The Telegraph was my parents’ paper of choice, and my sister still subscribes.
She tipped me off about the weekly writing competition ‘Your say’ in the travel pages on Sunday.
This week the brief was to describe a favourite sweet treat discovered on your travels, in no more than 150 words.
My entry was printed in a very slightly edited form. Here it is in full:
A favourite ‘sweet treat’ from my travels
Frìtole in Venetian dialect (frittelle in Italian) are traditionally devoured only during the Venice Carnival, a celebration of gluttony and excess which ends on Shrove Tuesday, before the austere days of Lent begin.
Days are often foggy and cold, and revellers seek out fried treats in the misshapen form of frìtole, found in pastry shops and cafés throughout the city.
They’re knobbly little doughnuts, studded with candied citrus peel, pinenuts, and raisins (which, if you’re lucky, will have been soused in grappa) then fried and dusted with sugar.
Carnevale is not only for tourists; on one night of our stay we managed to get seated in a crowded dining room of a busy Osteria. At the neighbouring table there was a party who were clearly Venetians, finishing a tray of warm frìtole: a Renaissance prince, a nineteenth century admiral, and a Mikado who started singing arias in Italian….
Red gingham is a bit of a cliché, the ubiquitous table covering of an unpretentious traditional bistro in provincial France. Or so I thought.
In 2013 I came across Ristorante Tromlin in the hills overlooking the Italian city of Turin.
Torino was the capital of the Kingdom of Savoy, which also ruled Nizza, now better known as the French city of Nice.
I developed a theory that perhaps the red-and-white check entered French culture through this historical back door.
Ristorante Tromlin
The bistros of Paris were opened by people from the countryside who migrated to the city, and classic dishes from the French regions, notably Beaujolais, Alsace, and (not forgetting) Savoie became staples.
One of my favourites is La Fontaine de Mars, where the menu is firmly rooted in the French Southwest. Jambon de Bayonne is freshly cut on the red enamel slicer that gleams at you as you’re shown to your table, to nibble as you decide whether to choose cassoulet or confit de canard.
La Fontaine de Mars
Last time we were there we startled our waiter by asking if we could have a green salad with the cheese course.
‘Une salade avec du fromage? Vraiement?(shrugs)
Vive la difference!’
(The tablecloths are red and white gingham in my memory, but when I found this photo I realised they are actually pink. Perhaps the effect of a glass too many of their finest Cahors).
Then there’s Polidor, the restaurant that time forgot. The blackboard proclaims that ‘we haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’.
Woody Allen chose it as a location for ‘Midnight in Paris’, when the lead character accepts a lift by a stranger’s car which transports him back to the literary heyday of the 1920’s, where he encounters F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway in the restaurant.
‘We haven’t accepted cheques since 1873’
I remembered a visit to Mamma Mia, an Italian restaurant in Dublin.
No mistake this time, the tablecloths are proudly chequered.
Mamma Mia
Maybe there’s something in my theory after all.
Savoie to Paris, by way of Dublin?
I look forward to resuming the necessary research.
We heard recently that our dear friend Michael Gough had died suddenly of a heart attack in November 2020.
We inherited Michael as a friend. Stephen Balme, my brother-in-law Richard Groves and I were working at Les Amis du Vin in the 1980s, and we came up with the idea of occasional ‘tasting dinners’.
Each guest or couple would bring a good bottle of wine from a nominated region, and probably another to go with the supper, which the host would prepare, something from the same region as the wine.
The flaw in the concept was the quantity, not the quality, of the wine.
I think it was at the pink champagne evening that we first met Michael. The evening was hosted by Stephen and his wife Shelley Gare in their flat in Ockendon Road in Islington.
When Shelley and Stephen returned to their native Australia in 1986, their fellow Australian Michael bought the flat, and we became friends with him.
Michael surveying the carnage. Mid 1980s
It was much later that Michael confessed that he was stopped by the police on his way home that night, and taken into Kings Cross police station. He engaged the desk sergeant in conversation, whose son, as luck would have it, was living in Australia.
They must have hit it off; Michael was discreetly released without charge the following morning.
