Cassis

In a very enjoyable recent article for Vanity Fair, Corby Kummer bemoaned the 'tyranny' of the tasting menu. "How," Kummer asked, "did the diner get demoted from honored guest whose wish was the waiter’s command to quivering hostage in thrall to the chef’s iron whim?" My thoughts exactly. In London as in America, an increasing number of restaurants - usually, but not always, the kind helmed by ambitious young chefs who include hubristic vacuities like 'reaching for the [Michelin] stars!!' in their Twitter bios - offer only tasting menus, even at lunchtimes when most right-minded diners don't even want two courses, never mind eight and up.

As a diner, I generally shy away from tasting menus for the reason that having what I eat in which order and at what speed dictated by the kitchen is the polar opposite of how I like to eat out; I have a great deal of respect for many chefs and restaurateurs but as a paying customer I like meals to be about my choice and convenience, not theirs. And as a writer I tend to avoid them because tasting menus have almost always to be served to the whole table and it's terribly boring to write (and read) about a meal only saying, "We all had the soup, and then we all had the halibut, and then we all had the duck" and so on ad infinitum.

But a tasting menu that genuinely serves to showcase the talents of a brilliant chef, perfectly balanced, carefully timed and matched with expertly chosen wines? Now you're talking, and that's exactly what's on offer at Cassis, the smart Provencal bistro in Knightsbridge where I enjoyed a meal that, on reflection, was probably the single best restaurant meal I ate in 2012. 

I've visited Cassis (and liked it very much) before and was lured back by an invitation to see what new executive chef Massimiliano Blasone - ex of Apsley's - was doing differently. The answer is, in a good way, not much; the upscale bistro menu, mindful of but not enslaved to the cuisine of Provence, is still there. What Blasone has done is to add some exceptional pasta and risotto dishes, and refine presentation so that what's on the plate is as visually impressive as owner Marlon Abela's art collection on the walls.

After expertly-mixed Martinis by way of aperitifs, my artist pal Paul Vyse and I started with sea bass tartare, coarsely-cut, silkily-fresh fish bound in a subtle trace of goat's cheese with a dash of citrus and sandwiched between crisp sesame wafers. Geometrically arranged on a plate decorated with a stripe of piment d'Espelette, the precision of presentation and equilibrium of flavours served as a clear statement of intent for the dishes that would follow.

Ethereally light cod brandade was perfect scooped up with its accompanying black olive tuile, while tart rhubarb marmalade countered the richness of caramelised Landes foie gras, dusted with bitter chocolate powder. Black Angus sirloin steak tartare - an additional dish included at our request - was surprisingly light, its spicing subtle enough to allow the flavour of the beef to dominate. Rabbit ravioli with pistachio cream was more robust, the nutty, rich cream stopping just shy of being actually sweet.

Lobster risotto was gloriously rich, dusted with saffron and containing generous translucent, just-cooked slices of lobster tail. Seared scallops, served with a pea puree as vibrant in taste as of colour, were similarly well-timed, lightly crusted from the heat of the pan and inner-cheek tender inside. A subsequent game dish, a classic combination of vividly red venison with red cabbage, was cooked sous-vide but retained far more texture than this fashionable but, I find, often disappointing method of cooking usually permits. Roasted sprouts provided additional crunch.

After a palate-cleansing mouthful of lime jelly came a trio of desserts: a chocolate sundae of sorts, a raspberry sorbet of the like I could happily eat after, or indeed for, every meal, and an elegant seven-layered assembly of ganache and wafer in chocolate crumb that reminded me, wonderfully, of an extremely posh Drifter. We somehow managed the dainty chocolate and fruit petits-fours that provided the finale to this note perfect, epic meal.

Massimiliano Blasone is clearly a prodigious talent; his cooking is intelligent, precise, innovative and exhilarating but also, refreshingly in a time when many chefs appear to be trying to outdo each other with the obscurity of their ingredients and idiosyncrasy of technique, really rather accessible. Less accessible - unsurprisingly - is the price; the seven-course menu we enjoyed is £75 with wine flights at £30 or £50. I'd certainly suggest letting the sommelier choose wines for you, as we did; highlights included a wonderful green-appley Albariño with the brandade, Monbazillac with the foie gras and and a really exceptional 'L'Instant' rosé from Provence with our ravioli. 

Service throughout was knowledgable, attentive and polished, and if I have one reservation about Cassis it's that the overall identity and decor of the place don't quite seem to marry up with the aspirations of the kitchen. The food might be Provencal, but casual bistro this n'est pas, and with Blasone's addition of Italian dishes to the menu this crisis of identity seems even more pronounced. Marlon Abela has for some time now been rumoured to be bringing his high-end Italian brand A Voce to London; perhaps with a simple name change for Cassis and some minor cosmetic tweaking he could achieve it on this site.

Corby Kummer dislikes tasting menus, as explained in his Vanity Fair piece, because they are 'tedious; surprise and delight and originality shouldn’t be banished'. They're certainly not banished at Cassis, where surprise, delight and originality are to be found in every course.

