Polpetto lands in Soho blinking and gasping and wondering where mummy is.

It lands in a room of some repute, above The French House, where Bohemian Soho has imbibed for years, where Fergus Henderson fired the first shots for St John.

Another sibling, Spuntino, will soon join this Venetian bácaro family. Russell Norman is not sitting back and admiring what has been achieved at Polpo, Beak Street. Head Chef Tom Oldroyd, ex-Bocca di Lupo, is still pulling the strings here as at Polpo.

The room is killer – shabby chic. Burnished panelled copper ceiling, walls with the lived-in look, windows overlooking bustling Soho. The room feels like somewhere else in Europe, not England. Clever.

It’s described as a “jewel-box” version of Polpo, with just 28 seats - similar menu, although Russell admits they have “raised the game” with the new baby.

And they have….

Smoked Swordfish, lemon and dill Ricotta - A curl of meaty and subtly smoked  swordfish wrapped around creamy ricotta carrying a kick of dill. A great morsel, room temperature fish, pass me another.

Anchovy and chickpea crostino - A chunky houmous wannabe (a good thing), with a good glug of decent olive oil, enough perky lemon juice, charged with garlic. Tahini in there too. Light on the anchovy, balance correct, a good opener.

Polpetti - The Bambino makes an appearance. Cutesy little Octopus, bathed in olive oil, lemon juice, fennel seeds, sage. Tender, addictive, mop up the juice with some bread. They look just like the sign outside.

Melanzane Parmigiana - A classic given the Polpetto treatment. A mouthful of aubergine and tomato wrapped around parmesan. This dish is always more successful warm, for cheese unctuousness, but a decent small plate in this form too.

Piedmontese Pepper, white anchovies - A beautifully cocky dish, a big roasted pepper, served cool, with the shrill vinegary high notes of white anchovy. Sweet, sweet pepper, marinated tomatoes, basil, lemon juice and olive oil, deceptively simple – a winner.

Duck and Porcini meatball - Perfect one-bite hit. A dense nugget of meat, earthy lick of Porcini.

Osso Bucco, Saffron Risotto - Scooping out the marrow of an Osso Bucco is the coup de grace here. Meat wobbling off the bone delightfully. Risotto overcooked and veering towards porridge but no matter, saffron risotto is always a good idea.

Crispy Soft Shell Crab, Parmesan batter - The biggest soft shell crab in London? A beast, with an intimidating carapace of batter. Lighter than expected, plenty of crabby flavour, an explosion of oozing crab innards at the centre. Parmesan content needs to be turned up to 11.

Spicy Pork and Fennel Polpette - Showstopper. Proper kick of chilli in a gutsy tomato sauce, and juicy balls of pork singing with the freshness of fennel seeds.

Pigeon Saltimbocca - Perfect pigeon parcels, two breasts wrapped in crisped Parma ham – pink breasts, salty ham, bed of polenta. Are we in Venice or Soho? This is a dish to transport you elsewhere, somewhere better, warmer – the best dish in the house.

Stracchino, Fennel Salami, Fig Bruschetta - Excellent Finocchio salami draped across wedges of toasted bread, smeared with the creamy cow’s milk cheese of Lombardy. Perfectly ripe figs.

Lemon and Strawberry Sgroppino - Frozen glass of zesty sorbet with a slug of prosecco, two straws delivered to suck it up. Great palate cleansing finish.

Wines are served in cute tiny glasses from a short list, no room for bombast here, carafes come out with perfectly chilled whites, and the whole casualness of the delivery somehow makes you want to drink that bit faster – good times.

Even the Prosecco is served in water tumblers  – for the first time ever, this doesn’t annoy me. The casual and unassuming feel of the room has seduced me, and I’m happy to drink wine out of plastic beakers at this rate.

The Pinot Grigio from Lageder in Alto Adige, has more weight and texture than the pissy ones you’ll find in lesser Italian restaurants, and the Cortese from Volpi does a decent enough job as the entry level white, clean, balanced, zippy.

The sound-track during lunch has me smiling – Radiohead, Blur, The Verve, Elastica. We’re in a student bar again.

Polpetto already feels like its been around forever, helped by landing in the The French House, which has history oozing from every corner. Have a drink downstairs, wait for a space above, be a part of the Soho game.

This little baby won’t be an only child for very long.

Polpetto

Upstairs at The French House

49 Dean Street
Soho
London
W1D 5BG

Cornmeal crust. Sounds hippy. Looks hippy.

Let’s get the facts straight. The cornmeal crust pizza was invented at Vicolo in San Francisco, taken by one of it’s acolytes Mike Freeman and tweaked at Zelo in LA, and then by Gavin Blackstock and his partner Delane Hamik, popping up in Portland, Oregon – which is where Rich and Tom of Otto Pizza in Notting Hill found their “Eureka” moment at Dove Vivi. Translate as “where you live” in Italiano.

