THE suburbanisation of Chiantishire by the British middle classes has
at least had beneficial effects on Italian restaurants here at home. No longer are straw-clad chi- anti bottles universally suspended from trattoria ceilings, or phallic pepper-grinders wielded menacingly by macho waiters. Nor is insalata tricolore followed by lasagne or saltimbocca the culinary norm. In the past decade, a new generation of genuinely regional Italian restaurants has begun to appear in London, and dining all' italiana can now be at least as stimulating as a la francaise.
In pursuit of the new-look Italian restau- rant I made for Zafferano, behind Belgrave Square, where chef/proprietor Giorgio Locatelli has been winning golden opinions for his north Italian cooking at fair prices. I was joined for lunch there by The Specta- tor's own splendid cookery writer Jennifer Paterson and artist the Adrian George, who arrived with pad and pencil ready to capture the lady in the sketch that now adorns the top of her page. Things got off to a promising start when Jennifer discov- ered that Giorgio Locatelli was a fellow motorcycle buff and would let her tether her beast to the restaurant railings. We set- tled down in the attractive saffron-yellow room with an open brickwork wall adding warmth to hear Jennifer decline an aperitif or wine as it was Lent. The menu, reason- ably priced at lunch at £16.50 for two cours- es, £19.50 for three, held abundant interest and promise. Jennifer chose a French bean salad with Jerusalem artichokes and parmesan, Adrian a radicchio salad with button mushrooms and sweet gorgonzola sauce, and I ravioli of minced prawns in a peppery basil and tomato sauce. All three were delicious, with strongly defined flavours, and there was much tripartite tast- ing. Jennifer then moved on to an appeal- ingly earthy dish of minced pork in Savoy cabbage leaves with pan-fried risotto. This was much enjoyed, and the golden, fried risotto was declared a winner. My main course was a succulent duck's leg, which arrived looking like a baked pear, stuffed with a mouth-watering assembly of black truffle and mushrooms, and Adrian was pleased with his fully flavoured roast rabbit accompanied by Parma ham and polenta. Once again there was much appreciative tasting around the table, always a sign of successful cooking. I ended with an amaz- ing dessert of segments of juicy blood orange encrusted in shards of frozen pros- ecco wine — rather sharp-tasting, wonder- fully refreshing, and just the right end to a rather rich meal. With a bottle of very drinkable Conero red, a half of chianti and good espresso coffee, this highly enjoyable lunch came to £112 — and Adrian's sketch of Jennifer was a winner too.
Another strong exponent of the new London school of Italian cooking is Andrea Riva, who comes from Lake Como where his family still has a restaurant, at his nar- row but simpatico establishment in Barnes. I went there for lunch on a sunny Sunday, with Morocco-bronzed Petronella Wyatt, anxious to ingest a solid meal before tack- ling the premiere of The English Patient that evening and no more eating until mid- night. We began with Signor Riva's antipas- to for two, which comprised San Daniele ham and pears, bresaola and goat's cheese with delicious fruit mostarda, cornmeal pancake with speck and asiago cheese, coppa, soppressa, goose with truffle oil, and sottaceti. Ingredients were admirably fresh and again distinctively flavoured. Next, Petronella much enjoyed her penne with excellent baby octopus, tomato and Swiss 'Socialist Stakeholder! Socialist Stakeholder'! chard, and I ate an impeccable ossobuco alla milanese, the shin of veal magnificently juicy, its accompanying saffron risotto total- ly authentic. To end, Petronella had deli- cious gnocchi di latte — sweet milk gnocchi with a gorgeous honey-butter sauce — and I much enjoyed a bitter chocolate pudding which reminded me of the lightest of child- hood blancmanges. With glasses of cham- pagne, a bottle of superb Gavi di Gavi from Piedmont (Petronella's inspired choice) and coffee, our bill, including service, came to a highly acceptable £85 for a most satis- fying lunch in sympathetic and unpreten- tious surroundings.
Altogether less unpretentious is Richard and Ruth Rogers' and Rose Gray's River Cafe in an industrial estate on the quayside at Hammersmith, from which you cannot see the river. There was difficulty booking a table at 8 p.m., and threats that it would be taken back at 9.15, but undaunted I went there with The Spectator's production edi- tor Kathryn Stockdale to celebrate her forthcoming nuptials. The premises are unappetising: overlit, open kitchen all down one wall, metallic furniture, high noise level, packed and unromantic. Kathryn remarked that had she gone there on her first date with Eamonn she doubted if there would have been a second one. The menu, though reading like Zafferano's or Riva's, produces very different cooking. I was told that Rose Gray was presiding in the kitchen that night, and her cooking was what I would expect to be served by an English hostess in Tuscany or Umbria for the delectation of the likes of John Mor- timer. My crab, tomato and green fennel risotto was tasty, if somewhat undercooked, and was grossly overpriced at £10, and Kathryn's combination of buffalo mozzarel- la, warm olives and wood-roasted aspara- gus was adequate, if dull. Next she ate some good chargrilled rabbit with rose- mary, roast carrots, sweet potatoes and salsa verde, though hardly a snip at £18, and I had some truly unpleasant, tough, dry and chewy roast loin of organic pork, wrapped in crackling with an accompani- ment of limp potatoes and all too few porcini mushrooms, devoid of gravy. For dessert Kathryn enjoyed the now notorious Chocolate Nemesis, which people seem unable to recreate from the eponymous Cook Book, and I had caramelised blood orange with panacotta — not a patch on Zafferano's combination, and certainly not worth £7. With two glasses of champagne, a surprisingly reasonable bottle of house red Montepulciano at £9.50, and coffee, the bill came to an unacceptably inflated £106.76, with service. I shall not be returning.
Zafferano: 15 Lowndes Street, London SW1; tel: 0171 235 5800. Closed Sunday.
Riva: 169 Church Road, London SW13; tel: 0181 748 0434. Closed for lunch Saturday. River Café: Thames Wharf Studios, Rainville Road, London W6; tel: 0171 381 8824. Open all week
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