Michael worked as a copywriter in the heady world of advertising in the 1980s, a world of extravagant photoshoots and hedonistic lunches. The agencies had big budgets, and they weren’t afraid to use them.
He would quote from his portfolio, with some pride, some gems: ‘Du vin. Du pain. Du Boursin’. He was less pleased with the strap line he came up with for a since forgotten wine brand, ‘Le Soir….. pour le Bon Soir’.
Best loved in our circle was his summing up of Richard’s business:
‘Richard Groves Catering. It’s a Question of Confidence’.
He was a master of the comedy pause. When I was working in the wine trade a fellow dinner guest asked me the dreaded question: ‘what’s your favourite wine?’
I later learned to say something straight away, giving the sort of answer they wanted to hear: aged Sangiovese, or a fine champagne, but that night I paused a little too long, trying to think of a suitable response.
After what seemed like an interminable silence, Michael murmured:
‘No rush Al, but tonight would be good….’
An endlessly entertaining raconteur, Michael was an acute observer of people, and he showed amusement with a chuckle, or sometimes a snort of laughter.
You could tell If he found something really funny; he would fall silent, but his shoulders would continue to rise and fall.
Michael joined us on several holidays over the years. The first was in Tuscany in 1991.
It was there that we noticed a group of attractive and excitable adolescent Italians gathering outside the bar in the town square, prompting Michael’s inimitable comment:
‘Let’s get out of here, before someone gets pregnant’.
At the end of a good evening, when the others had retired to bed, Michael and I would find a bench somewhere in whatever garden we were in. We would watch the shooting stars in the night sky in Tuscany, or the lights of the flight path to Heathrow over Twickenham.
We would linger over another glass of red wine or perhaps of grappa, and usually, in those days, a small cigar.
Asked the next day what we had talked about, I never had the faintest recollection, but Michael once claimed I had fretted late into the night about the declining stocks of sardines off the coast of Portugal.
Michael on holiday in Chablis
I was due to start a temporary job in December 1999 and had a week to spare. Michael invited me to join him in an apartment he was renting on a farm in Tuscany.
On the first morning we walked up the track to the village for a coffee, and to buy the wherewithal for lunch. When we got back to the farm, I realised I had lost the envelope containing all my Italian currency.
Michael was a patient man. We retraced our steps up the hill, and sure enough there was the crisp white envelope, lying where it had fallen out of my pocket onto the road.
‘Let me explain to you the concept of a folding piece of leather you put your banknotes in, Al, it’s called a wallet. We’ll buy you one when we go into Florence’.
There had been a hard frost that morning, but it was warm enough to sit out on the terrace for lunch. I can even remember wine we drank, Poggio Alle Gazze (a Sauvignon Blanc from the Ornellaia estate, since you ask).
Time spent with Michael was always memorable.
At the Enoteca
Michael returned to Melbourne in c1989, but would travel every year or two, so we continued to see him when he was in the UK; he would set up an itinerary of friends to stay with. An exemplary guest, a bottle of champagne and a good red burgundy would typically be proffered on arrival.
He had friends on the other side of the Thames, and he would go to them after he had stayed with us, describing himself as being like the child of divorced parents, spending time with each one in turn.
We continued to see him in Italy too, where we linked up for two holidays in Venice.
In 2014 he joined us on a rowing lesson in the Venetian lagoon. After we had all had a go at steering, our instructor rewarded us with cicheti and wine tastings at a couple of canalside bars.
At the tiller
Michael expressed regret that day that he hadn’t tried longer to row standing up, like a gondolier. It reminded me of his strap line.
‘It’s a question of confidence’
Michael afloat in Canareggio – here ended the lesson
Since we heard the news of Michael’s death, I’ve been thinking about his talents and remembering the pursuits he enjoyed:
He was self – deprecating, describing his physique as ‘the body that men admire, and women crave’
He was a writer who encouraged me to write, leading to the creation of this blog.
A talented photographer, he was also a collector of vintage typewriters.
An avid reader of ‘an improving book’, he especially enjoyed the works of Virginia Woolf.
