by JJ Marsh
Matthew turned down the stereo, muting Mario Lanza. “Are you going for full immersion Italian?” he asked.
Beatrice caught hold of the dog to stop her vacuuming up the nuts. “Isabella said I should practise my pastry skills. My mother always played operas while she was cooking, so I fancied a bit of ‘O Sole Mio’. Don’t look like that. I’ve got two Pavarotti albums lined up for tomorrow so you’d better get used to it. Take this animal out of here till I’ve cleaned up. And another thing.”
Matthew took Huggy Bear outside and closed the door. “What’s that?”
“We’re going to need a food processer. Beating dough is exhausting.”
“You do look as if you’ve done three rounds with Mr Kipling.”
Beatrice brushed a stray hair out of her face. “Tell me what Tanya said. Can we take Luke to Italy?”
“She’s all for it. But she says he must decide for himself. She’s going to ask him when he gets home from school.”
“That woman is a natural mother. Now then, which one of these would you like to try first?”
After consuming three different desserts for afternoon tea, neither had much of an appetite for dinner. Beatrice curled up on the sofa with various cookery books to continue her research, Huggy Bear stretched out in front of the fire, Dumpling tucked himself into a ball on an armchair and Matthew retired to his study to browse flights to Italy.
The doorbell woke Beatrice. Her legs were weighed down by a small dog and her chest compressed by recipe collections. A high-pitched voice in the hallway indicated that Luke had arrived. She disentangled herself from canine and cookbooks and got to her feet, patting her hair and blinking away sleep. Before she could reach the door, it burst open and Luke ran towards her, his face shining. Huggy Bear started barking, Dumpling slunk away into the shadows and Beatrice crouched to receive Luke in outstretched arms.
“We’re going on holiday!” he said, squeezing her tight and releasing her instantly to make a fuss of the dog. “Can Huggy Bear come too?”
“And leave Dumpling all alone?” Beatrice replied. “That would hardly be fair. No, they will stay home while we go the pizza capital of the world!”
“Yay!” yelled Luke, running back to the hallway with Huggy Bear at his heels. Beatrice followed him to greet Tanya and her brand new beau, Gabriel.
“You were napping,” said Tanya, as they hugged hello.
“Pensioner’s prerogative,” Beatrice retorted, turning to embrace the impossibly handsome Gabriel. “How’s the forest?”
He grinned. “Bursting out all over. It’s a great time of year. But I reckon you’ll have a whole lot more sunshine in Italy.”
Matthew herded everyone into the kitchen for tea and more cake as they made arrangements. The combination of sugar and excitement had Luke fit to burst, so Tanya suggested he take Huggy Bear for a run around the garden before it got dark.
Beatrice closed the kitchen door on the barks and childlike shouts, returning to the kitchen table, the hub of their home.
“You’re sure you’re comfortable with us taking him away?” she asked, pouring more tea.
Tanya picked up a biscotto. “Absolutely. He adores the two of you and will probably be on his best behaviour the whole time. Dad’s right, he needs to travel a bit. Ow, are these supposed to be this hard?”
“Yes. They’re for dipping in coffee. Gabriel, another profiterole?”
He shook his head. “Never had much of a sweet tooth, Beatrice, but they look impressive. You’ll fit right into a posh Italian restaurant.”
Beatrice laughed. “I wish I had your confidence. Anyway, I shall be here all week, whipping up Italian confections, so do feel free to come over and judge. Anyone for tiramisù?”
Chapter 6
Trattoria della Nonna ****
Review by Luciano Rigiani
An ambitious concept which doesn’t quite hit the heights it aims for. The ambience in the restaurant is cheerful and welcoming, the staff efficient and the decor has enough rustic touches to hint at a genuine grandmother’s kitchen.
The problem is the unevenness of the food. The first course of bruschetta and salad was serviceable but nothing out of the ordinary. Fresh bread with garlic, basil and tomatoes; rucola with shavings of Parmigiano and black olives? This is something I would make at home for a quick lunch.
