more people answering the phones, or more clued-up at managing a reservation system, than others. If you can be bothered to persist, and can be flexible with timings, you can get a table anywhere in town, on any night of the week. Unless, that is, the restaurant in question does not take bookings, in which case it is quite literally 'unbookable'.

Such is the case with Polpo, the restaurant I'd intended to take my best friend Andrew to for a birthday dinner last week but which was already full with a '45 minutes, maybe an hour' wait even at 7.15ish on a Thursday. I won't labour the point any further than I already have but suffice it to say that I'm just not interested enough in trying anywhere to wait that long, at least not without a proper waiting area to kill my time in. I'm emphatically not criticising the restaurant for it; if they're that full, that early then I sincerely wish them the very best of luck, I just won't be rushing back myself.

Andrew Edmunds, the nearby restaurant we took ourselves off to instead, only takes bookings a week in advance which although a bit of a bugger if you want to be sure of getting a table for a birthday or Valentine's, strikes me as being a very democratic way of doing things. I've been many a time before and always loved the place, and Andrew had heard my ravings but never had the pleasure, so we took our chances on getting a walk-in and were delighted to find that a table was available if only for the next hour-and-a-bit.

Split over two floors, Andrew Edmunds is known for packing in tables and while some diners find that this makes for a romantic, intimate air, others just find it horribly cramped. We were taken down the rickety stairs to the gorgeous, candle-lit, crepuscular basement which I prefer by a whisker to the even more cheek-by-jowl dining room on the ground floor.

Andrew and I liked the look of everything on that evening's menu; it changes every day but as usual offered around six choices for each course, plus a couple of blackboard specials for mains. The cuisine at Andrew Edmunds is mostly Mediterranean, with a bias to French and with the odd British staple thrown in for good measure. It's unfrightening, unpretentious stuff with just enough flair to excite the more demanding foodie, and all very keenly priced. Starters start at just £3.25 for soup and don't stray much north of £7 (dressed crab's the dearest at £8.75), and there are no mains over £16.

To kick off, Andrew chose king scallop ceviche with avocado puree and I opted for smoked eel with apple and beetroot salad and horseradish creme fraiche. The ceviche was terrific, super-fresh (as of course it should be) and packing just enough citrus kick as to not overpower the delicacy of the scallops. It came with a fairly abundant herb salad, punchily dressed, which along with the rich smoothness of the avocado puree created a perfect balance of flavours and textures. Andrew, being a musical sort, called it 'symphonic', which I mentally noted as being rather a good description to steal for this post. My eel dish was another cracker, the unexpected sweetness of the apple bringing interest to the classic taste combination of smoke, earthiness and heat.

Our main courses were equally successful. Andrew's roast pork fillet with a wild mushroom and porcini risotto had the potential to be overwhelmingly rich, especially given the addition of some heady truffle oil, but an accompanying watercress and pinenut salad brought levity and equilibrium. My sea bass fillet with potato and poppy seed cake and crab, fennel and tomato salad was equally expert, the unusual spud 'n' seed galette working nicely with the sweet firm fish and crunchy, punchy salad.

A bottle of a wonderful Schloss Lieser 2005 Riesling, chosen from Andrew Edmunds' excellent mostly Old World list was so zestily fruity it felt effervescent on the tongue. Had we not had to give the table back we would no doubt have also enjoyed a glass or two of something sticky from the long and bargain-laden sweet wine and port selection. Service, from the absolutely delightful, polite and ruggedly handsome Connor, was spot on, and the enthusiasm and warmth of the staff members we met on our way in and out was palpable. Our bill including service came to £72, which sat very comfortably on the price-quality axis.

There's really nothing to fault about Andrew Edmunds. Sure, the closeness of the tables is a love-it-or-loathe-it eccentricity, but its these eccentricities which give the place its particular charm. By the time we'd finished dinner I was in a buoyant mood and the earlier disappointment of not getting in at Polpo had entirely given way to delight that, as a result, I had been driven back into the arms of an old friend. I got to spend time with two of my favourite Andrews that night and concluded that having the odd 'unbookable' restaurant in town might not be such a bad thing after all.

Andrew Edmunds, 46 Lexington Street, London W1F 0LW Tel: 020 7437 5708 No website.