He was a yachtsman; during his time in the UK he loved to spend time on Chichester Harbour on his ‘junk rig’.
Less well known was his skill as an amateur pilot; he liked nothing better than to land an aircraft in challenging weather conditions, at an unfamiliar airfield….
Fortunately he only pursued this risky pastime on his laptop.
Michael was always a wonderful guest, and a generous host; a bon viveur and raconteur.
No mean cook himself, Michael enjoyed watching others at work in the kitchen.
We still feel his presence today, sensing that he’s standing behind us, murmuring approval, or chuckling at some domestic dispute at the stove.
Today, 29th June 2020, is the 100th day of Lockdown in the UK.
Restaurants in England will be allowed to re-open their doors from 4th July.
I find myself looking further back to what I think is one of the most singular dining experiences of my life.
In 2012 I was travelling alone on an exploration of Piemonte and the vineyards of Barolo. I had been unable to book a hotel in Turin for the first night of my trip, and found myself in a village in the hills overlooking the city, only ten minutes by cab from the city centre.
Turin from the Hotel Magnolia
I had found an inexpensive hotel, ‘La Magnolia’, with quirky, purple 1970’s decor, an elderly proprietor, and the largest, furriest cat I think I have ever seen.
There was a restaurant in the village, and the hotel owner booked me a table for dinner.
‘It’s a typical Piemontese restaurant’, he told me. “one word of advice: there is no written menu, and they will start to bring you food’.
‘Do not feel obliged to accept everything they bring…. or you will not make it to the end’.
I walked to the village square to Ristorante Tromlin, where I was shown to my table, laid for one. The interior was panelled with dark wood, and the gingham tablecloths were typical of simple restaurants in Piemonte, red and white being the colours of the Kings of Savoy who once ruled there.
Ristorante Tromlin
Grissini, the local breadsticks, were already on the table, of course, along with a big basket of perfectly fresh raw vegetables, and some quails’ eggs.
And a bottle of Dolcetto, a simple red wine.
A smiling waiter brought a bowl of dressing for the vegetables. I thought I recognised a dish I had heard of, but never eaten.
“Bagna Càuda?” I asked.
Literally a ‘hot bath’ or warm dip of olive oil, wine vinegar, anchovies and garlic, usually served in autumn.
“No, bagna fresca”, he replied.
(It was May, so the ‘bath’ was served cold).
Bagna Cauda
Then a few strips of Lardo came, silky pork fat cured with rosemary, and a string of little salame on a wooden stand, which was left at the table to cut as much as I wanted, while taking in my surroundings and fellow diners.
A waitress (also the cook, as it turned out) brought slices of Fritatta Erbette, a vivid green herb omelette, and a bowl of Primo Sale, a fresh, slightly yogurty cheese, simply dressed with olive oil and black pepper, and a couple of perfect anchovy fillets with olive oil, parsley, and a whisper of chilli.
By this time, I realised that the 20 or so diners in the room were eating exactly the same menu as me, at the same time, and drinking the same Dolcetto.
It epitomised the natural, sociable, Italian activity of Sunday evening dinner with friends and family. Very small children were drinking water with their meals, not sugary drinks, and were still perfectly behaved at 11pm.
A young blonde woman and (I assumed) her sugar daddy popped out for cigarette breaks between the many courses.
Two or three choices of pasta were offered from a trolley “or would you like some of each?”
There were two meat dishes, little chunks of roast rabbit with shredded green lettuce, or thinly sliced roast pork.
Pouring Dolcetto. Liberally.
The wine, Dolcetto Monferrato 2010, is a simple, plummy red. You could drink as much of it as you wanted.
The meal finished with slices of sharp apple in fritters, dusted with sugar and served with a hot cherry marmellata.
Apple fritters with hot cherry jam
The food was simple, fresh and generous, and dinner had been a life-affirming experience. By the end of the evening it had become my ambition to return and share it with friends.
I was able to achieve this in 2016 with a diverse group of UK delegates from the Slow Food festival in Turin: four chefs, a farmer of rare breed pigs, a cheese producer, students from the University of Gastronomy, and a representative of London’s Borough Market.
