Instead expect rustic stripped-back tables decked with candles packed into the shell of a handsome looking old boozer. The atmosphere even on a Tuesday in February is good, buzzy without becoming annoying. The cosy atmos extended to it being too dark for decent photos, as you can see. Oh, and there’s a no reservations policy, so Saturday evenings might be tricky.
I had a brief grump at the outset; despite being the first punters to arrive we somehow found ourselves seated at a table barely big enough for four in front of the breezy door. Don’t get me wrong, our greeter allowed us to choose, but there were bizarrely only two of twenty tables set for a party of four and she certainly drew the line at the suggestion that we might shove together two small tables in a more comfy looking corner. Bah. Grump over, service was otherwise swift and friendly.
My smoked haddock and saffron risotto was good; deep flavour and the right bite. Maureen enjoyed slices of seared tuna over salad. All the mains were simple dishes, but made with good produce and well cooked. Desserts were a final delicious touch to send us away happy. My semi-freddo was topped with a nutty crunch and paired with slices of poached pear that had been caramelised to a beautiful translucency but still held a juicy bite. Honestly, one of the best pearish things I’ve ever had. Tiramisu was deemed good, as was a simple cheesecake with a crunchy hazelnut base and a sumptuous caramel sauce.
All in all, good tucker for around £30 each before drinks. I couldn’t call it a bargain; this is straight-forward cooking, albeit of quality. But we are on the edge of Notting Hill, after all, and Italian places have a habit of nudging their prices a few quid higher than equivalent British or French joints. Never have worked out why that should be, have you?
