Campania and Jones
OUT THE BAG
Four or five weeks ago, I was assigned the task of organising a birthday dinner for 6, but I left it too late. Off my wish list of 6 or 7 restaurants I could only get tables at 5 or 10pm, but everyone’s requesting 8… 8.30 at the latest. An ‘outside heated’ table here, is our only option.
Fortunately, there’s no rain in the forecast, although the temperature is a slightly worrying 7°c. Two years ago, it would have seemed preposterous suggesting we eat outside mid-March but I guess COVID lockdowns have made us hardier.
On arrival it feels like we’re at a ‘living museum’ with cobbled street, old style street lamp and a store front and signage that’s as quaintly old fashioned as quaintly old fashioned can ever be and has me momentarily wondering if we should have come in period costumes.
Campania & Jones
By the time our friends arrive we’ve moved the outdoor heater to the optimum position offering delicious warmth for at least four of the six seats and we’ve been given a big pile of blankets too. It feels kind of cute, like we’re kids camping in the back garden, except we’re all guzzling aperitivi. And then, as if by magic, a waiter appears with the news that by the time our starters are ready they’ll have a table inside for us, so we order more drinks to celebrate.
Moving inside the illusion spins from Victorian Britain to Southern Italy… and I’m not just talking about the temperature. It’s a stylized mix of exposed brick and reclaimed timber and an open kitchen with added bustle from cosy proximity of diners taking up every available space, including the bar and window seats.
Main room
The first of our wines—a white (Lugana) and a Calabrian red (Ipazia) await us at the table alongside a huge bowl of ‘Hackney wild bread’ and slices of Felino salami that are gone before we’ve even settled into our seats. It’s a short menu of four starters and seven mains of which four are pasta or rice dishes, which feels a little lop-sided.
Our waiter arrives to take our order with the news that there are only two portions of the pink fir potatoes left and we ask him immediately to secure those for us. There is also no tiramisù left either.
Raviolo Zucca
Across the table we’re split 3:3 with the gnudi and ravioli zucca, large single raviolo filled with squash puree, featuring a slab of roasted squash, an appropriate puddle of butter and adequate Parmesan.
Gnudi, sage butter
My three plump balls of pillowy, sweet ricotta gnudi have a heavy spike of nutmeg, a decent dusting of Parmesan but not nearly enough butter, leaving me envious of the raviolo opposite.
It’s a 2:4 split across the table for the mains, with the ribeye funghi getting a so-so response and the rest of us with John Dory al limone. Our potatoes don’t materialise; we’re brought some bread to compensate. Never mind, we order more wine and it’s fair to say our sides of garlic-boosted broccoletti are outstanding, doing a beat perfect impression of cime di rapa. Unfortunately, it overshadows the John Dory which is just the wrong side of over cooked, in its lemony bath.
John Dory al limone
There’s not much interest in dessert, other than the liquid form, which calls for another bottle of the excellent Lugana, three espresso martinis and a grappa to go with an affogato al caffè for me.
Affogato al Caffè
Service has been excellent despite the odd errors—no olives nor the tragedy of the potatoes, yet both initially appear on the bill—which eventually comes in at £540 including a tip. The booze is exactly half of that, so £38 a head for food which has been patchy at best but as birthday nights go, I think I pulled it out the bag.
WORTH A TRY 6/10
23 Ezra Street, Bethnal Green, London E2 7RH