We worked out how to split the bill over coffee, grappa and liqueurs.
It was easy; 38 euros each, for everything, drinks included. Cash only.
Ristorante TROMLIN, Via della Parrocchia 7, 10133 Torino. Tel 011/6613050
I update it as a cumulative drinks diary, so if you’re interested in the world of beverages, it’s worth checking in from time to time.
This time, with 8 wines, carefully chosen to go with 8 courses, (plus canapés, and salumi and breadsticks in case we left hungry) I thought the liquid aspect of dinner at Murano warranted a standalone Post.
We were greeted with a glass (or two. Well, several) of Champagne.
A. R. Lenoble, ‘Intense’ Mag 15 Brut, non vintage.
The cuvée is unusually 45% Pinot Meunier (for fragrance), 45% Pinot Noir (for body) and 15% Chardonnay; a crisp and appetising apéritif with the canapés.
Vitello Tonnato followed.
Angela Hartnett’s 2017 Sangiovese Rosato, a dry, pale pink Tuscan from Tenute Fertuna.
Creamy textured; strawberry, white fruit & sour cherry notes cut through the richness of the veal.
Declassified Greco di Tufo; savoury, nutty, orchard fruits & citrus, low acidity. A successful match for the difficult combination of Artichoke and truffle.
The sommelier Ali told us this was a rare & obscure grape variety from somewhere in Italy. Emboldened by the champagne, I asked to taste it blind. ‘Pelaverga from Piemonte?’ I ventured? No. ‘Corvina from the Veneto, perhaps?’ No.
‘I know! A Sicilian from Mount Etna!’ I said with (ill-advised) confidence.
It turned out to be Pòllera, a grape native to Maremma in Tuscany (I’d never heard of it). The pork brought out flavours of cherry & plum in the wine.
Selection of cheese from La Fromagerie (Isle of Mull cheddar, Vacca Blue from Piemonte, Epoisse and Fleur Marie).
2016 I.G.T. Vinetti delle Dolomiti, Teroldego, Foradori, Trentino Alto Adige.
Biodynamic wine, Teroldego is a relative of Syrah. Fresh acidity and dark fruit made friends with a fine selection of cheese.
Caramelised Amalfi Lemon tart, with a texture like crème brûlée.
2016, Jurançon ‘La Magendia’, Lapeyre, Southwest France.
The intense acidity of the lemons went head to head with the orange and lemon citrus in the wine.
A seriously good cup of coffee is one of life’s great pleasures for me, and they don’t get much better than at Robert’s Coffee, in the Saluhall market, Stockholm.
The cinnamon buns are a bonus. (They take cards only, not cash, so you won’t even have to bother buying kronor).
Osteria al Ponte del Diavolo on the island of Torcello; all the better for being unexpected.
Torcello is about an hour from Venice; you can reach it on a scheduled service, changing at Burano, using your vaporetto pass.
Osteria al Ponte del Diavolo, Torcello
The ancient basilica on Torcello predates the city of Venice. To reach it from the quay, you walk along the side of a canal. The most famous restaurant on the island is the Locanda Cipriani nearby, but you pass three others on the way.
We weren’t looking for a grand lunch, but something to fortify us for the basilica.
The first place looked fun, but was packed with families queuing for pizza.
The second was a fairly standard Trattoria. We walked on.
The third had a big dining room with a covered terrace at the back, opening onto a garden. The menu looked as if we could find something suitable, so we went in and were greeted with smiles and shown to a table.
It was a good decision, even the bread basket was exceptional. We had a pretty antipasto of colourful steamed vegetables, all tasting intensely of themselves, served warm to bring out the fruitiness of the olive oil dressing.
Then black squid ink pasta, with crab, samphire and rosemary; orecchiette with turbot and cherry tomatoes.
We drank Arneis, a white from Piemonte.
After lunch we wandered round the garden and may have dropped off on a bench in the pergola. Just for a moment….
Osteria al Ponte del Diavolo is open for lunch Tuesday to Sunday, and dinner on Friday and Saturday.
