The emetic nature of our surroundings is thoroughly upstaged by the food
As someone who travels too much, the place I always come back to is Sicily, specifically the south-east, with its baroque towns of heartbreaking loveliness, each church a shimmering hosanna, each alleyway a moody poster shot. Narnia-fertile volcanic soil produces food that reminds you of the first time you ate something: datterini tomatoes so sweet and fragrant, you pop them like cherries; pistachios from Bronte that make every other pistachio taste like dust; olive oil alive with peppery vigour. This cucina povera makes you feel like the richest, luckiest bastard on Earth.
So a restaurant billed as coming from Slow Food-tipped company Tasting Sicily, and headed up by Enzo Oliveri, a Palermitano and “president of the federation of Italian chefs in the UK”, would appear to have my name through it like a stick of rock. Who cares if it’s in that Hell-London behind Piccadilly infested by helmet-headed dowagers looking for Mamma Mia? Who wouldn’t forgive them a decor as subtle as a Dolce & Gabbana revamp of Trump Tower? But migraine from pictures of Sicilian life in colours so violent, they’re seared on my retinas, isn’t the greatest whet for the appetite. Nor is being seated under a vast TV on which the titular Enzo cavorts with Aldo Zilli and Paul Hollywood. Never mind appetite-suppressant, if there’s anything likely to give me the hot boak, it’s that duo on a loop.
Related: Lorne, London SW1: ‘A soothing place to be’ – restaurant review
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