Piccolino
7 Weekday Cross, Nottingham. NG1 2GB
0115 9472169 piccolino.nottingham@piccolinorestaurants.co.uk

The Gastrosexualist has worked out that, on an average shopping trip to Nottingham with The Flower, he must spend at least 1.5 hours languishing outside of changing rooms. I began counting the pit stops and clocking up the time this Saturday. As usual I was dragged from one bewildering boutique and emporium to another, suffering a little from the night before, wincing as music throbbed from speakers, as distressingly young shoppers pushed by me (is not All Saints the most terrifying place?). T. S. Eliot has Prufrock measuring out his life with coffee spoons; I had a growing mound of shopping bags (not mine) to testify to hours of a rare weekend off being wasted. And on it went, the wife disappearing behind another set of curtains, in another changing room, a magician about to perform her trademark trick, the feat of ‘see how much time one person can make vanish in one day’. There was but a single saving grace in being martyred to this kind of shopping. At least I could make The Flower feel guilty enough to allow the odd cheeky pint along the way, and to concede the choice of lunch venue. Nothing wrong with a little leverage...
I have been meaning to try Piccolino for ages. This is a good looking central venue complete with terrace seating for pavement dining, next to the Weekday Cross memorial, just across from the tram lines, well positioned amongst other popular chain bars and restaurants. It fits in well here. It is modern, vibrant and professional. It boasts a shiny, well-stocked cosmopolitan bar area in which to unwind with post-work cocktails and confidently displays an open kitchen complete with roaring pizza oven for added theatricality. Seating in the tidy dining area is comfortable; the room is light, the atmosphere cheerful and buzzing. Service is confident, knowledgeable and friendly. Piccolino stands as a superior choice to Pizza Express or Zizi for a break from the shopping. I am not being dismissive about these two, having enjoyed perfectly tasty lunches in many branches over the years (and Piccolino itself is part of an established chain of eateries with restaurants dotted around the country). Part of the attraction with a Pizza Express is that you know exactly where you stand and what you will experience. You are familiar for the most part with the menu. It is standardised. You can coast. You have chosen to switch on the autopilot. These restaurants are safe choices where there are ‘no alarms and no surprises’ (apologies to Radiohead). However, Piccolino is not as well known on the high street and therefore more of an exciting prospect. I much prefer its seasonal menu which is varied, surprising and offers tantalizing daily specials with more of a brassiere feel. I would (and certainly will in the future) come here for evening dinner. There is much more to engage with here. Piccolino provides a relaxed, unhurried dining experience with a more intimate feel.
To me the sign of a good menu is that it can tempt you with new possibilities, leaving you ‘umming’ and ‘aahing’ over the choices rather than fall back on tried and tested dishes again and again. Once seated (surrounded by The Flower’s shopping bags) with a bottle of Terrazze della Luna Merlot we began to weigh up options assisted by a very helpful member of staff. She clearly knew the menu (more importantly she had enjoyed the food herself) and was interested enough in her customers to ask questions and advocate favourites. I succumbed to the hearty and warming temptation of one of the day’s specials: Cannelloni, woodstone baked with slow cooked beef, tomato & pecorino cheese sauce. It was the best example I have tasted in years. Rich, creamy, perfectly textured, all I missed was some fresh bread to mop up the sauce. The Flower opted for Spiedini (or skewers) of king prawns, scallops and salmon in oregano, chilli and lemon. This was generously portioned – three skewers of succulent seafood, charcoal-grilled, zesty and tingling with that chilli bite, and simply delicious. We shared a mixed salad which was fresh and well-dressed with a subtle dash of oil. We followed up with a Tiramisu which fell short of perfect as I, personally, would have like more of a boozy wallop from it.
As we made to leave we were met by the manager. Had the Gastrosexualist been rumbled? Perhaps too many questions about the sourcing of ingredients or had I been overheard waxing lyrical after the wine about the balance of garlic, lemon zest and fresh parsley in a perfect gremolata? Whatever it was, here was the manager offering to show us around the kitchen! Surprised, and more than a little bashful, we followed him and were introduced to the kitchen team and there we stood - invaders in their territory. It would be unlikely that a kitchen designed to be visible to diners would be anything less than spick & span and could never be ruled by a bullying, mouthy egotist bellowing orders louder than the private conversations at tables. Safe to assume therefore that there would be no revealingly negative impression to be gained from this exercise and only positive word of mouth. Of course the kitchen at Piccolino looked immaculate. It was so unlike the kitchen of the country hotel where I once worked my way through university that it belonged to a different universe. This was clutter free, clean, organised and superbly run. Oh the enticing aromas, the sizzle of meat cooking, the bubbling sauces, and the all too delicious ingredients arrayed... I had to be dragged away. In an ideal world I could have stayed all afternoon watching, picking up recipes and techniques. But the shops were waiting and so, resigned to my fate, I followed The Flower out of the restaurant and into the crowded bustle of a Saturday afternoon in Nottingham. There were hours of forced-shopping left to face. Such is the lot of the Gastrosexualist that he understands the balance of sweet and sour in more than just a recipe.