Honourable mention for the Sweetbreads at Frenchie’s Wine Bar, Paris.
So good, I ate them twice.
https://wp.me/p7AW4i-Kh
‘Everything, I want to eat everything’
Caffé Toscanini in Amsterdamfor the whole experience of food and hospitality; a perfect aperitif followed by an accomplished Italian meal, delivered with good humour and expertise.
https://wp.me/p7AW4i-Kh
The bar at Caffe Toscanini, Amserdam
The prize goes to A.G. for the best steak of 2019.I’ll be lucky to find one as good in 2020.
Most of the tables were occupied by groups of men sharing massive steaks.
There were also a few couples on date nights, sharing massive steaks.
‘Vegetarians, look away now’.
https://wp.me/p7AW4i-Oh
A.G. – ‘vegetarians, look away now’
TV Show: Remarkable places to eat, Episode 1, in which chef Angela Hartnett takes Maitre d’ Fred Siriex to her favourites in Venice.
It’s a full hour of television, so they have time to show you the dedication and hard work that goes into delivering the best ingredients and food experiences in the city. These are not cynical tourist traps. Nothing is done without effort: wading chest deep in the lagoon to harvest seafood; delivering vegetables by boat and trolley to Bruno Gavagnin, the quietly spoken but demanding chef at Alle Testiere; walking half a kilometre over bridges carrying boxes of perfect patisserie to Caffe Florian, from their production kitchen to Piazza San Marco – several times throughout the day.
At the time of writing it’s not available on BBC iPlayer, but it’s sure to turn up on your TV sooner or later.
It’s your first evening in Venice, and you’ve booked dinner at Al Zucca, ten minutes walk from your hotel. You’ve been there before, you fancy a drink first, but you can’t remember anywhere on the way to the restaurant. There’s a street in the other direction where you know there’s a simple pizzeria on the corner, with a well stocked bar, so you set off.
As you approach, there’s the sound of lively conversation that grows louder as you get closer, and it’s not coming from the pizza place.
Turning the corner, there’s a tiny new bar, and it’s buzzing. On one side it opens onto the calle, inside is the bar: a glass cabinet of cicheti, some bottles of wine, and a display of your favourite bitters above. There are two bar stools, a couple of barrels outside, and that’s about it.
‘Un spritz al Cynar, con prosecco, grazie’
There are two guys behind the bar, the service is friendly, and so are the prices:
A spritz is €2.50, or €3.50 con prosecco – a generous pour over ice, topped up with prosecco and a splash of soda. They have Cynar and Select, as well as the usual Campari and Aperol.
You prefer wine? €1 for un ombra, or €2.50 for un calice, a proper glass. Cicheti are €1.50 a piece.
The seemingly never-ending pour
We enjoyed it so much, we went back for a drink after dinner….
‘Later that night’
In fact, we were back the next morning too, for coffee this time, although there were spritzes lined up on the bar by 11am.
The morning spritz, Cip & Ciop
Demographic: all ages, from a babe in arms upwards; a mix of visitors and locals.
Playlist: energetic salsa.
What’s it called? Cip e Ciop. In English, that’s pronounced (approximately) ‘Chip Eh Chop’. None the wiser, I looked it up; apparently they are Disney cartoon characters, two chipmunks whose names translate as ‘Chip ‘n’ Dale’.
Where to find it: the closest Vaporetto stop is Riva di Biásio on the Grand Canal; it’s the first stop from the train station, which explains the flow past the bar of visitors with luggage. Turn right off the vaporetto stop, until you have to turn left into Calle del Pistor, and Cip e Ciop is on the corner of Lista dei Bari.
I’d say you can’t miss it, but this being Venice, of course you can….
Acqua Alta comes as no surprise to Venetians in November, it’s an annual phenomenon; an irritation, an inconvenience to be dealt with stoically by the residents and businesses of the city.
This year, as we now know, it was a disaster on a scale unprecedented since 1966. Many restaurants and shops were forced to close by the flood on the night of November 12th. The water subsided, only to be followed by a second high tide a couple of days later, then a torrential downpour.