Cornmeal? What the….? Flour ground from dried corn, variously called cornmeal, maize meal, maize flour, polenta, or polenta flour. The idea being that a sturdy crust allows more liberal toppings, with no chance of a sloppy base. This is half the fun of good pizza though, right? That dribble of mozzarella down the chin, that run-away train of tomato sauce across the cheek? 

So, this isn’t pizza as we know it, but to call it anything else would be silly. It has Mozzarella. Tomatoes. Toppings. Baked. So Pizza it is. 

Baked in a cast-iron pan, this is a pizza that surprises but doesn’t disappoint.

A quick hit revealed the following:

Fig and Pancetta - Proper, delicately scented pancetta (nutmeg, pepper, fennel, blah blah), a subtle hint of blue cheese. Sturdy cornflour crust, tasty in its own right, weird at first but a real grower. Like a Radiohead track.

Pesto and Ricotta - Slightly tame pesto, no whizz-bang of savoury parmesan/pine-nut/Basil Nirvana, but the pesto is with Spinach. Basil sprinkled on top. Needed a punch – in the ribs.

Fennel Sausage -  Pisses on most slices of “pizza” in London – a riot of flavour charged with anise scented fennel seeds, sweet caramelized onion, and marinated green pepper. F**king good. 

The cornmeal bases stay in one piece throughout each slice, no danger of a sloppy last bite imploding over your lap. They taste good too, seasoned better than most dough-laden pizza bases, so no need to chase olive oil round your plate – maybe just dab them into some fiery chilli flakes, authentic peperoncino at Otto. 

Wines are better by a country mile than most pizza joints – the short wine list comes from eminent fine wine supplier armit, who supply 80% of London’s Micheln starred establishments. A highlight is the stylish, and distinctive Marlborough Sauvigon Blanc from Seresin Estate - delicately herbal, with a poise and balance that gives more than a nod to a more restrained European style of Sauvignon. 

Good US bottled beers from Blue Moon, Anchor Steam. Honkers Ale and  Goose Island, completes a carefully considered offering that is a testament to the inspiration of it’s Portland parent.

Otto Pizza hits enough buttons to be a success – informal, casual, relaxed, sweet staff, good value. You even get punchy chilli flakes if you ask nicely.

It may not be “where you live” just yet – come here anyway. Then watch a successful roll-out.

Otto Pizza

6 Chepstow Road

W2 5BH

0207 792 4088

A short stagger away, Scott’s awaits. Not many people seem to know (or guess), that Scott’s is open throughout the day. We know, no need to guess.

Caprice Holdings are slick. Richard Caring, one of the perma-tanned Mayfair brigade, now owner of The Ivy, Annabel’s, J Sheekey, 80% of Soho House and associated friends, struts across London with a tidy collection of restaurants under his belt – I can feel the heat of the tan from Mount Street.

The room always oozes with a discreet class, and showcase for the room is the Seafood bar, ice on central show with crab, lobster, oysters, fish, plonked proudly on top. I know that one Champagne trolley cost £8,000. Caring, as someone told me, “is not here to f**k spiders.” Read for “he’s not messing around” – it would appear to be a kiwi phrase I’ve grown a fondness for.  

Seat at the bar, glass of Larmandier-Bernier Blancs de Blancs NV and we’re in:

Mixed Oysters, Wild Boar Sausages - Not the best time for Oysters, and they are predictably milky, fuzzy, without that crystalline iodine twang you get in the colder months. Love the chipolata style sausages though, supremely meaty with a kick of chilli, blasts those sad oysters away.

Dressed Crab - A Scott’s classic, good enough, but way below Bentley’s effort which is a monument to a meaty specimen that was running around hours earlier. Fresh, clean, crabby. What more do I want? 

Sautéed razor clams, Sea Shore vegetables, cured ham - Buttered to buggery. Sweet, sweet clams, not in the mood to wade through butter. The vegetables are Sea Asters, the new darling of the cheffy scene, trying to nudge samphire into second place. Nuggets of Jamón play the cured ham role, a salty counterpoint. Just too much butter.

It’s Caprice. It’s Caring. Somehow, I always seem to have a good time in his joints, and it’s not always about the food, it’s about an aura in each place that people warm to, engage with, buy into.

Just don’t mention the tan.

Scott’s 

20 Mount Street

W1K 2HE

Price? £17 for dressed crab may make you wince. £13 Razor Clams. £42 Dover Sole may make you cry. We didn’t have that.

So yeah, we know Mayfair, so yeah, we don’t live there, so yeah, we go there anyway, ‘cos it has some fun places to eat – dodging Botox and Perma-tans is my idea of fun.

