Polpetto - Soho perfection Aug 2010

Where: Polpetto, Dean Street

With who: Teacher Boy
How much: between £4 and £8 a plate, we went for 3 plates each and were absolutely stuffed.  
The Masticator doesn't like tapas. It's something to do with the concept of owning one's own food, ordering and eating enough to sate you and knowing that you can eat whatever is in front of you without feeling greedy or that you're depriving others. He doesn't like the cut and thrust of sharing plates, the complex social dynamics that come with ensuring you have enough of what you fancy, while appearing like a generous and sociable dining partner. It's a difficult dance, and especially difficult if every morsel of food is utterly spellbinding.
He won't like Polpetto.
Small plate dining, associated with the tapas of Spain and the mezze of Greece and Turkey, appear all over the region. The less known Venetian equivalent, chicchetti, have many similarities. Combinations of meat, fish and vegetables, often served with bread or polenta. Can't go wrong. In the past few years, alongside several excellent new Spanish joints, we've also been lucky enough to welcome both Bocca di Lupo and Polpo to Soho. The latter, a buzzy little place on Beak Street, was opened by Russell Norman (ex Caprice Holdings) to solid reviews and even more solid word of mouth. A strict no bookings policy at this 'locals' restaurant led to regular queues down the street once the word had spread. It looks like he could be about to do it again with Polpetto, a beautiful little matchbox above the French House.


The room is a cube, up the stairs from the Frenchie, and small with only 20 or so seats. A high ceiling, simple light walls, and the middle class garden trick of mirrors in window frames make the most of the space. Like that other Soho stalwart Andrew Edmunds, the cheery but casual staff, wonderfully flavoured rustic food and informal dining style aren't likely to win any Michelin stars, but I doubt that they care. I've talked before about the good old days of the Soho lunch (see my Dean Street Townhouse review for reference) and this is yet another gem to add to the list. 
We dived into the fascinating menu with three dishes apiece, checking that would satisfy (while leaving room for desert). Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat and potato. It's what happens when boys are left on their own with menus. An appetiser of roughly chopped chickpea and anchovy came pepped with garlic and thyme served on crostino. Perfectly flavoured, confident, rustic cuisine (well, it was served in mismatched bowls). This was a statement of intent. 

It was followed by a ham terrine so pigging good it rendered Teacher Boy speechless and a ham and pickled pepper pizzette, which was lovely but not one I'll order again in a kitchen with this much invention. A signature favourite at Polpo are their lovely meatballs. Little meaty cannonballs, heartily flavoured, I was glad to see a couple of examples on the menu. I can't work out which I preferred - the dense, dark duck and porchini we had first, or the spicy pork and fennel torpedos that came next, smothered in a spicy tomato sauce. We took a small pause over a well priced and very acceptable wine served in tiny wine glasses. I'm sure there's a reason for the size, but it led to much hilarity, three 'glasses' each by this point and we weren't even half way though the bottle. As I say, it's the perfect place for old friends to take a long Friday lunch. Despite what The Masticator might say, it's all set up for sharing with just enough of everything for you to be happy with your share. That being said, this was between two. There are some dishes I wouldn't want to divide into three or four, particularly the pigeon breasts that came to the table as saltimbocca (saltimbocci?), that is to say wrapped in salty crisp pancetta with sage tucked between the two. Teacher Boy had to stop for some time to admire the meat, marvelling at the wonders of cooking. "You eat out more than me, is it luck getting it like that? I mean, how can they cook it and know it's done spot on?" No Teacher Boy. It's not luck, it's the sign of an excellent chef. Sweep into the kitchen and offer to marry him, at least try to befriend him before everyone else realises. 


What's the point in being a 'grumbling' gourmet asked Teacher Boy, if you keep going to restaurants that you can't grumble about. True dat. But if it means I get to eat at places like Polpetto more often, you can just call me Gourmet from now on...