Cassis Bistro, 232-236 Brompton Road, London SW3 2BB Tel: 020 7581 1101 http://www.cassisbistro.co.uk





Posted by +Hugh Wright

Mele e Pere

I would love to have been a fly on the wall at the brainstorming session where they came up with the name Mele e Pere. "Well it's going to be an Italian restaurant, so let's give it an Italian name!" some young marketing wonk with heavy-rimmed glasses and a choppy hairdo would have intoned with the gravity usually reserved for decoding the human genome. 

"Yah," Livia the intern would have continued, "but maybe something a little...ironic?" thereby at least justifying the lunch money she'd later go and spend on Marlboro Lights. 

"Uh, now guys, I'm thinking waaaay outside my Dr Dre Beats Audio Boombox on this," Zander the 'Ideas Furnace' would volunteer, "but hear what I'm saying, si? Well it's Italian. And its down some stairs. And what could be more ironic, y'know, than Cockney rhyming slang - but in Italian? Apples and pears, stairs. Mele e Pere - stair-ay!" At which point, and following a brief awe-struck silence, everyone would applaud before adjourning to the John Snow for celebratory Staropramens all round.

And so it came to pass that Mele e Pere was rendered in neon in the tricolore of the Italian flag, appended to the front of the building (a corner plot on busy Brewer Street) and the windows filled with a Damien Hirst-ish installation of beautiful Murano glass apples and pears. So far so conceptual. Except that if you didn't know what was behind the name and very elegant facade you'd walk straight past, thinking that it was...well, some sort of Soho creative agency.

Photo by Michael Ford anastasia-duck.com

In fact, down the mele e pere is a very decent restaurant, serving modern, unpretentious Italian food. A large chic bar area gives onto an arched dining room decorated in fashionable low-key neutrals, sultrily-lit by wall-mounted anglepoise lamps. Underground spaces can feel dingy and cold; this room is neither.

My vegetarian guest, uber-blogger Michael Ford, struggled to find much that was meat-free on the menu but that was about our only complaint. While waiting for our starters we tried Mele e Pere's home-made vermouth - a citrusy white and sharper rosso - which at £4 for a generous measure made for a perfect aperitif. Michael started with maltagliati - 'misshapen' - pasta with walnut pesto, chilli and garlic, which was excellent, as was my thick soup of chestnut, curly kale and white beans which put me in mind of a breadless ribollita. A generous sprinkling of Pecorino Romano added welcome tang. 

Potato gnocchi - Michael had again to order from the pasta section for his main course for want of other options - were an exercise in luxurious simplicity, drizzled in white truffle oil and stirred through with shavings of slightly dry but nonetheless discernibly fungal Italian black truffle. My roasted wild duck was served alluringly pink and was deliciously tender, quince puree bringing a nice acidity to the plate. A side order - one of any from the menu is included in the price of mains, giving a flexibility of choice I'd like to see catch on elsewhere - of broccoli with chilli and almonds was good if a little cold.

To finish we shared some Fontal and Gorgonzola cheese, served with mostarda di frutta - candied fruit in a mustard syrup, a delicious cross between chutney and piccalilli. Had space allowed we could've chosen from a short list of classic puds - tiramisu, pannacotta - or Mele e Pere's home-made ice-creams and sorbets, which given the quality of everything else we ate I'm sure would have been splendid.

The wine list is almost exclusively Italian and quirkily categorised under headings such as 'The Jewels In The Crown', 'The Aromatics' and 'Gems From All Over The Boot'. Our bottle of Pignataro Montepulciano d'Abruzzo delivered a lot of fruit and flavour for £25; the list starts as low as £16.50 and there's plenty of choice by the glass and half-bottle too. Thought's also been given to cocktails and digestifs; drink is clearly taken as seriously as the food although working through too much of any of it might make the return ascent of the mele e pere rather tricky.

So bang slap in the middle of Soho there's a smart restaurant serving honest, unfussy Italian food and interesting drinks at fair prices - you just need to know that it's there, and now you do. One of the categories on the wine list is 'Hidden Treasures'; it's a category Mele e Pere falls into itself. 

Mele e Pere, 46 Brewer Street, London W1F 9TF Tel: 020 7096 2096 www.meleepere.co.uk

I was invited to review Mele e Pere







 Posted by +Hugh Wright

Disiac, Soho

New restaurants open in London at such a whirlwind rate that, if it's not your actual job to do so, it's almost impossible to keep up. I subscribe - as should you, if you have any interest in these things - to Catherine and Gavin Hanly's definitive Hot Dinners e-newsletter, and keep an eye on, among others, the excellent blog of lifestyle concierge company Bon Vivant, but very often even reasonably high-profile openings pass me by.

All this having been said, I was still surprised when a friend who has nothing to do with restaurants professionally or otherwise raved to me about Soho newcomer Disiac, because not only had I not heard about it, apparently no-one else had either - not the newsletters, nor in my 'Food People' column on Twitter, nor even a couple of real-life restaurant critics I asked.