We’re drawn to Corrigan’s on this occasion as he is offering BYO wine all August when you book at the bar – we polish our bottles of finest Mosel Riesling and Napa Cabernet and shimmy our way down to la-di-da Mayfair, dodging a Maserati or two off Mount Street.

I like Corrigan. This was re-inforced by a quite brilliant visit to Burgundy with him earlier this year, where his enthusiasm for wine shone through, the rare sight of a chef understanding and getting his rocks off by tasting great Burgundy. Bentley’s has always delivered the finest dressed crab in London amongst much else, and now Corrigan’s Mayfair has found its groove and confidently serves the power dressers that are coming back on the scene. 

We plough on:

Pressé of cured Duck Liver, Confit and Roasted Quail - The little croquetas-style nugget steals the show here. A hedonistic morsel to chase round the plate, through a slick of liver on the plate. Impressive.

Ravioli of Suckling Pig with Roasted Lobster - Reads like a dream. Tastes dreamy. Perfect pasta encasing an eye-bulgingly good combination of sweet pig and Lobster, the Lobster announcing itself proudly with the shell on top. The Bankers must love this stuff.

Saddle of Rabbit, Girolles, Celeriac and Liver - Well cooked rabbit, subtle celeriac mash propping things up, delicately cooked liver, Girolles always good. Winner.

Tea Roasted Veal Sweetbreads, Wild Mushrooms, Braised Veal Tail - Super  smoky sweetbreads (Lapsang Souchon?), and another cracking croquette containing the veal tail. Confident, confident cooking.

Corrigan’s won Menu of the Year 2010 at the July Catey Awards – it reads like a finely honed poem.

Dessert is well kept British cheeses, the usual suspects, Montgomery Cheddar, Stichelton et al.

Notable mention to the wines we brought:

Dunn Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon 1998, Howell Mountain - I’ll blind taste this with any sommelier, and they’ll be coming at me with Bordeaux Chateau. Mineral, sleek, subtle Eucalyptus and menthol, balanced, fresh.

Martin Müllen, Trabacher Hühnerberg Riesling Spätlese Trocken 2008, Mosel - Another reminder that German Riesling, and above that The Mosel, produces the most glittering, crystalline, impeccably pure juice you will ever find. Dry as you like, focused, shattering clarity, show-stopping.

And so we pay the bill, espresso downed, and the idea of Scott’s is a late entry to the party. What was the bill? Punchy, Mayfair punchy, we’re in £15 starter and £28 territory, but we play the game as we brought our wine. All smiles.

So, to Scott’s….

Corrigan’s Mayfair

28 Upper Grosvenor Street

W1K 7EH

“D&D? What, like that role-playing game?” - Diner next to me at Blueprint Café.

Jeremy Lee is a clever chap. Behind the stove at Blueprint Café since 1989, Head Chef since 1995, he quietly and confidently sends food out from the kitchen that is comfortably the pick of any of the D&D offerings around London, formerly Conran Restaurants, and sits prettily above the Design Museum in Shad Thames.

Glance out the window and there is The Thames. Slate grey, brooding. Pick up the mini-binoculars on the table and check out the bricks on Tower Bridge – it’s a cute touch.

Look at the menu and blink slowly – it looks like you’ve been whisked across the river to Farringdon and plonked in a seat at St John: Sardines on Toast, Smoked Eel, Crab Mayonnaise….comforting briskness to the menu, zero faff.

A fly-by early evening visit delivers the following:

Chilled Spinach and Courgette Soup - A bit blah. Chilling turns the volume down, this needed bolder seasoning. No matter, as Maldon and pepper grinder on the table nestled next to the binoculars, allows ad-hoc adjustment. Pleasant enough, chilled soup still feels cool on both levels.

Crab Mayonnaise - Spankingly bright, freshly picked crab, and a devastating mayo that blasts most other imposters away. Unctuous, confident, no olive oil in sight, allowing the crab flavours to sing. I can feel the iodine slap of the sea with each mouthful – texture added by thin croutons to mound your crab/mayo combo onto. Bloody good.

Grilled Middlewhite, Borlotti beans, green sauce - Three strips of decadent pork, crisp layer of crackling, fiendishly layered with tasty fat, a punchy green sauce  charged with parsley, garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, artichoke. 

Lemon Posset - A slap in the face of zingy lemon, a creamy, chilled shot glass of a dessert that encapsulates summer.

Service is perky and enthusiastic, the charming Nathan gliding around the room and enthusing diners with his recommendations. He takes it in his stride when one of the diners gently enquires, “Is Middlewhite a fish?” No patronising, no St John-esque scariness for the unitiated, just soothing words and an arm round the shoulder.

