Italy’s calling…it wants its cuisine back. Subject to endless appropriations, it doesn’t take a genius to note Edinburgh’s partiality to pasta, with chefs from all over trying their luck at cooking “alla nonna”. Fortunately for the puritans, this blushed newbie (I’m talking about its pink exterior, not Head Chef), has some veterans on its side, as The Palmerston and Divino Enoteca’s James Clarke blesses us with his post-Australia-trip take on the boozy stuff. Up top, his enoteca boasts grape-juice extravagance of epic proportions, with a formation of over 200 wines proving either it really is five o’clock somewhere, or Scotland has a crippling alcohol problem. On to food, Calabrian Francesco Ascrizzi brings his experience from Tipo and the unfortunately named Mono, to culminate in a love-letter to southern Italy, something the effervescent staff won’t hesitate to tell you. Multiple times.
Formally a Chinese restaurant, this reincarnation appeared, to the endless fascination of the couple to my right, who seemed baffled at what a slick of paint and an Italian waiter could do Ping-On’s site of their childhood indulgence. To the other side of us, this city’s millennial Jay Rayner popped a squat – Eatinburgh’s Pippa Perriam – here to reassure us all that sometimes it’s not so bad to meet your heroes. All this people watching had me gagging for a drink, so I took a chance on a salted negroni sbagliato- meaning “done wrong” in the Italian dictionary, but never in mine.
Now for culinary crunch time. Proving the benchmark for all Italian endeavours, it would have been rude not to order the focaccia, accompanied here by Trapanese pesto – a savoury smoosh of sun-dried tomatoes and parm – that eased us into our impending carb load and (almost) made up for the slightly dry bread. Fritelle di zucca were up next, pumpkin and sage fritters proving this festive vegetable should probably be left in October…No huge catastrophe, just exceedingly unremarkable. Our pasta course arrived in great fanfare; we had divided and conquered with both the octopus ragu and veal and beef option just to give this place a fair shot. Both were undisputably the stars of the show, with silken sauce in both cases and sizeable portions to silence style-over-substance allegations, well for this course, at least.
Regaining composure after coming to terms with tiramisu’s absence from the menu, we chose to round things up with a pear and ricotta millefeuille alternative. Expectations were high, but sadly for us, execution was low. With a cream to puff ratio reminiscent of its supermarket equivalent and pear pieces so sparse you’d be forgiven for thinking whoever wrote the menu had a blonde moment, never was tiramisu craved more.
At £40 a pop, it’s hard to overlook the premium for which the fresh-faced Sotto charges. Seemingly to great triumph, as its two impeccably decorated floors are chock full of winers and diners, splashing the cash for Stockbridge’s shiny new toy. In truth, the crafty creators know what they’re doing, focusing on seasonality that succeeds in setting it apart from its cheaper counterparts, and tapping into choice paralysis too, with the “Fai Tu” option letting the chefs decide for the price £50…about as conservative as Jeremy Corbyn, if you ask me. The food may not be stand-out, but for endearing service and a striking ambiance, the judgement might just be the year abroad talking.
Images by Charlotte Martin.