a day ago
Patatino at the Hoxton: where Baroque meets buon appetito
Let me begin with an existential question: does Edinburgh need another Italian restaurant? This, after all, is the city of Scotland's oldest delicatessen and Italian wine merchant (Valvona & Crolla, established in 1934), where the eateries range from family-run trattorias proudly delivering nonna's lasagne al forno to tables draped in unironic red chequered cloths to Italian-ish small plates hotspots where the negronis are made with artisan vermouth and the focaccia is pocked with 'nduja and hot honey. Into this vivace scene comes Patatino, striding into the capital with the braggadocio of an Italian word inserting itself into a restaurant review.
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Patatino is located in Scotland's first Hoxton hotel, highly anticipated, years in the making, elegantly cast across 11 sublime West End Georgian townhouses. (We simply don't have time here to pose the existential question of whether Edinburgh needs another boutique hotel chain.) The name is a term of endearment, meaning 'little potato' in Italian, bringing to mind Little Capo (diminutives must be in just now), which I love. Herein lies my appetite-driven answer: you can never have enough of any kind of restaurant. As long as it's good.
The concept is promising: 'A modern trattoria inspired by Sorrento's lemon groves and long, lazy meals on the Amalfi coast.' Frankly, who doesn't want a bit of that on this eternally chilly coastline where, despite the annual purchase of a little Lidl lemon tree, citrus fruits fail to grow? Patatino's aim is to bring 'the warmth of Italy to Haymarket', and my sincere apologies to denizens of the West End, but the Palmerston aside, this is an area of Edinburgh that in culinary terms really could benefit from the warmth of Italy.
Patatino has its own street entrance, though you can come through the hotel and admire the signature Hoxton design flair married to Scottish storytelling. It's all very grown up and beautifully judged. Then comes Patatino. I'm talking pure baroque maximalism: all striped awnings, fake foliage tumbling down every vertical surface, mirrors, blue velvet banquettes, vibrant Amalfi style hand-painted crockery, dusky pink walls, and, at its heart … a little Italian water fountain. Think of Lena Dunham's Too Much expressed through interior design and you're halfway there. It's ostentatious, absurd, not remotely my thing, and I love it.
Our server informs my dining companion, Francis, and me that at 7pm the lighting automatically goes down, the music goes up, and the rest you can imagine. But we're here at lunchtime on a Sunday and Patatino is quiet, though for all I know a bacchanalian knees-up is unfolding behind those reams of fake flowers. We begin with expertly made drinks — a negroni on draught for me, a no-alcohol pink grapefruit spritz for Francis — and a single antipasto because wow, the prices are as OTT as the interiors. The Orkney scallop (Patatino's sourcing is excellent), sliced and served in the shell, doused in a sauce of seaweed butter and the mollusc's own roe, is sweet and meaty, but lacks acidity, which is a shame considering Patatino's identity is built around the southwest Italian coast's bountiful lemon groves.
Pastas are made in-house. We share a small portion of tagliolini, nicely thin and chewy, in a shellfish bisque anointed with Eyemouth crab and Amalfi lemon. (The large costs an eye-watering £46.) The bisque is rich, glossy, rust-hued like a rouille, and abounds with an umami tang achieved only by long-simmered shells. Again, though, it's missing the brightness of lemon and a good sprinkle of salt. Pizza, made by Patatino's own Sicilian pizzaiolo, is fantastic. It tastes, genuinely, like southern Italian pizza, with a well-charred base, perfect rise on the dough, fresh red sugo, and plenty of pale, stretchy fior di latte.
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The final section on Patatino's all-day menu comprises meat sourced from John Gilmour in East Lothian and fish from John Vallance in Glasgow simply cooked over coals. We go for sea bass with smoked butter, which arrives at the table whole — deboned and spectacularly butterflied. There's a half of charred Amalfi lemon so juicy we eat that whole too. Plus a dish of charred veg that's not charred enough and new potatoes, roasted, firmly smashed, and kissed with the aftertaste of charcoal. Lovely. The bass, despite not having the hoped-for level of blistering on the skin, is sensational in the simple, understated, approaching unreviewable way of great Italian cookery. The flesh is soft and gleaming as velvet. Or, according to Francis, 'melty' — a word too often attributed to land animals and not nearly enough to those of the sea.
At which point Francis has to leave and I'm too full to go it alone for dessert. I ask if they would be willing to sell me a half portion of tiramisu. The answer is no. Oh well, next time. I still maintain that the best Italian food in Scotland is to be found 50 miles west, in Glasgow, but Patatino is a fun and flamboyant addition to the capital's longstanding Italian food scene. Patatino at the Hoxton, 5-21 Grosvenor Street, Edinburgh
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