It would be charitable to ascribe such solicitousness to the anxiety that attends on newness - the place had been open less than a fortnight - and it would possibly do for everybody to loosen up a bit. They could take a lead from the kitchen, where they are turning out food that is both classy and effortless.
The menu moves through bites, pasta and sides to more substantial fare (with some impressive cheeses on the dessert menu) but the transitions are pretty seamless. It's not really an entree/main/dessert set-up so much as a place where you jump around and get a little or a lot of whatever takes your fancy, from olives and parmesan to a kingfish tail, wrapped in prosciutto and baked.
We were taken with the idea of home-made ricotta (with honey and pine nuts) which the waiter urged us to accompany with a tiny pizza topped with slices of smoky roasted garlic and fresh young rosemary leaves. It was a marriage made in heaven and we slathered the crusty, slightly charred pizza with the creamy new cheese.
From the pasta selection we chose what were described as Sardinian ravioli, which, I learned, differed from mainland recipes in being shaped more like tiny pasties than flat envelopes, and filled with potato, lightly flavoured with mint and pecorino. I learned this from Connolly himself, who had just arrived after going to see his good mate Jimmy Barnes at the Springsteen concert and was walking the floor in pinstripe apron making sure everyone was happy. Nice touch, even if he was the sixth.
Three large pork and veal meatballs came drizzled with a tomato passata that was too delicate to be called rustic, though any Italian peasant or city slicker would like the recipe. A salad of radicchio, orange and shaved fennel salad was a tart, tangy delight and made an excellent foil to the evening's stand-out dish.
This was the aforementioned kingfish tail, big as a ballerina's thigh, and baked with a mess of capers. A waiter prepared it at the table, not in the delicate, silver-service sole meuniere style, but running a carving knife down the backbone and folding the skin back to reveal the succulent, meaty flesh. Equal parts fine dining and driftwood barbecue on a beach, it was one of the best dishes I've ever eaten.
The Professor would not forgive me for failing to mention the rum baba, which was dealt to tableside by Connolly. Its full name is Rum Baba 1835, which refers to the date that it was reportedly invented in Paris. A cylinder of rich and yeasty sponge, like a brioche on steroids, is soaked with Jamaican rum and topped with vanilla mascarpone. Do not miss it. It will change your life.
Verdict: Bravo, maestro
