After four months of living in Bermondsey, I decided it was time to explore what lay beyond the short stretch of picturesque concrete between my house and the station.
To be honest, I don’t really give a Diane Keaton about getting to know the area, because I am 98% sure that I don’t want to live out the rest of my days in the geographical stepchild of Southwark. However, one of my colleagues had tipped me off that the nearby Bermondsey Street was “totally awesome and like Shoreditch or something” so I felt inspired to see the overpriced gentrification for myself.
Thankfully, Whatsherface in HR wasn’t all that accurate in her comparison. Although home to a few outrageously twee boutiques, Bermondsey Street has been tastefully modernised, and retains the quintessential feel of the Borough. It’s mostly populated by independent bars and eateries – the Italian restaurant Antico being one of them.
The restaurant’s self-professed simplicity seems to resonate from its menu to its exterior. Perched on an unassuming corner, Antico bears few identifying features. Without a noticeable logo or aesthetic, it sets itself up as something of a dimly-lit aquarium.
The restaurant itself is essentially a single room, with one of its outward-facing walls made largely of glass. As such, Antico offers itself up to the street, choosing to display its convivial atmosphere rather than a brand identity. A little disorienting, but a smart move for a restaurant that wants its food to speak for itself. Once inside, you’re greeted by candlelight, wood panelling and a standard-issue blackboard of specials; Antico refuses to define itself as anything, let alone Italian.
I think this is pretty wise, for one key reason: Villagio, aka the bastardised Italian umbrella of culinary sins. Villagio “ristorantes” are a testament to just how flexible the terms “authentic”, “rustic” and “Italian” can be. If you’re bored and have £50 or so to waste, please take a real-life Italian person to Villagio and watch them try to understand how a plate of dehydrated lettuce, beef tomatoes and plasticine mozzarella constitutes a tricolore salad. Speaking from personal experience, it’s really something. I think it’s safe to say that (in the UK at least) Italian doesn’t often mean Italian, so I can understand why Antico simply lets this be inferred.
The pared-down menu underscores the fact that this is not a stuffed-crust pizza kinda place. Antico’s speciality is simple yet indulgent dishes, which are pretty meat-centric – admittedly, not the best place for veggies.
Starters
I kicked things off with the zucchini and goat’s cheese salad. This was as plain and simple as I expected – in a good way. The zucchini was perfectly fresh, and safely complemented by the slight zestiness of the goat’s cheese and rocket leaves. Admittedly, there was nothing too groundbreaking about this, but for an appetizer it did the needful.
One the other side of the table, we sampled the buffalo mozzarella, Sicilian caponata, treviso radicchio and basil. Similarly to the zucchini, this was another simple dish done well. The quality of the ingredients was excellent, but overall perhaps not the most memorable of culinary introductions.
Mains
For the main, I opted for the slow-roasted pork tortelloni, with sage butter. This was possibly one of the richest things I have ever eaten. That’s not to say it wasn’t good – in fact, it was brilliant. However, I did feel as though about three parcels of pasta and butter would have been sufficient. Knowing that I had been served too much, but lacking any sense of self-control, I ate the whole thing and spent the rest of the evening metamorphosing into Fat Bastard. I don’t know if this is a testament to how good the meal was, or to how heavily I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that I have to finish whatever is on my plate – probably a combination of the two. In any case, although the pasta was cooked to perfection, it was a little too decadent for my taste, and certainly overly salted. A smaller portion size would have contained the dish as a concentrated shot of flavour. It is actually available as a starter, and I think it would make more sense to serve the smaller helping as a main.
My useless co-reviewer ordered pan-roasted monkfish, prosciutto, sautéed potatoes, with capers and borettane onions, but then proceeded to sack off the prosciutto and capers. Given that the number of ingredients in each dish is fairly minimal, choosing to no-go a constituent part will essentially render your meal redundant, Ben. But whatever – apparently the remnants (aka fish, potato and onion) were “really good”. Pfft!
Dessert
Determined to destroy myself at all costs, I followed up my main course of butter and salt with a pecan pie and crème fraiche. Perhaps my senses were a little dulled at this point, but to me it was nothing spectacular. In theory, it was a good combination: the sweetness of the pie being offset by the relative tartness of the crème fraiche. And yet, it didn’t quite work. The pie was on the dry side and needed a light sauce of some kind; the crème fraiche was simply too rich to add any real moisture.
My dining partner opted for a chocolate tart, accompanied by coconut ice cream and honeycomb. Again, the tart was incredibly rich, but the ice cream proved to be a perfect antidote.
Conclusion
Although I had to be lifted out of the restaurant by a small cherry-picker and dropped onto my doorstep like an engorged horse, I was impressed by Antico. It didn’t need to profess its Italian status by employing a Pavarotti impersonator to throw basil over himself whilst reading Dante’s Inferno for the amusement of its customers. It simply was Italian. The dishes weren’t flawless, but they certainly fit the definition of comfort food. Like any good night out, I ended my Antico experience feeling full of saturated fat and shame, with the sense that I could probably do it all again tomorrow.
Final score: a full-fat 7.5/10
Still hungry? Find all the most delicious places to eat with our best London restaurants section, including this review of Mr Bao in Peckham Rye.
