Legna
DROP DEAD GORGEOUS
It must be at least a 15-year tradition, seven of us meet for a pre-Christmas meal and booze up—three couples and Ade; more the elusive, rather than the eligible bachelor. This year it’s Legna— part of Aktar Islam’s expanding empire—promising ‘Italian cuisine that’s traditional and innovative in equal measure.’
I’ve pretty low expectations when it comes to Italian restaurants in the UK, certainly outside London. More often than not, menus full of the same hackneyed dishes and a tendency to over complicate or cut corners; the polar opposite to what Italian cuisine is all about.
For me, two fundamentals lie at the heart of the best Italian cuisine and they’re not mutually exclusive; the first is ‘cucina povera’ (kitchen of the poor). In essence this means taking time to make the most of simple, limited ingredients and it has given us classic pasta dishes like pasta e ceci (chickpeas); cime di rape (turnip tops); and cacio e pepe (pecorino & pepper). It also covers slow cooking thrifty cuts of meat—bone marrow, cheeks, shins, shanks—to intensify flavour and render them meltingly delicious. The second is using only the best quality, freshest, seasonal ingredients and, more often than not, cooked simply. Either way draws heavily on tradition, yet gives plenty of scope for innovation.
We’re meeting in the bar at 8 for cocktails; exactly the right place to kick things off. On looks alone Legna is stunning—it’s the Sophia Loren of Birmingham’s restaurant scene. It’s a seemingly impossible blend of dark and light; with a shoal-like cluster of 30-odd light shades, appearing to emit almost no light, yet its ‘can’t take my eyes off you beauty’ is there for all to see. It’s the perfect setting for the stage-like elegance of the horseshoe bar that radiates a seductive amber glow knocking years off anyone in its vicinity and pulling us in like moths to a flame.
Cocktail hour
I’m only surprised it’s on the quiet side; at least it means we get the full attention of barman / mixologist Luke, who appears to know everything there is to know about booze. Good man. I kick things off with a Bellpepper; a rhum agricole based cocktail, finished off with chilli oil that has the sweetness and lightly simmering heat of a Peppadew pepper. Next up is the Balsamic; mostly red wine with bourbon and a splash of maraschino cherry liqueur providing just a hint of almond. Katrina sticks with Margarita and the others are happy enough with large G & Ts. Each to their own.
By 9 o’clock Ade hasn’t arrived, nor is he answering his phone, so we write him off. We’re shown to our table, which sits under a white-blossomed cherry tree, in the space that doubles as their private dining room. Looking out into the main restaurant area there are the same tricks of light that play out at the bar. But here, it’s the bustle of the open plan kitchen, at the far end, providing the glow and adding a sparkle to the ambience.
The menu holds much promise; the right kind of size, around the same amount of 6 or 7 antipasti, pastas and secondi; all the pasta is handmade and great to see there’s cacio e pepe on there too. I could easily go for five of the pasta options but plumb for the Bolognese - beef & wild boar ragù, pappardelle, vintage parmesan. Nothing immediately takes my fancy from the mains but eventually I decide on the merluzzo con lenticchie - wood fired cod, lentils, clam & mussel arrabiata. We’ve chosen some sides to share—potatoes, pancetta, sage; truffle potatoes; and spinach, garlic, chilli.
As for the wine, we’re split down the middle so we order a mineral-crisp, dry white Etna Bianco (£40) and a Morellino di Scansano (£37); a fabulous medium bodied red, with dark fruit and spice. Then, just as the waiter finishes taking our order, Ade turns up. It’s soon clear he’d started his Christmas celebrations much earlier, pushing up conversation and laughter levels—but the staff handle it all immaculately.
The marvellous Morellino di Scansano
When the starters arrive, I see the others have mostly gone for antipasti and it only takes one mouthful to realise what a tragic mistake they’ve made. The ragù has cucina povera in abundance; it’s intensely meaty, beautifully flavoursome and succulent in a sauce richer than the deepest baritone. It also ticks that simple, best quality ingredients box perfectly; topped with a light crust of nutty-sweet, crumbed vintage parmesan, bitter-grassy freshness of flat leaf parsley magnified by peppery extra virgin olive oil and perfectly al dente, rich pappardelle. I would happily have a further double portion for my main.
Bolognese
By now, the wine has flowed freely, so we order two more of the same, in time for the photogenic mains. My thick slab of wood-fire roasted cod sits on top of perfect to the bite, nutty lentils and a vibrant red-puréed arrabiata sauce; unfortunately it too quickly trounces the delicate flavours on the plate, even forcing the smattering of clams and mussels to play the role of garnish.
We move onto desserts—as is usual—I can’t see past the tiramisù. It looks perfect and huge in a delicate, deep glass; mascarpone whipped wonderfully light, heavily dusted with chocolate, with a hint of booze, but not nearly enough coffee. Anyway I am pissed now, so all’s good and we appear to have over ordered on the dessert wine. It could be worse.
The bill comes in at £75 a head including the tip and a whole lot of booze. The food has fallen a bit short, but my pasta dish is as good as I’ve eaten anywhere and the cocktails are exquisite. All in all, given the gorgeousness of the place, impeccable service and feel good ambience, I reckon that’s about fair.
They’re closed for January, but re-open with a new menu, so I’ll definitely be back, even if it’s just for pasta. For now, we head back over to the bar for Luke to conjure some more cocktail magic.
SINCE WRITING THIS REVIEW, LEGNA HAS UNFORTUNATELY CLOSED DOWN
