Telephone: 020 7738 6576
Address: Neon, 71 Atlantic Road, London SW9
Dinner for two, including wine and service, £55.
Sometimes, hard as it may be to believe, I get things wrong. I was wrong a few weeks back when I pompously announced that the escabeche of partridge served at Cigala, delicious though it was, did not deserve the name because it had been cooked first rather than marinated raw in citrus juice. I was confusing escabeche with ceviche, as only 420 of you wrote in to tell me.
I was also wrong on this page a little over a year ago in a review of a funky place called Neon on Brixton's famed Atlantic Road in south London. After saying a few favourable things about the very short Italian menu, I turned soothsayer and proclaimed that I wouldn't be surprised if, a few months down the line, they dumped the food operation. Young, groovy twentysomethings come to this part of London to booze in the increasing number of hip bars and, the margin on alcohol being so dependable and the menu being so short, it seemed a logical if depressing thing for Neon to do.
Cue sound of klaxon blowing big raspberry: I was wrong, wrong, wrong. Tiresias I ain't. Word reached me a few months ago that Marco Rebora, the owner-manager of Neon, was fed up with watching people sloshing spirits down their necks. It was food that really pushed his boat out. Therefore, he had decided to increase the number of dishes on the menu by a factor of five. And so, aware that I would be infuriating all those restaurants which haven't even been reviewed once, I decided to review Neon for a second time.
I was entirely justified in doing so. Because there is now something very special indeed going on down here: some seriously impressive, gloriously authentic Italian food is emerging from a kitchen staffed by a mighty brigade of, er, two. Plus a dishwasher. How they do it I don't know, because the dishes arrive swiftly enough. I am merely grateful that they do, because Neon happens to be only a seven-minute walk away from my house.
I went with Robert, a restaurateur whose family owns a small plot of Tuscany and who therefore knows one end of an Italian menu from the other. He admitted that the place would not usually be to his taste and it might not be to yours. Decor-wise, there are low communal tables, with benches with no back support. The decoration is minimalist, and music, which I believe the young people call happening sounds, drifts across the room. Even if it's not your thing, it is worth putting up with for the food.
The menu roughly divides up into two halves: oven-baked breads and pizzas on one side, pastas and other dishes on the other. We began by ordering the focaccia abruzzese with cumin, fennel and olive oil from the list of breads, which can easily serve as starters. It should, Robert said, be flat and crisp and straight from the oven. It was, the heat of the bread helping the aromatics to waft deliciously in the mouth.
For my starter, I went for orecchiette pasta (£4.80), which look like big models of blood platelets or small models of Dutch caps, depending upon which image you find more appetising. It came with turnip greens, garlic and anchovy and was terrific, the soft, slightly bitter edge of the greens spiked up by the garlic and salty fish. Robert choose arancini (£5.40), a classic Italian dish of fried risotto balls with mozzarella and white wine which, he said, was a good test of an Italian kitchen. They were, he announced, perfect: soft and light, with a crisp skin. They could have done with a little slick of tomato sauce for dipping or some dressing on the salad. But, he accepted, this was a small quibble.
Robert's main course was a stew of salt cod with roast peppers (£11.50). 'Perfectly authentic,' he said. 'The cod is just the right side of salty.' I chose porchetta - spiced belly pork severely roasted and served in thin slices. It was sublime, the crackling crunching softly, the meat taken to that point where it falls apart in the mouth. Robert tried some. 'Gosh,' he said. 'I'd cross town for that dish.' I grinned. 'And I only have to walk down Railton Road for it,' I said. He looked out at the street, which, 20 years ago, was the heart of the Brixton riots and which is still a little funky in places. 'It might be safer to cross town,' he said dryly. Shame on him. Brixton is changing, and Neon is the proof. We finished with a tiramisu and a chocolate and almond cake. Robert approved of both. They were a taste of his summers at Tuscan trattorias.
I have tried the pizzas on previous visits and they too are marvellous, particularly the pomodori al forno, which is made with lots of roasted tomatoes, slices of Parma ham and no cheese, all on the same crisp focaccia base. It turns out that the menu, which Marco insists will be completely seasonal, has just moved into its spring mode and so is almost completely different from that described here, but this pizza will remain and the great porchetta will occasionally appear as a special.
If there's a criticism, it is that the wine list is pitifully short. Doubtless he feels the punters in Brixton tend to prefer their beer, and he may be right, but a significant number will, I think, be willing to be rather more adventurous. God knows, the food deserves it. In short, it was worth my coming a second time. I'm now looking to my third, fourth and fifth visits.
