These last few
weeks, glued as I have been to my daily trio of hospital ward, sofa and breast pump,
I have taken to reading the papers on my ipad. And so, one morning at around 4
am, I read restaurant critic Jay Rayner's recent review in the Observer, in which
he waxed lyrical about a friendly neighbourhood place. "You know the sort of thing. Just
enough tables to make it work. The kind of food “real” people want to eat;
dishes that are classy and intense without being up themselves. Lots of
regulars. More like eating at a friend’s kitchen table than at some stuffy
joint."
Sounds
lovely doesn't it? In an eighties Cheers kind of way. Where everybody knows
your nay-hay-hame... (If you're not singing the Cheers theme tune by now, feel
very lucky. You're one of the young ones!)
Through my sleepy
haze, I realised: I know one of those places. In fact, it's right around my
corner and I visited it quite recently. Yet it's a lifetime ago, when I was not
yet used to the daily soundtrack of saturation monitors beeping.
I had to dig
quite deeply into my memory - had I really been there less than three months
ago or was it all a dream? This was in no way a reflection on the memorability
of the food served at Sala da Mangiare, as it was absolutely lovely. So was the
minimalist setting of whitewashed walls, dark wooden furniture and exposed brickwork.
And the company of Francesco; Italian taste-bud-on-legs and a brilliant guide
to the city's true Italian eateries. Francesco is from the same Italian region as
the owners of the restaurant, Emilia Romagna, and so eating the regional food is a trip down memory lane for him too.
Being pregnant at
the time, I suffered from a heavy bout of 'pregnancy brain' (memory loss)
therefore forgot to bring my camera to the restaurant. And my phone. True to Berlin 'skint and sexy' style, none of my companions had a working camera phone to hand. So I have no pics to
prove the gorgeousness of it all. But gorgeous it was. The little round goat's
cheese, caramelised in Saba (a syrup made from grapes) and served with
semi-dried Volpina pears on a sliver of crostini was sublime - the perfect
balance between zingy and sweet, the pears just divine and the crostini a
brilliant textural diversion. I almost licked my plate clean. (I would have
done had I not been sharing.) The cheese plate with a quince marmelade was a
joy too. What a great idea to start not finish with cheeses.
For my main
course I yearned for the cappelletti al ragú di maiale, one of the staples on
the menu. Many of the other dishes come and go depending on the seasonality of
the ingredients, but this pork ragú pasta is a stayer. I often pick a 'stayer'
when I can't decide what to order - a stayer dish will either be cooked to
perfection due to its omnipresence (which tells you a lot about the chef) or
cooked to buggery because the kitchen crew is preparing it on automatic pilot
(which tells you all you need to know about the chef).
But no, I went
for the tortelli di tartufo e patate al burro e salvia (I blame the hormones).
The most expensive item on the menu (bar the wine) at €10.50. It wasn't bad. It
wasn't very exciting either. The tortelli are Emilio Romagno's answer to large
ravioli; the filling was a bit mealy to my taste and one of the tortelli had
split and spilt its contents during cooking, which seemed like a bit of a flaw
when there are only a handful of tortelli on one's plate.
I had a bite of
my companion's ragú pasta and regretted my choice. But only until the
mascarpone was served. Sprinkled with a thick dusting of cocoa powder and some
chocolate shavings to boot, it was heaven in a ramekin. Thanks to the
mascarpone (and my pregnancy brain), all regrets were soon forgotten.
Thinking about
this friendly neighbourhood place, just around the corner from our flat, in the
sure knowledge that whenever I go there they'll have that lovely ragú on the
menu, puts a spring in my step. Next time I'll even bring my camera.
Sala da Mangiare, Mainzerstraße 23, 12053 Berlin, +49 173 359 19 86, website, open Tuesday - Saturday 7 - 10.30pm
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