Telephone: 020-7935 9088
Address: Seymour Street, London W1
Rating: 18/20
"I say," I said to Kate and Emma, glancing around Locanda Locatelli, "this is a bit old hat."
"Don't be so boring, Uncle Matt," they cried with one voice. "This is so retro, it's really smart. It's fantastic."
Where I saw the mahogany-effect vinyl of a 1950s coffee bar, they saw chic elegance. Where I saw convex circular mirrors of domestic prehistory, they saw clever design detailing. But then, that's the difference between the fresh, uncluttered eye of the 20-or-so-year-old, and the tired, jaundiced eye of the veteran. After several return visits, I think that they were right. Ish. Locanda Locatelli doesn't seem to reflect the brilliant energy of Signor Locatelli himself, but it's comfortable, the tables are well spaced and the banquette seats encourage a degree of slouching that I find relaxing.
Anyway, where the nieces and I were wholly at one was in appreciation of the grub. Locanda Locatelli got a good deal of attention and high marks when it first opened. This is not surprising. It has long been known that Giorgio Locatelli, at Zafferano and Cecconi's, was a classy player. A thorough grasp of French technique gives polish to his instinctive command of the idioms of Italian cooking. He brings to London the basic structures of Italian dishes, recast through the prism of French culinary culture. I am not always in favour of playing fast and loose with Italy's culinary traditions. The simpler, the better is my general view. However, the virtue of every great chef is that he or she can make a mockery of such preconceptions - and Locatelli is a great chef. His taste is what defines a dish, so he can combine, alter or play around, and you may think, "Hold on, that doesn't sound right", but when you put the stuff into your mouth, suddenly all seems sweetness and light.
Having let the fuss after the opening die down, I went back last week with Buckshot, who has several degrees in gastronomy and was keen to see how the master was shaping up in the new pleasuredome. Some hours later, when we finally quit the table, he was pretty pleased, as well he might be. He had tucked away a plate of finely cut ox tongue with salsa verde; a bowl of heavy-gravity soup of salt cod with chickpea pasta; rabbit with soft polenta; and poached pear with polenta and wine cake (not to mention a bottle of refined Greco di Tufo and one of elegantly feisty Valpolicella La Grola). Meanwhile, I had a salad of broad beans with pecorino; tordelli stuffed with red onion in a Chianti sauce; roasted John Dory with peas and potatoes; and cheese.
There was nothing wrong with any of it. In fact, there were so many delights that I haven't got space enough to slaver over them all. The tongue was cut so thin that it took on an eloquent, velvety softness, a texture to carry the funky herbalessence of the salsa verde. The tordelli, a kind of ravioli, were stuffed with a sweet squidge of delicate onion borne on the meaty musk of the red wine reduction. The fish was crisp to the point of crunchy on the outside, and pearly, firm and glistening inside. The rabbit bounced with flavour, yet yielded to the knife. Its gravy was perfect, full of character and wit, but not dominating. The polenta was the essence of comfort.
A pair of eminent food writers at a nearby table confessed themselves a bit disappointed. The food was too mucked up, they said, more French than Italian. They missed the point. It suggests expectation, that food should be like this or that, rather than judging it for what it is. Close your eyes, and see what your pleasure centres tell you. Mine told me that this was top-dog cooking. Its roots were so deeply embedded in Italy that it could take a degree of sophisticated folderol without losing its essential character. It takes a fabulous degree of talent to get away with this, and Giorgio Locatelli has it.
If you strip away the wines from the bill - although I could only welcome their presence at the table - and all other non-essential items, we were left with a bill for £104. Then again, we did have four courses each, which is the Italian custom. If you're less gluttonous than we were, then three will be more than enough, and you can expect a bill around the £80 mark - which, for cooking of this quality, not to mention time travel design, is worth every penny.
· Open Mon-Sat, lunch, 12 noon-3pm; dinner, 7-11pm. Wheelchair access and WC.
