“I can’t imagine a person exists who wouldn’t like it here.”
I first visited Luca the week it opened, what feels like a lifetime ago. From the people behind Clove Club, and with a similar attention to detail, I was so impressed I returned several times, but since having moved westwards, a return visit had eluded me for a year or two. Looking for an al fresco lunch table had become nearly impossible during a (brief) sunny spell, and so I found myself widening my search further and further until, as if by divine intervention – up popped the last remaining table at my beloved Luca. Like an ex you haven’t seen for a couple of years, I wondered – would the spark still be there? I’ve changed, but had Luca? I stepped in (fashionably late,) and breathed in a familiar warmth – the restaurant interior is that winning combination of a bar you can dine at (great for a solo experience), and a well lit dining room with cosy seating and a casual elegance.
I walk to the to the terrace (which didn’t exist the last time I visited) and it’s a small, charming spot that’s been keep deliberately ever so slightly undone. Beautiful ceramics and climbing plants line the walls, shabby metal frames support marble tabletops, and the floor is lined with a mosaic that looks as if it’s been there a thousand years. On a sunny day one might believe you’d taken a nap and woken up in some alfresco nook of Rome. It’s covered too – this will do nicely.
I take my seat and reach for the negroni waiting for me (not by accident, I’m meeting my brother who knows me well enough to know if we’re doing Italian, this is how I’m starting my meal). I’m handed a real life tangible menu (far more civilized than a QR code) and I recognise almost none of the menu from last time, but I do recognise the nduja scallops – a dish so acutely delicious that it stayed imprinted on my memory from the first time I’ve tasted it. Other things jump out at me – burrata with broad beans and preserved lemon, rack of hebridean lamb (too bad the brother is vegetarian), double filled ravioli of braised short rib and cacio e pepe. Double filled ravioli? I query this with the waiter, who briskly confirms that it’s a ravioli, only double filled. Still none the wiser, but a slave to my maximalist tendencies, I order this, the scallops, parmesan fries (how can you not?), the burrata, Wye valley asparagus with egg, morels and parmesan, and another pasta – the cardinali of spinach and sheep milk ricotta, with wild garlic, pistachio and lemon. I’m a complete ingénue when it comes to Italian wines and default to a Gavi di Gavi when at all possible. They didn’t have one, so the sommelier recommended the Erbaluce di Caluso as a fresh, easy to drink alternative. If you like your wine this is a great spot – you know the list is hefty when it arrives in iPad format.
The focaccia is very good, and by the time our starters arrive, we are asking for more (a testament to the quality of the bread not the slowness of the service). When the plates do arrive they are full of vibrancy and life – that saffrony splash of bright orange, spicy oil pooled around perfectly seared scallops (this plate is just as I remember). Some jerusalem artichoke underneath the scallop adds earthiness and further lifts the natural sweetness of the scallop (times like this make you feel lucky to be dining with a vegetarian, for not having to share). Another plate – a vivid green mound of pureed broad beans, supporting a milky white burrata and flecked with the cognac shards of almond. Not all burrata are created equal – this one is extremely fresh and you can tell because it needs only the most gentle nudge from a spoon to spill it’s creamy center. That creamy ooze clashes brilliantly with the fresh beans, and the crunch of confit almond. One thing I appreciate about the menu at Luca, are the sheer amount of opportunities there are to dip your bread into things. I do love a residue, and when the bread is this good, it makes for a meal in itself. The scallops were the first – that nduja oil would have been a shameful waste otherwise, and the creamy burrata presented a second. These dishes, with that focaccia – Luca you have matured to be better than I remember. The asparagus dish was spring on a plate – a celebration of British asparagus and morels during the fleeting but fruitful few weeks where both are in season. You’re going to break the egg yolk and need that bread again (I don’t make the rules). With the salty hit of parmesan, earthy morels and just-cooked asparagus, this was the favourite plate of my vegetarian guest. And the parmesan fries – not fries as you know them – the most light and airy cheesy potatoey thingies you’ve ever tasted, topped with a generous shaving of yet more parmesan and an absolute dream with your aperitif.
The pastas did not disappoint- I felt sure they wouldn’t – having walked in to see the raviolis being freshly made on the counter. The “Cardinali”, so named after a cardinals hat, are a visually impressive handmade pasta that must have taken an age, and a highly skilled hand to make, filled with spinach and ricotta (what’s not to like) and served with wild garlic, pistachio and lemon. My pasta – the mysterious “double filled” ravioli of braised short rib and cacio e pepe, was something of a technical feat – each ravioli folded to hold tender meat on one side, and a liquid cacio e pepe sauce on the other. Peas are scattered across the plate, and the minimal slick of sauce allows the pasta to speak for itself. It ticked all the boxes – visually appealing, technically impressive (you won’t be making this one at home), and of course, extremely tasty.
We skipped a third course to leave room for dessert (but rest assured had this been a dinner, that rack of lamb would have featured). We chose the Amalfi lemon posset, with rhubarb, and orange and fennel biscotti. You’ve had a posset before but this is a particularly good one. They’ve been shy with the sugar – making for the perfect acidic twang to end your meal on. Then, the salted caramel tart with aged balsamic and milk ice cream, which consisted of the most short and fine pastry imaginable, holding a shiny slice of salted caramel. The aged balsamic brings a deep, sticky, fruitiness, with the milk ice cream adding light relief.
We recline on the terrace to enjoy the remainder of our wine and some unexpected rays of sunshine. I have a nosey at the other dinners – having been so engrossed in the meal that I’d barely taken a moment to look around. Being in Clerkenwell, the guests are as eclectic as they come: tatted creatives rub shoulders with suited and booted corporates. I can’t imagine a person exists who wouldn’t like it here, and yet, this little terrace isn’t as busy as one might imagine. It’s a place that would without a doubt be busier and more celebrated if were not located in that totally lovely but somewhat inconvenient area, Clerkenwell. Thus making it a real gem for those who know about it. The service is excellent – formal without being stuffy, friendly without being over familiar, and I have vowed not to leave my love affair with Luca unattended for so long.
Sabrina Goodlife
