Stamps
Have found the place, in the middle of otherwise-dead suburban back streets. No tables available (there are only ten), so I’m hoping a table frees up before 9, because that’s the deadline for orders.
12 minutes to go.
9 minutes to go.
In at 8:54, after some chatterboxes finally spilled out onto the street. I rush in and go “oh hai! Does this fine establishment happen to have a table free?”
Baked mussels provencale, saffron potato, leek, tomato sugo.
Everything in this dish was extremely mild. It was rather unusual. The fish didn’t have a strong fishy flavour, but was crispy and slightly salty. The tomato sugo wasn’t at all tart, but did have a light tomatoey flavour. The leek underneath had only a faint vegetable flavour, but in this dish, didn’t get buried, because nothing here had a strong flavour. Being slightly hungry, after nine o’clock, this was the inoffensive comfort food I was looking for and would eat anytime I just wanted food.
With spiced ricotta, toasted rye bread ice cream, Muscat and golden raisin sauce.
This giant fan of madness was another one of those desserts that required a strategy. There were too many components to eat them all on one spoon (without looking like some kind of beast.) The central rye bread ice cream was infused with a huge amount of honeycomb and caramel. It was half way between ice cream and a chocolate bar. The pears were sweet and soft, but didn’t really go with the crispy crumbs they sat in. The big problem with the dessert was the three large dollops of spiced ricotta. They were a bit like cream, which is a bit sickly to eat by itself, but not flavourful enough to accompany the pears or outshine the crazy rye ice cream.