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Restaurant and dining guide

Neil Sowerby

I'm sure Il Bombardimento isn't a proper Italian word, but I’m going to use it to signify how all things culinary/Italian dominate our city's dining. Il Bombardiento lamentibile! For every San Carlo or Piccolino with a bright lights/buzzy formula that works, despite occasional failings in the food served, there are also the countless also-rans. The Italians have a word for the phenomenon. It is 'un also-ran'. Like ‘un penalty shoot-out’. Who says English isn't the world's lingua franca (sic)?

I’m referring to the chains - Strada, Zizzi, Bella Plonka, Don Nastio's, Rizzo Ratto and the rest - which so rarely satisfy a questing diner. Stay at home with the Dolmio, I’d recommend. But I am glad to welcome any individual take on one of the world's great cuisines. Why, I even got excited when I thought Da Vinci was a new eaterie at the Museum of Science and Industry. It turned out to be an exhibition celebrating the ultimate Renaissance Man. Which brings me to Rosso, which parades on one wall a large print of the great Leonardo, sporting a rather fetching red neckerchief. It gives him the air of a Garibaldi (the revolutionary patriot, not the curranty biscuit).

But there isn't much revolutionary about Rosso as a restaurant, despite the defiant Leonardo quote on its menu: Le semplicita e la maggior’ sofisticazione - ‘simplicity is the ultimate sophistication’. The other pictures adorning this former bank's marble halls are snapshots of the Rat Pack, Loren, Lollobrigida and their ilk. Ciao babe, it all screams. It's all a case of if the wheel ain't broke, don't fix it. I know the wheel was about the only thing that Da Vinci didn't invent, but you get my drift. The red blaze around the neck signifies Rosso, the Italian for red, and is a nod to United star Rio Ferdinand. He has a stake in the new restaurant alongside Adam Karim, whose Middleton-based dynasty previously attempted to run this choice site as an alcohol-free Indian/Chinese eaterie with a lunch buffet I will never forget (for the wrong reasons).

Originally, this glorious Grade II-listed Victorian building, lording it over the summit of King Street like a cotton baron in his pomp, was the Lancashire Yorkshire Bank, hence the red and white roses in stained glass and the whole lavish marble and dome look.
Later incarnations included a Marston’s pub, Rothwells, that failed even to be the Athenaeum and the over-ambitious Establishment with its hideous purple pod private dining area. Establishment was funded by Cheshire Oaks founder Carl Lewis and while chef Ian Morgan was at the stove, it had genuine pretensions to Michelin status, which never came.

The aims of Rosso are not so high-flown. Whether it will fall between the familiar two stools of glamorous bar and serious restaurant we have yet to discover. Reform, now Room, across the road, set the template, followed by a number of joints I generally refer to as the ‘First Team Squad’ on behalf of their target audience. What struck me on first visiting Rosso was that all the staff were decked out in grey shirts with red tie, like the school uniform of St Patrizio’s Junior High, Palermo. Imagine clones of United striker Federico ‘I am 17 going on 33’ Macheda.

The many waiters buzzed around like a bunch of prefects, over-attentive (in a nice way) and doing that waiter-keep-busy-routine of carrying lots of glasses around to nowhere in particular.... because at 7pm on a Tuesday evening trade was, shall we say, subdued. As were the mushroom-hued walls which somehow muted the marble magnificence into matt dullness. Still I did like the gauzy drapes - think Lucozade wrapping - across the high windows. They diffused the evening lights outside, from a decadent lingerie emporium and the buses trundling up King Street. Instant Liam Spencer.

Bread, brought instantly with the requested tap water was spot on, with a proper crust and accompanying fat olives. The head prefect brought us a specials menu, which was as immaculately printed as the standard one, so I presume changes no more than weekly and certainly not according to the day’s market.

The Italian wine list was surprisingly interesting, offering house wines by the glass and at £14.95 a bottle, but rising to some pricey, prestige reds. Supertuscans Sassicaia and Solaia cost £195 and £265 respectively. Oh and, if you must know, first-teamers, Cristal 02 is £315 and far from the cheapest bottle on a separate champagne list. Our reviewing mission, though, was on a much tighter budget. But before the first olive was pitted we were savouring a real mouthful in every way - Falanghina Bianca Beneventano Villa Matilde. This peachy, almondy, unoaked white from the Campania region was good value at £25.95 and fitted our inclination towards fish, an obvious strong point on a large menu that lines up every Italian suspect from pizza to osso bucoz.

I actually switched at the last minute from tuna to beef for my carpaccio starter and had no regrets. Almost transparent in its ruby thinness, the taste of the 28-day hung flesh was equally delicate, accompanied by some tame rocket. The lemon oil was perhaps too delicate but adding a dash of the peppery table oil overwhelmed the dish, which cost £7.95. My dining partner’s scallops (£9.95) had been baked on the shell in a herb and breadcrumb crust. In truth they were rather dry despite the quality of the hand-dived raw material.

She had halibut all’ agguato (£17.95), I had merluzzo con vongole (£16.95) and, being the saddos we are instantly got into wikipedia word check mode. There’s obviously no word in Italian for halibut, agguato bizarrely means ambushed, merluzzo means both cod and hake, while vongole is always clams. Merluzzo alla puttanesca means cod loin in the style of the whore according to one entry. Perhaps it gains in translation. It wasn’t on Rosso’s menu.

My merluzzo, definitely cod, was chastely cooked in white wine, martini and parsley, with more clam shells than clam innards. The sauce was sticky and tiring, not helped by saute potato sides that were chewier than they might have been. Across the table, Signor Halibut was a handsome chunk avoiding the dryness that can beset this fish. It was draped with a couple of equally plainly langoustines, which worked. The accompanying slick of bisque didn’t. It lacked intensity.

Puddings, although I am sure they were lovingly prepared in house, felt like the kind Mamma used to buy in. Both my pannacotta and my partner’s amaretto-based cheesecake leaned heavily on vanilla and strangely stewed ‘fresh’ strawberries. The pannacotta was too dense, the more moist cheesecake preferable. Double espressos rounded off a pleasant but hardly memorable parent’s evening at St Patrizio’s. The report: potential there, but could do better. And yet... if Don Rio’s coaching the school first team, expect great things.

Rosso, 43 Spring Gardens, Manchester M2 2BG
T: 0161 832 140
W: www.rossorestaurants.com