WHAT IS IT: Islington Restaurant offering a simple, seasonally focused, Italian inspired menu that changes daily. Fresh hand-made pastas and charcoal grilled fish & meats.
WHERE IS IT: 300 – 302 St Paul’s Road, London N1 2LH.
WHAT WE ATE: It was lunch-time, we ate like G’s.
Bruschetta of ox heart tomatoes, wild oregano & bottarga £8.5
Mozzarella di bufala with grilled white peach & basil £9.5
Porchetta with pickled cherries & Sicilian pistachios £9
Pappardelle with Italian sausage ragu £9
Tagliatelle with razor clams, chilli & garlic £9
Line caught hake with samphire, spinach & brown crab £19
Dorset lamb rump with Castelluccio lentils, girolles & aioli £22
Poussin with Florence fennel, tarragon & grapes £17
Cornish monkfish with baked borlotti beans & salsa verde £32
Chocolate and raspberry tart £7.5
Pannacotta with grappa & blueberries £7.5
WHAT WE DRANK: Baglio Rosso Nero d’Avola 2015, Sicily, Italy. Naturally low in sulphites, full bodied, black cherries.
WHAT HAPPENED: We killed two birds with one stone and wined & dined our new client whilst reviewing Padella’s big brother. Although there was just one bird (me) and 3 very hungry men. And so we made the journey from West to North whilst the heavens opened and our hunger raged on in the uber.
Service was cool and understated as we walked in. Front of house was effortlessly chic. The dark and quaint trattoria interior was dream-like, conjuring the head of Quality Chop House with the body of St. Johns. Definitely an evening show – or maybe I was just delirious at this point.
The starters sounded better than they tasted, especially the Porchetta with pickled cherries & Sicilian pistachios. Wow. But also, not. The reigning champions were, of course, the pasta dishes. The chopped up, chewy n’ sweet razor clams were fascinating in texture against the bite of fresh tagliatelle. Fat yellow ribbons of pappardelle came with an earthy ripe gravy that delivered the goods, perfectly seasoned and judged. Portions started to get a little out of control however, as we filled up on courses. My meaty monkfish looked like a mountain to climb and that was truly sad. No one likes the fat feeling – perhaps a set lunch menu calls? The chocolate & raspberry tart was magnificent and literally blew us away. In to a coma.
Service was good although our waiter asked numerous times if we were ‘happy’ – to which one of the hungry men reflected, ‘Blow jobs make me happy. Winning the lottery makes me happy…’ His knees kept knocking together with Mr. Adobe’s so he wasn’t in the best of moods anyway.
WE SAY: Eat pasta, all night long.
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