You will, I think, be hearing rather a lot more about Disiac before long however, because having gone along to try it for myself I reckon it's going to be very popular indeed. For one thing it's an absolutely gorgeous little place, with a minimal but luxurious monochrome interior and a variety of flexible dining spaces - see-and-be-seen window seats, tucked-away booths or around the central raw bar and open kitchen. For another, the bar turns out some extremely good - and potent - cocktails at £9 a pop from opening o'clock until gone midnight.

But the real excitement at Disiac lies in the fantastic food, some of the best I've had anywhere in a while. Executive chef Paolo Palmisano and head chef Michele de Rosa (ex-Cecconi's) have put together a mostly Italian menu, divided simply into Starters, Fish & Meat and Pasta & Risotti, all made to order.

My date - rising star of fashion illustration Joe Larkowsky - and I started with some ace bruschetta followed by a beautifully oozing Pugliese burrata, simply drizzled in some very good Spanish olive oil. That same oil, with the addition of just a little lemon and parsley, was used to sauté fat mussels, the resulting rich emulsion coating the bivalves like butter.

A plateau de fruit de mer was for its £32 price - all-in, not per person - absolutely huge and especially generous considering it included half a grilled lobster and a few Colchester rock oysters alongside super-fresh, super-tasty mussels, clams and langoustines, pleasingly chewy chilli-flecked razor clams and sweet, bright Mediterranean prawns. We finished off with two incredible pasta dishes, strozzapretti - thick hand-rolled whorls - tossed with courgettes, cherry tomatoes, bitter wilted radicchio and tangy dolcelatte, and the classic Neapolitan scialatelli alle vongole, short cables of pasta dotted with dinky palourde clams.

The forty-five bin wine-list is strong on champagne and sparklers - accounting for a third of the list - and elsewhere offers an interesting selection of all-Old World whites, reds and rosés, none marked up by more than about 100% on the retail price meaning there are some bargains to be had. A crisp, green Tramin Pinot Bianco was a good match both for the salinity of our seafood and the bigger flavours of the pasta.

So great food, fair pricing, cracking cocktails and a smart space; what's not to love? Nothing that I can see, although Disiac will face some challenges to really establish itself and do as well as I hope it will. Firstly, the slick interior is so the opposite of the current ubiquitous bare brick/exposed lightbulbs fashion that trendier restaurant collectors might unfairly give it a wide berth. 

Also the changing roster of events - a DJ some nights, live jazz others - could put off punters who prefer consistency over variety. Not me, though; I intend to go back, and often, to enjoy more of the brilliance Joe and I experienced on this first night, and suggest that you do too. 

Disiac, ladies and gentlemen - unusually, you heard it here first.

Disiac, 6 Greek Street, London W1D 4ED Tel: 020 7734 3888 disiaclondon.com







Posted by +Hugh Wright

Cantina del Ponte

Until last June, my attitude to children was - how can I put this - less than tolerant. While broadly appreciating the necessity of ensuring the continuation of the human race, I was very much of the view that infants should be neither seen nor heard, packed away to giant boarding-schools-cum-detention centres until the age of sixteen and only released into society when, or indeed if, they could demonstrate sociability, courtesy and calm.

And then, as many readers will know, I became an uncle and fell so besottedly in love with my baby nephew that I went overnight from making Herod seem like a role-model for responsible childcare to being a modern-day male Mary Poppins but with a better holdall. Thus it was that when a press release arrived inviting me to try out D&D London's smart South Bank Italian Cantina del Ponte's new family menu, instead of filing it under 'A' for "Are you out of your tiny mind?" as I would have done pre-unclehood, I accepted on the condition that I could experience it properly - with a child in tow. 

Ida, Queen's Park

One of my dear late father's favourite aphorisms - which I always thought of, fondly, as his statements of the bleeding obvious - was to say to anyone who complained that they couldn't find something, "You always find it in the last place you look!" It never occurred to him that this was the case because having found something you cease to look for it, but I loved him too much to point this out.

Now, as my brace of regular readers will know, my pal Michael Ford and I have had a few hits and misses in our search for a restaurant that caters just as well to his vegetarian lacto-free diet as to my 'if it baas, moos or oinks, kill it, heat it, sauce it and serve it' approach to eating. But would you believe it, my dear old dad was right after all because it looks like we've found it in the last place we looked - right on newly-moved-to-London Michael's doorstep.

Fornata, Soho

As a supercar-obsessed teenager, I subscribed for a few years in the late 1980s to CAR Magazine. My favourite section, moreso even than the road-tests of said gloriously vulgar vehicles - Ferrari F40 vs. Porsche 959, anyone? - was the buyers' guide, 'The Good, The Bad & The Ugly'. As well as listing the essential specs of every make and model of new car, it gave succinct summaries of reasons for and against buying them which were often exceptionally caustic and extremely funny.