As I write this on 17th November, BBC Radio News is reporting a third flood.
Osteria Bancogiro
One of the restaurants affected by Acqua Granda is Osteria Bancogiro, on the fringe of Rialto market, within sight of the bridge and the Grand Canal.
Just over a month ago I was in Venice. We usually visit Bancogiro to sit at the bar with a selection of their chicheti, but on a warm and sunny day in October it seemed a good idea to have lunch at a table outside.
Bancogiro from the terrace
Instead of choosing from the display of snacks in the counter, we were presented with a printed menu. In a moment of innocence I ordered the Antipasto Misto di Pesce, expecting the typical Venetian restaurant plate of baccala (salt cod), prawns, cannochie shrimp, cuttlefish roe etc.
What arrived was an antipasto with a Bancogiro twist – a tasting tour on a plate, helpfully guided by our waiter:
‘From the bottom right, anticlockwise’
Prawns in tomato sauce on cream cheese. Octopus and aubergine on polenta, drenched with olive oil. Baccala mantecato on warm black polenta. A generous pile of smoked tuna, infused with orange zest. Sweet pepper stuffed with soft cheese. Sarde in Saor.
Antipasto misto di pesce
Lunch was accompanied by an equally varied soundscape: the sounds of the engines of traffic from the canal, the hammering of builders restoring the roof of a palazzo on the far side, and the cries of seagulls scavenging debris from the fish market.
There was a moment of serious balcony envy, as we looked up and realised there was someone else enjoying lunch, followed by a spot of sun worship.
Balcony envy
As we enjoyed a coffee, someone at a neighbouring table was already contemplating
‘Spritz o’clock’
Spritz o’clock
Bancogiro closed the day after Acqua Alta; they were defiantly open again a day later.
In the following days, there have been many images in news and social media as the unsung heroes of Acqua Alta have quietly got on with the business of pumping, mopping and cleaning up after the waters subsided, and in some cases opening for business even if they have been up to their knees, or higher, in water.
As a small tribute to these heroes, here are some of their Instagram tags, where you will find images of citizens of all ages, doggedly trying to restore normality to their homes, churches and businesses:
On Instagram, you’ll find the team outside osteriabancogiro up to their knees but grinning, sharing ‘that glass of wine, that slice of fennel salame, a hug between friends who share a difficult moment’
cantinaschiavi is more succinct: ‘Honestly, it’s just a ****ing disaster’ – their shop floor underwater; a collapsed stack of sodden cases of wine.
But at venissa_tenuta on the island of Burano, a waiter is standing ready to greet you on the restaurant terrace with a bottle of Prosecco. He’s smiling.
The green floodwater nearly covers his waders, and the caption reads ‘Still positive’
On the morning of November 18th, the waters appear to have subsided….
HOW TO HELP VENICE AND THE VENETIANS AFTER THE ACQUA ALTA
Here’s a link to some sound advice from The Venice Insider:
Her Majesty the Queen owns the largest collection in the world of paintings by Canaletto. This was celebrated in November 2018 by an exhibition at The Queen’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace: Canaletto and the Art of Venice.
One of the events organised at the gallery was a conversation on Venice with art historian Andrew Graham Dixon and restaurateur Russell Norman.
When asked in the Q & A which painting in the room they would like to take home, Russell immediately laid his claim for a large canvas depicting the basilica of Santa Maria della Salute.
Andrew confessed that Canaletto, although a fine painter, was not his favourite. If he were to be transported back to the 18th century to meet him, his first question would probably be ‘what can you tell me about Caravaggio?’
Another questioner asked what the pair thought of the food scene in Venice today.
Andrew agreed with Russell that if you see a restaurant with linen tablecloths, each place set with two knives, two forks and two glasses….
‘Don’t go there’
Instead, Russell Norman made reference to Dalla Marisa, a Venetian institution. He recently described it as
“The cacophonous canteen that is Dalla Marisa.