The primo piatto was certainly out of the ordinary and not in a good way. Of course, ways to cook pasta range from the practically raw in Puglia to al dente in Rome, but here, the orecchiette were soft to the point of breaking up. Over-seasoned and heavy, the porcini sauce could not redeem it. My companion praised her angel hair spaghetti with pesto, describing it as delicate and fragrant.
The secondo piatto took my breath away. Vitello Vero alla Nonna was one of the best dishes I have consumed this year. The thinnest slices of veal simply scattered with the lightest golden crumb and fried for mere seconds, accompanied by a sage and truffle risotto that had me moaning aloud. A blend of flavours which work so well you want to eat nothing else. My companion devoured her beautifully presented Frutti di Mare alla Griglia with great enthusiasm.
Opinions on desserts differed. The consistency of my panna cotta was perfect, but the orange coulis seemed a distraction to the firm vanilla cream. The Torta alla Nonna seemed to be nothing more than panettone stuffed with a sauce anglaise. The portions were generous, the prices startling and the wine selection was surprisingly diverse.
There’s talent here and I will be interested to see how that develops.
If the team can raise their game to the standards of the main courses, they would make Nonna proud.
* * *
Comments
miki_mangia: super dinner! main courses AMAZING!!! desserts so-so la-la. wine selection best ever!
John Collins: My family and I ate here last month and I can recommend it on every level. Great team, all English speakers, friendly and pretty fast service, portions typically European so make sure to order sides of bread or salad. Really delicious food! If we’re ever in Italy again, we’re going back. 5*
GiannidiRoma_67: Surprising to see such quality food in such an out of the way restaurant. I am impressed.
illeonedormestasera: Sisters took me to Ecco in Napoli – most fantastic dinner of my life! But this place comes pretty close. That vitello con risotto – I will never forget you.
HungryHippo: Food here is exceptional and the atmos is cozy. Grandma’s kitchen is right. Even have those bottle lights which make it feel like Christmas.
Zara-n-Zed: Loved this place SO much we went back THREE times. The fish, the zabaglione, the wine, even the coffee is to die for. Best restaurant ever!
ragazzagialla: BUONISSIMO!!!!
FoodBlog404: Several ‘house specialities’ are quite clearly efforts to copy first-class restaurants such as L’Albergo Luigi in Ostia and Ecco in Naples. The difference is that at those 5* establishments, everything they serve is of the finest quality. At Nonna’s, you will get a five star main course and a three star experience. That said, staff helpful and what they lack in knowledge, they make up for in charm.
JustAnotherJoe: Hit and miss. If I were you, I’d give this a miss.
Chapter 7
It wasn’t intentional, but Adrian did spend a lot of his week after Beatrice and Isabella had left researching wines from the region of Campania. There was a great deal to learn. It was an extraordinary area he knew little about and would really like to delve into deeper.
While the shop was quiet and Catinca could cope, he slunk into the office and browsed the vineyards, the wholesalers, the soil and the breathtaking range of wines. Oh those wines! Occasionally he would have to get out front and assist his assistant with a sudden rush of customers. He smiled and served and advised, while wishing them all gone.
He sensed Catinca watching him as he straightened a few labels and picked up a discarded receipt. Her latest look was 1960s gamine Parisienne. Yet again, she pulled it off effortlessly. Turquoise mini
skirt, opaque black tights, black roll-neck sweater and a French manicure. Her earrings were crystal studs and her lipstick one shade paler than her skin. She had wound her hair into a chignon which accentuated her cat-like, kohl-rimmed eyes. On her feet, as always, was a pair of black Converse trainers.
He sidled back towards the office, but she followed him.
“Whassup?” she demanded, coming to stand in front of his desk.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Just doing some research for the shop.”
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion and hooked two mugs from the shelf with one finger. “Coffee break. I’m going over John’s for a couple caramel lattes and then you and me gonna have a chat. You got a bug up your bum, I can see that. Wanna Danish?”
