Chronicle
of A Man Out of Time – Original Images in Cinema
Posted by arielstory on December 12, 2008
But, trust me, there’s nothing gimmicky or forced-hip in that Bennigansy wall-prop way about this inviting den of bold colors, retro-patterned cushions, custom menu covers, Vespa and Pirelli calendar girl artwork, period ephemera (an obsession of the owner, who I know only as Francesco), and original, light Italian cooking. The people here are passionate about all of it, especially the food.
Okay, okay, so there’s a giant flat-screen TV suspended above the narrow marble staircase leading to a pair of Hefnerian grotto-like rooms below the main level but instead of playing the latest sweaty debacle between Arsenal and Newcastle, it was showing the sweatier “The Long, Hot Summer” in glorious black and white as only Fifties and Sixties film stock can render it. (On leaving, Francesco and I shared a moment of lament over the recent passing of star Paul Newman, heads down, muttering how great he was. I silently wondered if he would ever consider showing Newman’s “The Secret War of Harry Frigg” on the plasma one night if only to see Sylva Koscina’s image lighting up the place.)
Tucked inside a row of shops, this little gem of an eatery strike me as one of the better-kept secrets in this corner of Londontown, but as a vistor I could be wrong. For all I know, it’s as well-known as Masala Zone. Its intimate rooms seem the perfect place for, say, nuzzling over risotto served inside a hollowed-out “bowl” of Parmesan Reggiano (I’ve observed an in-love couple do that twice now does the experience qualify as an aphrodisiac?). Truly blessed are the cheesemakers, to paraphrase the “Good Book.”
Ottoemezzo’s the type of place Elsa Martinelli and Marcello Mastroianni might duck into while being pursued by Ursula Andress during an installment of the murder game from “The 10th Victim.” And if they end up kissing, well it all seems appropriate in the nook-like surroundings. Whether it’s a table for six or for two, you’re made to feel like you’re the only ones in the place, and that perhaps is the highest compliment one can pay to any restaurant service. Crannies abound, but they don’t come with claustrophobia unless your party is larger than, say, six. The large wooden farm table we were given did have a tight squeeze at one end, however.
The likes of Prince William and Kate Middleton have dined here according to the Tabs, but the vibe is decidedly more mod-rocker than glam-royal. In their day, it might’ve been a haunt for the likes of Jeannie Shrimpton, Pete Bramwell, David Hemmings, Britt Ekland … well, you get the picture. And Francesco sure does, since pictures of scores of Swingin’ London’s luminaries abound.
Meals begin with generous baskets of fresh-baked bread and breadsticks, and tables are geared up with the house extra virgin olive oil, which is for sale in black skyscraper bottles at the Ottoemezzo Deli, just a few doors down.
Homemade pasta and soup specials change daily by the way. Speaking of pasta, a menu stalwart I plan to try next time is the black ink of squid egg thin spaghetti with king prawns, rocket salad, and cherry tomatoes. I keep deciding on something else that sounds better. Is it December 2009 yet?
Since I was with a pair of very knowledgeable wine hunter-collectors, I trusted them to pick the evening’s grape and they didn’t disappoint (the selectors and the selections), though the particular type escapes memory (Paul? Eric?). Based on the wine list, Ottoemezzo’s cellar seems brimming with small regional (mostly from Piedmont) vintages, from Gavi di Gavi to Brunello di Montalcino. The glasses are beautiful, as are the carafes (there must be another name for them), and the wait staff take great pleasure in pouring for you.
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