Nowhere was this better demonstrated than in their assessment of the Polish-built FSO 125P, a vehicle for which the writers exhibited particular disdain. As if the specs didn't speak for themselves - top speed 93mph, 0-60 in 14.4 seconds - Car brilliantly summarised it thus: 'For: Quad headlamps. Against: Everything aft.' There was one, fairly inconsequential positive thing to say about this turkey of a motor, but nothing else, at all. And the reason I take you on this automotive trip down memory lane is because that's exactly how I'd sum up Fornata.

Opera Tavern, Covent Garden

Recent raves on this site about The Fat Delicatessen and Capote y Toros will have left readers in no doubt as to my fondness for tapas, and ever since Opera Tavern in Covent Garden opened to almost universal acclaim last year I've been meaning to get along to sample its take on small-plates. So when my lovely friend and sometime dining buddy Will treated us to tickets to see Butley at the Duchess Theatre just a few metres away, Opera Tavern was the obvious choice for our pre-theatre dinner.

The imposing battleship-grey building on Catherine Street offers two dining areas, a buzzy informal ground floor bar and a more restrained first floor dining room. We were seated in the latter, and although very attractive - high-ceilinged, with a fabulous chandelier and some striking art - it felt a little awkward to be eating an essentially casual cuisine in such smart surroundings.

Opera Tavern's website describes their offering as 'Italian and Spanish-influenced tapas' - the latter part of that description surely something of a truism - and this translates into a menu split roughly 50/50 into traditional Iberian specialities and more modern small dishes using fashionable ingredients. It's an attractive proposition, offering plenty to appeal to the casual diner as well as excite the more adventurous eater.

Polpo Covent Garden

Since writing this post 'da Polpo' has been re-named 'Polpo Covent Garden'.

In much the same way as people are always 'rushed' to hospital and champagne is always 'quaffed', it's seemingly impossible for Polpo, Russell Norman and Richard Beatty's Beak Street restaurant (as if you didn't know that) to be described as anything other than 'wildly' popular. I should know - mea culpa.

For many restaurateurs, such success would be enough, but there's been no R&R for R&R who, in under two years, have gone on to open Polpetto on Dean Street and Spuntino on Rupert Street, as well as converting what was the private dining room at Polpo into a stylish Campari Bar. The latest addition to their burgeoning empire (do empires ever do anything but 'burgeon'?) is da Polpo in Covent Garden, their first foray outside of Soho.

Despite what the name might suggest, da Polpo is more than just another branch of Polpo, although it's certainly closest to the original site in character and size. Rather, it's a combination of all the best bits of the other restaurants, with a couple of new details added due to popular demand. A 'Greatest Hits of Polpo' if you like, following the difficult third album, with its interminable delays and creative crises, that was Spuntino. So, filament lamps, brown paper menus, maps of Venice and, most importantly, the now-familiar Italian-influenced food are all present and correct, but now bookings are taken into early evening (until 5.30) and there's a table that seats groups of up to twelve. It's the most obviously commercial and, in more ways than one, accessible of the group, and unsurprisingly, it's very, very good.

The Fat Delicatessen, Balham

One of the many great things about living in London is that we are absolutely spoiled for wonderful local café/delis, where we can enjoy a quick, delicious snack or light lunch and then, if so minded, buy the ingredients to make it at all over again at home. As well as well-known mini-chains like Ottolenghi, small but flourishing independents populate many of the 'villages' which, cliché would have it, make up our fair capital; locals love to think of each as being their 'little secret'.

Apologies to the locals of Balham then for blowing wide-open this particular little secret, the absolutely  delectable, worth-the-fare-to-zone-3 Fat Delicatessen. I'd walked past it numerous times on the way to and from visiting a friend who lives round the corner and always meant to go in; having finally done so for a lunch with said friend (let's call him Matthew, as that is in fact his name) and Alyn recently, I'm extremely glad I did.

Spuntino, Soho

It will probably come as no surprise - it's certainly never been any great secret - that I have something of a history of addiction. For most of my adolescent and adult life, until only a few years ago, I have at any given point been addicted to something; be it pills, powders, liquor, eating, not eating or sex, I have been there, done that and bought every t-shirt.

Over the last few years though, things have been under control; I won't bore you with the exact whys and wherefores of what I went through but I eventually reached a place where occasional excess is about as bad as it gets. So thanks a great big fat bloody bunch then, Spuntino, for inventing stuffed deep-fried olives, a snack so fiercely moreish that I was hooked from the first bite on my first visit two days after opening and returned twice in the space of a week to gorge on these hot, bitter, salty anchovy-farced pellets of pleasure, laced for all I know with a sprinkling of crack in the crispy crumb encasing them.

The peddler of these narcotic nuggets is of course Russell Norman, the man who brought us Polpo, Polpetto and most recently the Campari Bar, and whose tiny new diner in Soho already has fellow restaurant junkies queuing out the door for their fix. Although unmistakably from the Polpo stable - same reclaimed decor, same gorgeous tattooed staff, lights too low, music too loud, all creating a buzz like no other - the menu is much more Noo Yoiky, Italo-American than the neo-Venetian offering at its sibling sites. Larger snacks - spuntini - replace bite-size cicheti, and diner favourites like mac 'n' cheese, sliders and shoestring fries join a range of Italian-inspired salads and 'Plates' served in actual main course rather than sharing sizes. Polpettino this ain't.