Adrian refused and watched her skip over the road like a pixie. That short-arsed little Romanian knew him better than almost anyone. He served two customers while she was gone. A Pinot Noir for the dithering young man who wanted ‘to impress someone but in like, a casual way?’ He sold the harassed woman in the hijab a bottle of cava, assuring her that a light fizz was perfect for an office leaving-do. Then he gazed out of the window. How long did it take to get two takeaway coffees?
Eventually, Catinca trotted back across the street to Harvey’s Wine Emporium with two full mugs and a tube under her arm.
“Did you have to make them yourself?” he asked, aiming for dry and sardonic but coming out as petulant and sarcastic.
“Bit of small talk, keeping friendly with the neighbours, that’s all. John gave me a print of Chet Baker!” She unrolled the poster, revealing the distinctive face of the jazz trumpeter in his younger days.
“When did you get into jazz?” asked Adrian, taking in the black and white shot of a cool and chiselled face.
“Since working here. Drink your coffee and tell me what’s bothering you because you are doing my nerves in. Moping about the place like you just come back from a funeral? Killing the atmosphere, mate.”
Adrian took a cautious sip of the sweet and milky drink, and then released a deep sigh. “I had a row with Will.”
Catinca’s gaze did not falter. “A fight?”
“No. A difference of opinion with some heated exchanges.”
“So a fight,” said Catinca.
“No. You watch too much American TV. A fight means physical violence in British English and that would never happen between Will and me. We just had a row over the fact that I want to go to Naples over Easter with Beatrice and Matthew. He wants to stay here and put in some overtime to impress his superiors. He might be up for promotion to Detective Inspector.”
Catinca’s eyes widened. “Like Beatrice was? Awesome!”
“Yes, well, it all depends on his appraisal next week.”
“Tell me about the figh... difference of opinion thingy.”
Adrian sighed. “Will and I never argue, but this time, he just wouldn’t budge and I got upset and he said I was being selfish and this morning he just got up for work and left without even a kiss goodbye. I sent him a message at lunchtime and he hasn’t replied. I hate rows, well, any kind of confrontation really, and I can’t help thinking it’s far too early in our marriage to have this kind of communication breakdown.”
Catinca rolled her eyes. “Drama queen. OK, so Will don’t wanna go to Naples but you want.”
“Yes, we could make it a working holiday, research the vineyards, taste the wines of Southern Italy, spend time with Beatrice and Matthew, and explore a new city. Normally Will loves those kind of city breaks.” He sipped at his coffee, picturing the four of them in a taverna with some sort of effusive Italian matriarch insisting they try her homemade lasagne.
Catinca sniffed. “Working holiday? Might be for you, mate, but what about Will? When is his interview?”
“A week tomorrow. But then it’s Easter and we could go for the weekend or even longer. If you’d look after the shop, of course.”
The bell rang to announce a customer and Catinca jumped to her feet. Adrian only faintly listened to her chirpy small talk, picking at a thumbnail and hearing the echoes of Will’s flat refusal.
I said no. I cannot afford to go flitting off to a European city on a whim when my career is at stake. Stop being so selfish and think about other people for a change.
The customers departed, apparently satisfied, and Catinca plonked herself on the stool in front of him and finished her coffee in two noisy gulps.
“Three options. One. You stay here and sulk because of missing out. Bad for you, bad for Will.
“Two. You lay on emotional blackmail and you both go to Naples. Bad for Will, good for you, bad for the marriage in long term.
“Three. You go to Naples. Will stays home to prepare for interview. Good for you two, good for your jobs and compromise always good for a marriage. Bonus? Good for me ’cos I get to manage shop.” She folded her arms with a feline smile.
Adrian thought about it, his eyes fixed on a rack of Bordeaux. Option Three had all the advantages and the only risk being whatever design concept Catinca would impose on the shop while he was gone.
He focused on her immaculately made-up face. “How does one of such tender years get to be so wise?”
The bell rang again, admitting a middle-aged couple. Catinca bounced up with a huge grin and picked up both coffee mugs with one hand.
“Outside, young and well stylish. Inside,” she slapped her palm to her sternum as if swearing allegiance, “old soul.”
