Telephone: 020 7602 9333
Address: 44 Blythe Road, London W14
Dinner for two, including wine and service, £70.
Cotto, in London's Hammersmith, describes itself as a restaurant serving 'West End' food at 'neighbourhood prices'. It says much for either the state of West End pricing or this particular neighbourhood that our bill still came in at £72 for two. Certainly the neighbourhood is a curious one. Cotto sits in a back street sandwiched between a glowering old Royal Mail sorting office, which looks like it might house an S&M dungeon, and the great echoing halls of Olympia. Perhaps it is exactly the sort of an afterthought of a place which needs a good restaurant like Cotto.
For there is much about this place to recommend it, even if it isn't price; steep mark-ups on the wine list see to that. The chef, Robert Kirby, has worked with starry names such as Simon Hopkinson and Richard Neat and, while he does not attempt their bells and whistles effects, he clearly brings a lot of top-flight kitchen discipline to bear. With this track record, offering three courses for £18 does look like a bargain.
I and my companion, the prison guv'nor, both ate from that £18 menu. A starter of sautéed squid with chorizo, lifted by the aromatics of a little marjoram, was a strong combination of sweet fishiness and salty pork. A mixed beetroot salad with sheep's milk ricotta was more than just an assemblage of sturdy ingredients. The guv'nor continued with roast rabbit stuffed with a little of the dense, gamey liver, to which he took exception. I think this was a matter of taste and that he was, well, wrong. Perhaps his job is just too visceral for him to need it on his plate at night. He said that the accompanying tomatoey borlotti beans were terrific. The one disappointing dish of the night was my grilled loin of beef with roasted summer vegetables. I adored the vegetables which, though many in number, were separate in flavour. The meat, however, was unforgivably tough. I almost developed RSI trying to cut it.
We finished with an outrageous slice of chocolate and caramel torte for him and for me, from the shorter full-price menu, a grand confection of caramelised banana, ice cream of same, and crisp sugared beignet. Service is well meaning, if a little gauche: why, for example, did they seat a party of four at the very next table when we were the only other people in there? We had water, tea and a £19 bottle of something South American. And then came that bill of £72. But Cotto does have other virtues and they tend to be in the right place for a restaurant: on the plate.