Having never been to the Big Apple - I know, I know, it's on my To Go list - I didn't consider myself qualified to comment on Spuntino's New York credentials, so on my first visit I took along a real live American, Burberry high-up Anthony Garcia-Rios, who straight away pronounced that it was 'totally New York'. The loud, louche, sexy atmosphere, the queuing along a wall, cocktail in hand, for a seat ('no telephone, no reservations' barks the ultra-minimal website) and the scrubbed tiles and filament bulbs of the interior are, I'm reliably informed, a little slice of NYC in LDN.

As for the food, we foolishly ordered everything that sounded amazing, which was about half the menu (the rest sounds merely great). This resulted in a sorry surfeit of food and, I must admit, in an initial writing-off of the menu on my part as being too heavy and carb-laden when in fact all that was at fault was our ordering. 

In addition to those evil, enslaving olives we tried lardo and caperberry crostini, a ground beef and bone marrow slider and egg and soldiers before moving on to a selection of larger dishes. The crostini were lovely, the sharp tang of caperberries incising nicely through the unctuousness of cured fat; I've had silkier, sultrier variants elsewhere but that didn't stop me from ordering another round, and some more of those devilishly delicious drupes, on a solo visit two days later.

The slider was a very nice, rich little burger, which is not to damn with faint praise, I'm just not a burger enthusiast. More exciting was the egg and soldiers, a simple soft-boiled egg with the added bonus of a clever faux shell made of crackling, crunchy crumb - tart's comfort food.

Of the larger plates, the absolute stand-out - and a dish I knew I straight away I would order again, and did on visit three - was a courgette, mint and chilli pizzetta which there's no point over-describing; it was just a perfect eight inches of pure pleasure (sorry, sorry, I was sure I was over the sex addiction). Truffled egg toast was fun, a ham-less, gooey croque Madame which, mark my words, will  soon be every spendy Soho-dwelling queen's hangover remedy of choice. The only marginally so-what dish of the lot (and what a lot it was) was soft-shell crab with Tabasco aioli, the batter lacking crunch, the aioli punch.

On my next visit with company - this time publishing suprema, exquisitely elegant blogger and fellow good food addict Helen Brocklebank I tried, in addition to a terrific lamb and pickled cucumber slider and a good duck ham, pecorino and mint salad, a couple of Spuntino's deliciously different desserts. Pineapple with liquorice ice cream was a clever combination of sweetness and smoke, and for liquorice-disliking me one of those "I wouldn't normally eat this  but I'll take another spoonful if I must" moments. The by-a-country-mile winner though, and my favourite dish of all three visits bar those frickin' olives, was the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the 'bread' in fact thick, salty-sweet peanut butter ice cream encasing fruit-packed raspberry jam, all sprinkled with crushed peanut brittle. It was a super-sweet riot of tastes, textures and temperatures, and I loved it.

There's plenty to choose from drinks-wise; a few wines, a few (artisan) beers, a whole lotta bourbons and a list of classic cocktails, not to mention the extensive list which exists in manager and mixer-in-chief Ajax's head (his naked vodka Martini is among the best anywhere, and a long trail of tearful barmen will tell you how hard I am to please). Service is laid back but sassy ("You didn't ask me how I wanted the steak!" a boor bellowed; "It comes medium rare" the waiter snapped back), the aforementioned atmosphere amazing, the queue an hour long at peak times  - which will be all the time for at least a few weeks but is bound to peter off.

Prices are very fair; Anthony and I paid (OK, Anthony paid) more than strictly necessary, just over £50 a head, but that was for a lot of food and booze; Helen and I ordered more modestly, drank less but still left replete for under £30 each including 12.5% service.

What can I say? I'm addicted. There's just nothing not to love about the place and there are far more destructive things to be hooked on, but this may yet be the one that breaks me. So if one night you see me slumped begging in the seedy alleyway opposite, take pity and bring me out an order of deep fried olives won't you?

Spuntino, 61 Rupert Street, London W1D 7PW No telephone, no reservations, nothing on the website but it's http://www.spuntino.co.uk if you insist.

All photographs very kindly supplied by, and copyright of, Spuntino. So hands off.

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

 

Cecconi's, Mayfair

If you were to put a gun to my head  - and I'd really rather you didn't as it's just a figure of speech - I would say that Italian is my favourite food. Not only 'favourite' in that I eat it most often, but also in that it is the cuisine for which I feel the most affection and enthusiasm.

One of my earliest culinary memories is of my mum eating a plate of something terribly exotic-looking (at least to my three-year-old eyes) which turned out to be spaghetti bolognese and would be my first taste of 'foreign' cuisine. My ultimate comfort food when ill, depressed or down-hearted is tortellini in brodo from a recipe taught to me by an Italian ex. And when a couple of years ago I took a grown-up gap year and buggered off to eat my way around Europe and beyond for a few months, it was The Boot which won hands down for the quality, variety and memorability of the food on offer. There are many other cuisines that I like very much, but it's Italian I like the most.

