Sometimes in life, you get the distinct impression you’re missing out on something. For some it is sky-diving, for others it’s going overseas. For some it’s as simple as getting out of the concrete jungle and reconnecting with nature somewhere. I always felt cheated because I’d never had any Italian friends. No one to invite me over to their house and introduce me to their large, lovable Nonna, who would gather me in her arms and her aprons, smile broadly and say something loud and incomprehensible. No one to drag me over to meet their favourite uncle Pablo and their 14 other relatives who’d come over for Sunday lunch.
But yesterday, I went to just that house. Except that it was a restaurant, or at least I think it was. Walking into Ciao Baby Cucina at Montecasino, I immediately felt as though I was – at last! – in an Italian home. At the entrance, a lady welcomed me, almost with an air of recognition. Was she mistaking me for a regular customer? She smiled as though she was used to seeing me every Sunday lunch. I returned her warm and familial ‘front door’ greeting then walked into the entrance hall and past the kitchen, greeting people along the way until I arrived in the lounge, where I was welcomed and seated comfortably. I was immediately asked what I would drink and opted for passion fruit and lemonade. I drink neither passion fruit nor lemonade but as a parent, you sometimes have your kid’s drink when you are missing them and mine was away for the weekend.
I was soon joined by my lunch companion and together we took a look around the airy establishment. Everything is big and loveable, as is typical of Italians. Yet the decor is simple and classy. I actually would have expected more extravagant interior decor, but I was later to find out why this was not necessary.
My lunch companion and I opened our menus and immediately noticed the superb-value-for-money prices. But after that initial euphoria, the problems began. No less than five times, we were approached and asked if we were ready to order, and on each occasion we were not. I wanted antipasti, he warned me that Italian portions were big and I would not finish my main meal. I suggested he try the fish but he was curious about the oxtail. We then decided to have typically Italian meals, which he defined as pizza and I defined as pasta. No progress was being made. The Ciao Baby Cucina menu is almost a problem; it boasts both Italian and non-Italian dishes and offers taste combinations one would never think of. Pine nuts and parmesan cheese. Liver and brandy. Burnt butter and sage. You can make a dish by burning butter?
I found it impossible to order from the compelling choices and my companion was just as stumped. The waitress came back and looked at us, partly amused, and asked for the sixth time if we were ready to order. We both stared at the menu a moment longer then finally feebly asked for help. I was directed to Lasagna Al Forno when I explained what sort of experience I was looking for, and my companion was led to an All Follo pizza, which he decided he’d have adorned with a topping of Parma ham.
Successfully placing an order was a major coup and to celebrate I ordered a vodka and cranberry juice. When it came I looked at it anxiously...it did look the right colour but would it be real cranberry juice”? Imagine my delight when the first sip confirmed it was. I either eat cranberries or drink cranberry juice every day of my life and finding the real thing when I go out is quite a delight to say the least.
Less than twenty minutes later, a temptress of a lasagne was placed in front of me and a hulk of a pizza in front of my companion. My lasagna was made up of layers of pasta with meat, white sauce and parmesan cheese, finished off with mozzarella cheese and then oven baked. Eating it was a strange experience...I found myself wanting to climb into the dish. The first mouthful was bursting with all the flavours I’d hoped for; but I noticed that with Italian food, you taste first the passion then the actual flavours. I looked up at the kitchen again and there were chefs and sous-chefs going about their work with passion. This is what I tasted in the food, with the ingredients themselves actually being a secondary experience. My companion was meanwhile tucking heartily into his massive pizza, mumbling happily about Italian portions. His pizza was made up of a fine combination of Mozzarella, tomato, onions, green peppers, peppadews and marinated chicken strips.
The Parma ham he’d ordered as an extra lay draped extravagantly over the pizza, bringing to mind supermodels on the bonnet of a Ferrari.
I got through three quarters of my lasagna and had to give in. It hadn’t looked like too much for my healthy appetite, but had in fact been a very generous portion. My companion polished off his pizza triumphantly and asked for the dessert menu. I ordered another vodka and cranberry and decided to stroll round the establishment. It felt even more like a house, with cousins, second cousins and neighbourhood friends sitting on the terrace. Some were having hushed tete-a-tetes, others were in big groups somehow managing to eat and chatter excitedly at the same time. The music coming from the piazza added even more ambience. I peeked into the kitchen again and it struck me that I’d never seen a kitchen where the chefs looked excited. They’d cooked these meals many times before right? And yet they looked excited! Upstairs was a private lounge sort of feel, with bottles of expensive champagne adorning the tasteful wall furnishings. I came back down the glass staircase and now knew why the decor was not in-your-face; there was absolutely no need in a place with that much ambiance.
I strolled back to my table and there was a huge Italian baked cheesecake, topped with colourful fruit. One look and I knew I would both love it and not finish it. My companion’s order had also arrived – a Mixed Fruit Sundae with a straight-off-the-islands look. He got through his sundae but I managed only half of the massive cheesecake. Ciao Baby Cucina no doubt has its secrets....and what makes their cheesecake taste the way it does is one of them. Quite simply, that recipe should never be shared.
I finished the experience off with a perfectly frothy cappuccino, best described as a hot cup of love. We then left the restaurant, waving goodbye to the uncles and nieces, nonnas and nephews.
And that was my first, but not last, visit to an Italian home.
