The wine making Frescobaldi family have been making wine in Tuscany since 1308, and in 2014 they opened their own restaurant just behind Regent Street in London.
On a Sunday evening in February we're the only party there. The staff outnumber us, although I'm sure our noisy conversations helped keep them awake as they diligently (although a little pointlessly) stayed at their stations throughout the long meal that was to follow.
A glass of champagne in the bar downstairs was accompanied by platefuls of crispy flatbreads scattered with rosemary, olive oil and sea salt. The bar is glamorous and plush, seats wide and comfortable enough to curl up in and sit sipping drinks for hours. But on this particular evening, food beckoned. We were led upstairs to the bright, sleek dining room, where modern mosaics of various Roman gods cover the walls and columns, and the names of wines are engraved around the room.
Perfectly simple tomatoes and mozzarella to start. An extra drizzle of oil on top and there was a happy little me. Creamy, soft mozzarella with small, sweet tomatoes. A little slice of summer dreams on a cold, dark Sunday.
And the food improved from there: pasta definitely won everyone's vote as the best course. Spaghetti con vongole e bottarga: slippery, buttery pasta with salty, perfectly prepared clams and bright, sunny bottarga.
Perfectly cooked fish for L, and the richest, woodiest veal chop for Papa. And the others mmmmd and aaaaad at their forkfuls of Tuscan treats between hilarious stories, and more and more glasses of wine.
Maman couldn't leave without trying the tiramisu, which was the best tiramisu I've ever found in London, and was really rather beautiful too.
After piles of petit fours and cups of fresh mint tea it was time to leave this palatial restaurant, and return to the cold outdoors. It had been a surreal evening of wonderful pasta and too much wine.
Highlight: pasta
Lowlight: an atmosphere created solely by ourselves