Now, brace yourselves for another revelation but I think I also have a new favourite restaurant. Cecconi's, the perennially-popular trattoria on Burlington Gardens, is so bloody good that since my recent dinner there I haven't stopped raving about it, have been recommending it to everyone, and simply can't wait to go back. If you're sufficiently interested to know what it is about the place that's got me so worked up  - and you were prepared to put a gun to my head to find out my favourite food let's not forget, so I'm guessing that you are - it can be explained in a very small nutshell: Cecconi's does everything that one would expect of a restaurant very well indeed.

To begin with there's the physical appearance of the restaurant itself. It's located on a corner of a very smart Mayfair block, behind Ralph Lauren's flagship megastore, across from the elegant Burlington Arcade and adjacent to Savile Row. The frontage is made up entirely of high french windows which allow a clear view of the inviting dimly-lit room within, but once inside far from feeling like being in a goldfish bowl one feels warm and cosseted, and the outside world feels far away. The interior's a beauty, incredibly luxurious - all huge ornamental crystal mirrors, dark wood, green leather chairs and vast velvet banquettes - but not flashy or over-the-top, the monochromed tiled floors and low light tempering, without obscuring, the opulence.

Then there's the terrific service from super-friendly, super-committed staff, from the greeter's enthusiastic 'Buona sera!' to general manager Giacomo Maccioni's beaming tableside banter and each and every waiter's courtesy and attentiveness. When we (being best pal Andrew and I) asked our waiter for his recommendations, he didn't just rattle off the dishes he'd been told to push that night as happens in many establishments; instead he asked us pertinent questions such as how hungry were we, and did we like this or that, before making his measured suggestions. Wine is left for guests to pour themselves, tap water is served in attractive but also highly practical tall jugs and dishes come out from the kitchen at exactly the right intervals demonstrating that things run as well behind the scenes as they do front of house.

And of course, there's the food - the wonderful, delicious, and  - I use the word with the thunking great caveat that I base this only on my knowledge and personal experience, not any purported expertise - authentic, Italian food. To start with we shared a house selection of cured meats, bruschette and cicheti (which, until the arrival of Polpo and Polpetto, Cecconi's claimed to be the only restaurant in London to serve) and a plate of vitello tonnato. Both were stunningly good, the highlights of the selection, all of which was excellent, being peppery, salty Umbrian sausages, perfect not-quite-set, milky mozzarella and some lovely prosciutto San Daniele, as pink as Babe and just as tender. The vitello tonnato - thinly-sliced cold veal criss-crossed with a creamy, mayonnaise-like sauce made with tuna - was a textbook rendition of a classic and immediately transported me back to another favourite restaurant, Quattro Leoni in Florence, where I last enjoyed this dish.

Although in Italy it would pass as ignorant foreigner behaviour (though in fairness, my behaviour in most countries passes for that too) we both chose pasta as a main rather than intermediate course, pappardelle with venison ragu and chestnuts for Andrew and crab ravioli for me. While my ravioli were delicious, feather-light parcels of sweet white crab meat just moistened with a couple of spoonfuls of buttery broth, I suffered serious plate envy at the sight of Andrew's huge bowl of inch-wide pasta ribbons nestled in a chunky, dark sauce. It tasted as good as it looked; cooked long and slowly, the venison ragu was as intense and robust as my dish was delicate and light, the scattering of chestnuts adding sweetness. A side order of crisp, salty zucchini fritti disappeared as quickly as they must have been fried.

To finish, Andrew ordered the chocolate fondant with pistachio ice cream and I the selection of Italian cheese. We were warned that the fondant would take twelve minutes, and exactly that time later our waiter delivered a neatly plated prism of dark, glossy chocolate loveliness and a simple, elegant plate of three cheeses - one blue, one hard, one goat's, all very good - served with pears and honey. The fondant was exactly that, melting, and oozed most satisfyingly as the spoon went in and the filling seeped out, mingling with the bright green ice cream as pleasingly on the eye as on the palate. I couldn't have been happier with my cheeses; the pears-and-honey combination is one I love and was made even better by an accompanying glass of port. Drinks-wise, we had also enjoyed a bright, floral 2009 Veridicchio dei Castelli di Jesi, as well as couple of pre-dinner cocktails including a superlative Negroni.

All of this combined - great room, faultless service and fantastic food  - makes for a very happy clientele, and the enjoyment in the place is palpable, manifesting itself in the sort of buzz that new start-ups and faded greats alike - I'm talking about you, The Ivy - can only dream of. Cecconi's feels like its always been there, and on-and-off since 1978 it has, which is forever in restaurant terms. This alchemical ability to make a venue and its customers feel like old friends even when they've only just met is the secret of Cecconi's-owner Soho House Group's global success; it comes as no surprise that Cecconi's now has branches, closely modelled on the original, in West Hollywood and Miami Beach.