32 seated inside and close to 60 outside (no women inside at all). Everything cooked by a kitchen brigade of two, who both look like they’re in their 70’s. One washer-upper and two waiters. Three choices of pasta & 3 choices of meat course (it’s famous for its carne, being situated next to the old abbatoir) There are international art dealers side-by-side with paint-splattered labourers, gondoliere, politicians and a few cops”.
Outdoor tables at Dalla Marisa on the Cannaregio Canal
It seemed churlish not to follow his advice
I had read that there’s a fixed price of €35 for three courses including wine. It was to be lunch before an evening flight, so we decided to go for it. While they take bookings, it was Monday and the weather was good, so we took the risk and turned up to take our chances. Arriving at 1pm it was busy, so we loitered optimistically by the door, and a table outside soon became available.
Inside it’s a busy dining room. At the back you can catch a glimpse of the chef in her domain, an elderly lady in a white jacket and equally elderly slippers. She emerged to talk to a table of eight regulars (with a woman in charge) about their order.
There’s no printed menu, but a blackboard at the entrance indicated a more attemptable lunch for €17.
The lunch menu, Dalla Marisa
We opted to order in Italian. Three choices of pasta were offered by the waitress, ‘today we have tomato, ragú, or (something or other) with Bresaola’.
We both chose the Ragú, and I asked for 1/4 Vino bianco, a 250cl carafe of white wine.
The pasta arrived quite quickly, but the wine needed a reminder.
Half a litre came; it would have been rude to complain
it was was slightly frizzante, with a good head of froth.
The froth subsiding rapidly on vino frizzante
The pasta were conchiglie, little shells that were the vehicle for the mildly seasoned, oily sauce.
Perfetto.
Pasta al Ragu
Next up, per secondo: “stew”, pork chop, steak, chicken cutlet, pork with wine.
The stew looked great on neighbouring tables, chunks of meat in a rich sauce, and the chicken was simple and good, hot from the grill.
Pollo grigliato
Contorni (vegetables on the side), a choice of chicory or peppers. The chicory was silky and savoury, the colour of the Cannaregio Canal.
Cicoria
We finished with two perfect espressi.
Towards the end of lunch, a grizzled ruffian shuffled out of the restaurant. I surmised he might be Marisa’s husband; bearded, with long hair, a crucifix earring and flip flops.
He picked up some leftover bread from a table, and threw it disconsolately into the canal for the gathering crowd of pigeons and gannets. He spent the next half hour or so ineffectually flapping his arms, trying to shoo them away when they inevitably came back for more.
A flapping contest
Russell Norman again:
‘The portions are huge and the wine on other tables seems to be bottomless (are these people going back to work?!) There is nowhere else quite like it in Venice or, indeed, beyond. I’ve heard that it, like so many Venetian institutions, is changing hands soon. I hope its philosophy and legacy remain…’
I like the Cannaregio Canal. The Guglie Vaporetto stop is on the Allilaguna route to the airport, and a few tourists stray from the Strada Nuova, but it feels like a working thoroughfare. There are no gondolas, there’s a small fish market by the canal, and a Jewish café is a clue to its proximity to the Venetian Ghetto (the first in the world).
Vaporetto on the Cannaregio Canal
Like Dalla Marisa, there’s something uncompromising about it. It’s a reminder of how Venice used to be.
Dalla Marisa
Da’a Marisa, Calle de la Canne, 652/B Cannaregio.
(near the Tre Archi bridge, Fondamenta San Giobbe)
Santa Croce is one of the sestiere of Venice, between Rialto and the railway station.
Arriving in Campo San Giacomo dell’ Orio in the early evening, you’ll encounter a microcosm of Venetian life. A few tourists pass through, but really it’s an urban village.
At its centre is the eponymous church. When the junior school is out, you’ll see boisterous children doing circuits of the little cluster of trees, on scooters, bikes and skates.
The race track, early evening
There’s a game of football being played, with the walls of the church and the Co-op supermarket acting as goals – when I was there it became clear that the boys were playing the girls, and the girls were winning….
There are three restaurants in the square, but my favourite haunt is Al Prosecco, a husband and wife operation, where they serve cicheti, and platters of cheese, salumi and smoked fish; perfect for a light lunch or an early evening aperitivo.
