A dish a day: Bocca di Lupo’s Rabbit Saltimbocca

The voracious eater on the dish that made her day

Every now and then, an evening falls into place. When you can, with half closed eyes, sit back and appreciate how right it feels and let it swim over you in that moment. Last night, London thrilled in a way I’d forgotten it could – I’d been away in dreamlike Brazil for three weeks on honeymoon; the cold rain quickly washed away any vestige of sun and samba – but wandering the streets of Soho surrounded by lights blinking and the sound of spirited drinking, I knew there was a reason this was my favourite city.

That moment last night happened in a dimly lit Bocca di Lupo, on a first date back in London with my new husband (I’m still stumbling over that word – I’m a terrible newlywed). We’d done that classic Soho thing of wandering from restaurant to restaurant after drinks, admiring yet annoyed at the queues outside each one. But of course, on the quiet of Archer Street, peering into the window of Bocca di Lupo was like looking into the warmth of your grandmother’s fireplace through a frosty window. It was irresistible. It was nostalgic. I’ll always remember my first visit here, when I ate one of the best pasta dishes of my life – rigatoni with guanciale (cured pigs cheeks); a simple dish but for some reason impossible to recreate.

To be honest, I could talk about the whole menu – the ungovernable cream of burrata (pictured) which licked the aubergine beneath, the clever clever salad of wafer thin radish and celeriac (layered with the salt tang of pecorino, bursts of sweet pomegranate, uplifted with the unmistakable whiff of truffle), the teal that was squashed open and grilled to perfection, and lay on a bed of deep red treviso.

But it was the first taste of saltimbocca that made us truly relax. We’d been frantically talking – about what Antonio Carluccio was eating (he was sitting on the next table, tucking into a treviso salad), about the future, about the crazy two weeks since coming back to work – and ate frantically to match. But when it arrived, the meal felt complete. Under a blanket of prosciutto was flattened rabbit loin – pale and glistening. Before each piece could reach our mouths, we would run it over the serving plate again, mopping all the rabbity Marsala it could; on bite - a little salty, a little sweet, a little tender, a little crisp.

After the meal, we ran over the road to Gelupo for some salted caramel and fresh mint ice cream. We huddled over a table and shared three scoops. It didn’t matter that we were in the thick of winter. This was what we were coming back for – the cold, the wet, Bocca di Lupo and a whole host of dates in the best city in the world.

Bocca di Lupo, 12 Archer Street, London, W1D 7BB, 020 7734 2223

How to impress your date: Gelupo in Soho

Mysinglefriend.com has a lot to answer for. This website has claimed too many of my friends. A spate have lost successive evenings to serial dating and revealing what they do for a living. And though a few have found themselves embroiled in unlikely situations, I cannot knock it. One has already found love. Many, flagrant embrace.

For the not-so-lucky in those incipient stages of datehood (juggling five dates a week, perhaps even two a day), innovative thinking is required for each date.

My suggestion would be Gelupo, in Soho, as the place to take a date.

It’s an ice-cream parlour - but Italian. Which means it's actually a gelateria - less schmaltz, gaudy colours, and cherries on top than your average parlour. And ice-cream is a safe bet - take your date on the premise that everybody likes ice-cream.

Teetotal date? Chocolate sorbet it is. Loves booze? Chocolate and Grand Marnier then. Vegetarian, or dare I say it - vegan? Well, let’s just say there is a flavour for everyone. For, Gelupo’s sorbets are as rich as as egg custard and cream without them comprising of egg custard or cream.

And as if that wasn’t enough, it’s across the street from brilliant sister restaurant Bocca di Lupo, well-wishing your date with its name which fortuitously translates as ‘good luck’. 

Ask to taste. That’s the perk.

Gelupo, who make all gelati on the premises, are so proud of their flavours, they will urge you to try them. Chocolate sorbet sounds an anomaly - almost a paradox. The expectation is of something watery and one dimensional, but no. The sorbet is of a rich sort, made from 100% cocoa and sugar and is positively creamy. Their white peach sorbet will take you back to the heat of Venice (think Bellinis of ripe white peaches and Prosecco). The gelato of pear, cinnamon and ricotta is a sweet taste of autumn. Burnt almond granita, which I have to order on fellow tweeter Dinehard’s insistence, is a triumph. The raspberry sorbet is juicy and ripe, the ricotta and sour cherry ripple gelato is especially good fresh from the churn and in a huge waffle cone. My only regret is that I could not taste the naughty milk-infused fig-leaf ice cream as I'd not arrived in time.

In the case that you and your date get on well, the gelateria is open until 1am from Thursday to Saturday. If you do run out of things to say to each other, let me suggest a perusal of the amazing Italian produce on offer at the back of the shop. I defy anyone to lack conversation whilst looking at the refrigerated octopus.

And Gelupo have recently announced that they will be launching an online ordering service. Which means for true love there will be only one thing for it: home delivery of the fig-leaf variety. 

Gelupo
7 Archer Street, London, W1D 7AU
Website