None of this comes cheaply; cocktails, three courses, one side, one port and service racked us up a bill of just over £150. Strip away the extras however, and order a cheaper wine (there are seven available for less than the £31 we paid for our Verdicchio) and you could get away with about £45-a-head, less at lunch - or even breakfast, as Cecconi's is open from 7am until very late. Alternatively, the bar - the focal point of the room with its spotless glass panels, high stools and Prosecco on draught - would make a lovely spot for a quick wallet-friendly bite or romantic assignation at any time of day. I certainly hope to get back to my new favourite restaurant as soon, and as often, as possible.

Cecconi's, 5a Burlington Gardens, London W1S 3EP Tel: 020 7434 1500 http://www.cecconis.co.uk 

Emporio Armani Caffe, Knightsbridge

Emporio Armani in Knightsbridge is, to paraphrase the famous 80s advertising slogan for its near neighbour the V&A, an ace caff with quite a nice boutique attached. Located in the quiet mid-section of the Brompton Road, past the scrums around Harrods but not as far West as chi-chi Brompton Cross, the grand UK flagship of Giorgio Armani's younger, edgier label attracts a fashionable mix of well-heeled, well-dressed locals and wealthy foreign visitors. Thanks to the chic first floor Caffe, should hunger strike after a shopping spree or they require sustenance before one, they need not set foot outside the exquisitely polished door.

Readers of my recent write-up of Racine may recall that my best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world Andrew works at Emporio Armani and it was at his suggestion that we booked ourselves in for lunch last week. Although aware of it, I'd never eaten at the Caffe (only the original, at Armani's Milan megastore) and might never have done had Andrew not heard good things which found their way to my ears. It had to be lunch - the Caffe is only open during normal store hours - and a day off work presented an ideal opportunity.

As you'd expect from the master of sleek, pared-down luxury, the design of Mr Armani's cafe is in perfect keeping with the philosophy of the label.  The decor of the long room - it runs the full width of the front of the store - combines high-gloss black marble, vast mirrors reflecting the natural light which pours in through an immense picture window, elegant beige seating and accents of Armani's favourite lipstick red. Like the clothes themselves, it's entirely classic while at the same time resolutely modern.

The menu reads as it should in a high-end Italian brasserie; there's a good range of antipasti and pasta, salads in starter and main course sizes and various fish and grills, as well as desserts and a lengthy drinks list for those fancying just a sugar or liquor high before dropping £600 on a blazer. As befits the demographic of the area - broadly, high-net-worth ladies who lunch and the men who walk them around town - the cooking style of chef-manager Djamel Benchikh is light and health-conscious without stripping away all signs of fun and indulgence, so while the majority of dishes are steamed, grilled and low-carb there's still some frittura going on.

Andrew started with calamari fritti while I ordered Parma ham with figs. The calamari were excellent, oil-less, crisp batter yielding to chewable rather than chewy squid. A slightly spicy, rich tomato dip served with it added colour and punch. My prosciutto - served in a portion large enough to serve as a light main course - was wonderful, a gorgeous mound of silky, salty ham and super-ripe figs complemented nicely by chunks of Galia melon and shavings of Parmesan. 

Main courses were equally simple and just as good; Andrew's test of any Italian restaurant (he and I have eaten our way around Tuscany) is their pasta e pomodoro and Armani's passed with flying colours, the thick, chunky tomato sauce having been slow-cooked to bring out an intensity of flavour not common in such a simple dish. My fillet of sea bass, adeptly seasoned, grilled to just-golden and presented on a soothing bed of palourde clams and broad beans was completely brilliant, the best fish dish I've had this year by a nautical mile.

Throughout the meal, warm tomato foccacia and olive bread, delicious on their own and even better dipped in the wonderful olive oil and balsamic provided, were regularly replenished. A couple of glasses of a crisp, floral Gavi di Gavi were the ideal accompaniment to the light but distinctive flavours of the food and tap water was happily brought and topped up (I mention this as reassurance to anyone who, nervous of asking the prices in a designer boutique, might be afraid to ask for anything less than Acqua Panna in a designer cafe). Service, from a brace of model-pretty staff, was as smart as the Armani suits they were wearing.

A couple of minor details, though far from criticisms, are worth noting. One is the aforementioned opening hours, or rather lack of them; the Caffe is only open when the store is open, currently 10-6 or at the latest 7. This is a shame, as I could see this being a really smart dinner destination if only the architects had thought to include a separate entrance. The other is that, unsurprisingly I suppose, the food is almost as expensive as the clothes; our two-course lunch with two glasses of wine, a Coke and 12.5% service came to £73. But like the collections for sale in the store around us, the price was borne out by superlative quality, expert manufacture and high style. 

Both this ace caff(e), and the rather nice boutique attached to it, are well worth a visit.

Emporio Armani Caffe, 191 Brompton Road, London SW3 1NE Tel: 020 7584 4549 http://www.emporioarmani.com 

Polpetto, Soho

In the 11 months or so since he opened the wildly successful Polpo, an homage to Venetian bacari on Soho's Beak Street, a lot has been said about Russell Norman. He's been described variously as the saviour of a fading Soho, progenitor of the next big thing in restaurants, and simply as a 'legend' in both its traditional and more colloquial senses. All of these may or may not be true, but one thing I can tell you with certainty is that Russell Norman is a gentleman.