It may be D&D London, it may be part of the sometimes hum-drum machine of London’s biggest restaurant group, but Blueprint just feels like its Jeremy’s gig, no concessions, no compromise. Other dishes sound grand, Lamb’s sweetbreads, Razor clams, Onglet steak, Cured sea trout, Skate. Seasonal British with a flourish.

The Dungeon remains in the Tower of London, and there’s not even a Dragon in the kitchen – all I can hear  is the gentle cooing coming from the kitchen, “daahling” this and “daahling” that, from Jeremy through the door. They’re having a good time in there. It shows in the food – I’m having a good time sitting here.

Design Museum

28 Shad Thames

London SE1 2YD

www.blueprintcafe.co.uk

£££? Starters £5-£8. Mains £12-18.00. Decent value for cooking at this level.

Tom Adams goes for some Turkish grill action….the BYO policy almost finishes him off…

So Trullo arrives and we do a double take. Veal Chop? Taglierini with brown shrimps? Fish Carpaccio? Ex-River Café? Is this the offspring of Zucca that has emerged blinking into the N1 light?

It takes us over a week to get a suitable booking, Jay Rayner’s review has sent the place into over-drive, and each time we call we are met with an answerphone. Then the opening hours fox us – Dinner only Monday to Friday, lunch at weekends. We get there in the end.

Pedigree is solid. River Café, St John, Acorn House, Fifteen. The duo are Chef Tim Siadatan and Jordan Frieda, a scion of the hairdressing legend and the sultry voiced Lulu. Showbiz indeed.

Trullo is on the unlovely stretch of St Paul’s Road that flirts with Hackney and Dalston, skirting the edge of the oasis of De Beauvoir town. The puking trawl of Upper Street on a Friday night is a spit away.

The menu has spooky echoes of Zucca each time I glanced at it, so we’re eager to see what’s going on. A charming waitress pushes our reservation forward an hour and we sit down, kicking off with a glass of Prosecco, perfectly chilled.

A tight menu of Antipasti, Primi, and a couple of charcoal grilled options looks good on the scrap of paper they give us

Grilled Ox Heart with Borlotti bean and lamb’s lettuce - Kissed the grill, but for not quite long enough. A couple of slices, a little underseasoned.

Monkfish Carpaccio with fennel, chilli, olive oil - No sign of fennel, and the waiter tells us it’s fresh chilli. It’s dried chilli. Not convinced Monkfish lends itself to carpaccio, a bit woolly in the mouth and indistinct. Squeeze of lemon juice and some salt would have helped.

Tagliatelli with summer Girolles - The wheels start to come off at this point. Crunchy tagliatelle. Yes, crunchy. Al dente for masochists. Girolles are always lovely though.

Cappellacci of homemade ricotta and summer herbs – Anaemic looking parcels of very good ricotta filling, charged with basil. But that pasta again. Too thick, undercooked, a chore to get through.

Slow cooked pea and mint bruschetta - Brought to us by mistake instead of the monkfish, the best dish of the night. Simple, bright pea flavour and a great piece of suitably char-grilled bruschetta. A good mistake.

Whole Mackerel with Castellucio lentils and Salsa Rossa - Good piece of fish, smoky char of the grill intact, with a brilliant piquant grilled pepper salsa drizzled on top.

Pannacotta with Grappa - Grappa drizzled on Pannacotta? The alcohol burn does nothing for this delicate creamy dish. Tasted like lovely ice-cream that was not quite set. Felt like not enough gelatin in the mix for that seductive Pannacotta wobble.

The pasta had been forgotten, or the ticket went astray, as we had to have this after the mackerel, which added another stuttering layer to the night, after the bruschetta was brought instead of the monkfish. Jordan swiftly took the pasta off the bill without a second thought, which was appreciated.

The wine list is short, put together by sommelier Emily O’Hare of the River Café, with a sprinkling of good names, Franz Haas from Trentino, the Burgundian styled Marchesi di Gresy Chardonnay, Donnafugata from Sicily. It plays it safe rather than focusing on any particular region, which feels right for Trullo. A flat £10 on each bottle is a laudable policy, and follows the trend we are now seeing with wine lists in London. Only three white and red by the glass sticks out like a siren-blast, when many restaurants now have a hell of a lot more. With nothing over £45 however, you may as well plough straight into a bottle.

I like Trullo. I think we went on a particularly strained night. Two new chefs were in the kitchen I was told.

Restaurants like Trullo deserve support, and they’ll get it from the grateful residents of Highbury, and the small room feels like the epitome of a local restaurant – cosy, welcoming, clattery and jovial.

It’s different enough to Zucca. It has softer edges. Less hardcore.

Trullo

300-302 St Paul’s Road

N1 2 LH

www.trullorestaurant.com