Marc Waddington finds a new place to indulge in his favourite cuisine
I COOK a lot of Italian food at home, largely because if I’ve got nothing else to do I can make it take all evening. But sometimes you haven’t got all night to cook a tomato-based sauce on a low heat or chop the garlic with a razor blade a la Goodfellas.
And the other problem with taking your time over a rich Latin dish is that by the time it’s ready to serve you’ve polished off all the wine you intended to eat with it.
But sometimes the need to save time and eat relatively quickly can be a curse where Italian food is concerned.
On several occasions I’ve been out for pasta and have been convinced by how rubbery it was that the whole lot – sauce and pasta combined – has been stuck on a hotplate for hours on end.
But nothing – not even the prospect of being in a restaurant when someone at the next table gets “whacked” – is going to put me off my favourite world cuisine.
I thought I’d been to every Italian I could find within the city limits and immediately beyond, but one I had somehow managed to miss was right under my nose, a stone’s throw away from home, at Albert Dock.
“Gusto” means zest, relish, enjoyment. But on many a Monday night when I have visited Albert Dock, there has been little evidence of the above adjectives. Quite often I’ve walked the perimeter and hardly seen a soul, as though I’d been sucked into some kind of film noir.
So it was a considerable surprise that my brother and I walked into Gusto and found the place rather busy – by any standards, let alone Monday night standards. It’s a big place, so even with a good few in it could be in danger of looking near deserted. Yet here it was, glasses clinking, cutlery clanking, people laughing – and without the inducement of a bargain set menu, to which even some of the most (allegedly) upmarket places have had to resort during the economic gloom.
When you first walk in, you are taken by the sheer size of the place. It is cavernous, emphasising a lot of the building’s original features from its days as a warehouse – the cast iron pillars, the brick walls.
And because it is dimly lit, the shadows seem to draw a natural boundary between the several eating spaces, giving a surprisingly intimate feel.
I hadn’t eaten all day, so was in the mood for a big meal. My brother’s appetite is considerably greater than mine, so we knew the portions had better be generous.
For starters, we decided to share the calamari (£5.95) and garlic mushrooms (£5.75) two tried-and-tested favourites no self-respecting Italian restaurant can afford to fail at.
The calamari was excellent: eating the flesh itself was not like chewing on a Dunlop tyre, as it can be at some places. The meat was soft, encased in the lightest batter that didn’t send cascades of grease down your chin. In fact, on the way to the restaurant it had dawned on me that I was wearing a new shirt and tie, and Italian food might not be the best thing for keeping them clean, but I got through the calamari without spilling a drop of grease – so far, so good. And the lemon mayonnaise was a subtler accompaniment than the usual lemon juice.
The garlic mushrooms were firm but not undercooked, and served in a creamy sauce. The best touch was the addition of proscuitto to the dish, which seemed to have been flash fried so it became like a salty, crispy bacon that added some crunch to contrast with the smooth, fleshy mushrooms.
They came with a slice of ciabatta, which again was crisp and not at all greasy, keeping the shirt and tie safe for a little while longer.
So I was feeling confident now, and, although there was no way I was going to adopt the true Italian style and tuck the napkin under my chin, I fancied my chances with a pasta dish.
The tagliatelle arrabiata with tomato, chilli and mozzarella with pepperoni (£9.50) was to be my main event, and it proved by and large a good choice. Given the speed of the service, it was a surprise that the pasta was slightly on the cool side, though not cool enough to warrant sending it back.
It had certainly been cooked fresh, but had just lost a bit of its ... well, gusto, you might say.
But the ingredients that accompanied it were excellent: the tomatoes rich and sweet and the mozzarella soft and stringy, melting in among the pasta and light coating of tomato sauce. Clearly this would be a fine vegetarian dish, but with the pepperoni it became a good, meaty meal.
Good though my dish was, I have to admit to being inconsolably jealous of my brother’s 10oz chargrilled, rib-eye steak, served with baby asparagus, shaved grana padano cheese and truffle oil. It was cooked to medium rare perfection, and had not an ounce of fat about it. Perhaps the only downside was that, despite the £15.95 price tag, it didn’t come with chips.
Throughout, a bottle of Italian red Il Banchetto Rosso (£14.95) served us well and its fruitiness went as well with the steak as with the pasta.
I walked out of the door, replete, and so impressed with the food that I didn’t even lose my temper when I saw the blot of pasta sauce on my otherwise crisp, white shirt.