When, months ago, I couldn't get in at Polpo and flounced off elsewhere, Russell's classy response was firstly to let me know, helpfully, when the quieter times at Polpo were so that I might better have a chance of getting in, and when that didn't lure me through his doors he promised to get me a table at one of the previews for his new venture, Polpetto, when they happened. True to his word, last night I finally sat down to dinner in one of Mr Norman's restaurants for the first time - and what a fantastic time it was.

Polpetto occupies an unusual site, until recently the quietly famous dining room of one of Soho's best-known boozers The French House, but now operating discretely from  - while still sharing an entrance, staircase and loos with - the pub downstairs. In keeping with Norman's love of New York the tiny room has been given a classy refurb in the style of a Keith McNally bistro, although bare brick walls, naked lightbulbs, aged mirrors and red banquettes are now as familiar to Londoners thanks to the likes of Dean Street Townhouse and Hoxton Grill as they are to any Manhattanite. Polpetto manages to stand out from the crowd thanks to a spectacular burnished copper ceiling, shipped over from a salvage yard in Connecticut and installed here for the delight of anyone minded to look up from their plates.

Given the quality of the food being turned out though, looking up from plates might prove difficult. Polpetto follows the same formula (so I'm told...) as its big sister up the road, offering traditional Italian dishes in a variety of sizes all designed for sharing from cicheti - barely bigger than a mouthful, The Boot's answer to Spain's pintxos - via bruschette, to larger plates which could easily serve as a main course for anyone not fond of sharing, or solo diners. Alyn and I tried seven plates which to be honest was about two too many, but didn't regret a single bite.

Anchovy and chickpea crostino was, as Alyn accurately put it, 'like fishy houmous', of a robust pâté consistency and ideal for enjoying with a Negroni while we chose what to follow it with. We stuck with breads and tried first a bruschetta topped with stracchino - 'it's like Primula', Russell elucidated - fennel salami and figs, then a cured pork shoulder and pickled pepper pizzetta. Both were lovely, the former rich with oozing cheese and nicely oily salami, the latter  matching sweet pork with tangy peppers to more-ish effect. The bruschetta, I scribbled on my menu 'would make a cracking hangover brunch'.

Next up was our one choice from the 'Fish' section of the menu, in this case crispy soft shell crab in Parmesan batter with fennel salad. This was as amazing as it sounds, the crisp, creamily-dressed fennel providing a cool, smooth counterpoint to the hot, crunchy crab. The batter didn't taste much of Parmesan but was none the worse for it. Moving on to 'Meat' we tried three of the five plates on offer, which between them delivered both the stand-out dish of the meal and the only slight let-down. The duffer was osso buco - tender braised veal shank - with saffron risotto which, although comforting to eat and better than OK, was somewhat bland and dulled down rather than enhanced by the so-so risotto.

All was forgiven however with our first mouthful of pigeon saltimbocca which as well as being the best dish we'd tasted that evening was also one of the best I can remember having this year. Fat, bloody breasts of pigeon came wrapped in salty prosciutto, the whole layered with a generous but not excessive scattering of sage. Served on a swirl of creamy white polenta it was a brilliant, imaginative, modern British rendition of an Italian classic. Our other plate, a ham hock and parsley terrina served with a mustardy egg mayonnaise and cute tiny cornichons was also very good; consistency-wise more like rillettes than terrine it was a further example of executive chef Tom Oldroyd's expertise and flair.

Full as I was, I still found room for pud, a magnificent, textbook, very boozy tiramisu pot followed by a thick, strong espresso to snap me back into life from my excess-induced torpor. Throughout the meal we'd enjoyed a bottle of Cortese Volpi 2009, the enthusiastically recommended house white at £15 from a short, thoughtfully-selected list of seven whites, seven reds and one rosé almost all available by the 250ml and 500ml carafe. Lilliputian glasses encourage slow, refined consumption.

Service was fun, informal and fast-paced enough to avoid long waits without ever feeling hurried. With an introductory 50% off the food our bill for seven dishes, one pudding, a bottle of wine, aperitifs, coffee and 12.5% service came to a laughable £54. Even without the discount we'd have got out for under £40 a head and it would have been even less if we'd not been quite so greedy with the ordering.

I still can't get my head around Russell Norman's aversion to taking dinner bookings, so how soon - or whether - I'll be back remains to be seen, but I can say without hesitation that I recommend Polpetto and encourage those without my Geminian hatred of waiting to go, go, go. I did wonder if it was acceptable - nay, gentlemanly - to write about Polpetto when, in Russell's own tweeted words there's still tweaking to be done and hell, it's not even officially open yet. But if it's this bloody good in preview, then it's only going to get even better. The hype might, just for once, be justified.

Polpetto, Upstairs at The French House, 49 Dean Street, Soho, London W1D 5BG Tel: 020 7734 1969 http://www.polpetto.co.uk