Every now and then, you come across a classic restaurant - somewhere that does what it does supremely well, that goes about its business with unobtrusive authority. Ristorante Abruzzi in the via del Vaccaro in Rome is one of these rare treasures.
Eating out in Rome has changed a bit in recent years. The old-fashioned pizzerias are giving way to fast-food joints, old-fashioned trattorie are being replaced by snazzy, new-style ones, traditional dishes are being subjected to a Ground Force-style makeover into la cucina nuova . Perhaps that's inevitable. Even in the Eternal City things must change a little. Trouble is, if you do away with the old completely, you lose sight of where you came from. And you might lose Ristorante Abruzzi, which, in spite of its name, is an old-fashioned trattoria.
The list of its virtues begins with its position, just off the Corso, not far from Piazza Venezia, and a minute's walk from one of the most exquisite squares in Rome, the perfectly symmetrical Piazza S. Iganazio. Its entrance is unobtrusive and unremarkable. The inside is unobtrusive and unremarkable, too - two rooms with crazy-paving marble floors, white walls dotted with large prints of Roman views, and comfortable, sturdy chairs and tables. The service is brisk but polite. Energy is not wasted on irrelevancies. It has the elegance of purpose.
Wine? We will bring you wine. The house wines, just red and white, are admirable. They are wines made to go with food, not too heavy, not too light, wines of distinct character, but not in-your-face, up-your-nose, grab-you-by-the-tonsils wine. They are sensible wines. You can get more expensive wines, maybe better wines, but why bother? The menu, however, is long: antipasti, paste asciutte, zuppe, piatti pronti per giorno (main courses), piatti da fassi espressi (quick dishes), cacciagone (game), pesce (fish), verdure (vegetables), not to mention cheese, puddings and fruit. That's 70 dishes, all told, and all of them traditional - far too many for a restaurant to produce to any reasonable consistency under normal circumstances. But Ristorante Abruzzi is supra-normal, and I don't suppose that the menu has changed much in 40 years. That's enough time to get things properly sorted.
Take my six-year-old nephew James's main course, tortellini in brodo. It's a classic Italian dish and, as is so often the way with classics, much abused in the hands of lesser chefs, who take short cuts or who feel obliged to add the imprint of their own creativity. The perfection of tortellini in brodo lies in its simplicity - good chicken broth, fine pasta stuffed with good meat, cooked to where it just holds its own against the pressure of the teeth. Just like James's helping, in fact. No wonder he scoffed it down. Another nephew, Lawrence, had fettuccine ai funghi porcini. You could argue that the porcini were well out of season, so perhaps they were sott'olio (kept in oil), or perhaps they were flown in from South Africa. No matter - they were plentiful, and the pasta firm against their soft slipperiness.
The grown-ups, meanwhile, opted for antipasti from the cold, help-yourself counter. I helped myself to: a triangle of fritatta, a braised artichoke, onion roasted with a slice of tomato on top, a slice of grilled aubergine, a dollop of aubergines in oil, ditto peppers, marinated fresh anchovies, courgettes baked with tomato purée, courgettes baked with Parmesan, fried courgettes, a heap of spinach and a few olives. I think that was it, but I did not exhaust what was on offer. The anchovies aside, it was a masterpiece of vegetarian cooking, except, of course, I never thought of it as such: it was just fabulous cooking.
We moved on to straccetti di manzo con rughetta, a quick-fry of shards of beef and rocket, sauced with the meat juices and oil in which it was cooked and a dash of lemon. A fantastically simple dish that is fantastically good, as long as your beef and rocket taste as clearly as they did here. My main course was even simpler, bracciolette di abbacchio scottadito, or roasted lamb chops. That's all it was. Two lamb chops on a plate. No sauce. No veg. No garnish. No gravy. It was what you might call pure food. The chops were pure in flavour, too - a crisp pale amber to the eye, firm to the tooth, plaything to the tastebud. My brother and his wife spoke in similar cheerful tones of their bistecca di manzo alla griglia. Vegetables were served separately - artichokes for them, cold spinach dressed with oil and lemon for me.
It would be unreasonable to expect puddings to maintain this exalted level, and they didn't. But, ice cream and zabaglione apart, they do not play as major a part in the culinary passions of Italy as they do here. Crème caramel passed muster; monte bianco was a monument to artificiality; tiramisu was too sweet. Still, that's a small matter in the scale of things. And the scale of things wound out through the afternoon.
Coffees came. Bottles of digestivi were left on the table for us to help ourselves. This was not a cunning trick to sock us with an enormous bill - they were free, on the house, and we made free with them. The bill? A princely L221,000, or just under £70 for four-and-a-half people. Make that five. James is a person in his own right