Chapter 8
Sitting by the window on the plane, Luke had plenty to command his attention and the flight landed without incident. Matthew was still fretting about cat, dog, Aga, greenhouse and cat again as they waited for their luggage. Beatrice had long since tuned out, her mind on the case. True to her word, Isabella sent a car. A muscular man in a suit with a sign saying BEATRICE STUBBS was waiting at Arrivals.
The moment they stepped outside, the heat struck them. Somehow mellow and relaxing, the southern Italian climate appealed to Beatrice in an instant. The driver was an affable sort, and on discovering this was their first trip to Napoli, took on the role of guide, indicating various points of interest along the route.
The poorhouse, an enormous crumbling edifice which looked much like a prison, stretched for what seemed like a mile on their right. They had time to take it all in as the traffic stopped and started, either movement accompanied by a blasting of horns. Piazza Garibaldi and the main train station, with people swarming in all directions and a solitary police officer standing in the street attempting to impose order on chaos. Churches watched over by marble statues, army officers patrolling with dogs and guns, washing fluttering from balconies, children clamouring for ice-cream, graffiti and posters adorning stone walls, old men smoking at cafés and millions of mopeds sped by like some kind of slideshow.
Compared to Upton St Nicholas and its sleepy village routine, this was absolute mayhem. Sandwiched between Matthew and Luke in the rear seat, Beatrice responded to each nudge and point and exhortation to look with exclamations of delight. Every one of them was genuine as she succumbed to a sense of optimism and excitement. She was back on the job.
Luke hurtled at least five times around the breathtaking apartment Isabella had provided while Matthew and Beatrice took in the scale of the place. Over two floors, the palatial residence had four bedrooms, two of which had ensuite bathrooms, a kitchen, dining area, living space and on the top floor, a magnificent roof terrace with incomparable views across the Bay of Naples. Luke chose his own room, which coincidentally happened to be next to the master bedroom, housing Beatrice and Matthew. Beatrice took several pictures to share with Adrian including the text: Your choice of rooms. You are going to LOVE this! Bx
They unpacked and freshened up before a stroll around the local quartier. The most striking thing was the noise. People shouting from balconies, drivers impatiently hooting their horns before the lights had changed to green, conversations in cafés, into phones, across streets. Mopeds buzzing up str
eets so tall and narrow they were practically mediaeval. Graffiti decorated many walls and the scent of food seemed to chase them everywhere.
They succumbed to a pizza lunch in an unprepossessing place halfway down a grubby alleyway. Matthew struck up a conversation in Italian with the owner who welcomed them with real warmth. The sense of being an alien subsided. Beatrice and Luke chose a Margherita, the simplest pizza on the menu, so they could judge the essentials. Matthew opted for a calzone with an egg, which Beatrice found rather indulgent in view of their upcoming five-star dinner.
After lunch, they wandered as far as Il Duomo before getting lost on their way back. Eventually, they arrived at the sanctuary of the apartment. At six o’clock, washed and changed into their formal wear, the party regrouped for an aperitif on the roof terrace as the sun began its descent into the sea. A contented expression settled on Matthew’s face as he pointed out geographical features to his grandson and expounded on their history. The man was a born teacher. Beatrice listened and learned.
Ettore, the same genial driver from the airport, came to collect them that evening. He assured them the restaurant was not far and that he would take the scenic route along the bay. Listening to his cheery chatter, no one spoke, absorbing the dusky pink to indigo shades of encroaching night and city lights reflecting off the sea around the fortifications. Neapolitans strolled the seafront in family groups or couples; the scents of sea and grilling smoke teased through the open windows, and on one of the boats, someone was playing a guitar. Beatrice squeezed Matthew’s hand. She had a good feeling about this.
Isabella greeted them at the door with evident enthusiasm, kissing everyone twice, even a bemused Luke. She ushered them to their reserved table and promised to return with her husband as soon as the kitchen was prepared. Two Aperols and an orange juice appeared courtesy of a young waitress, and everyone found their aperitif exactly to their taste.
