THE ITALIAN GRILL, DUNDEE

THE ITALIAN GRILL

“Strange how potent cheap ingredients are” said Noel Fielding on Bake-Off, or was it Noel Coward? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Gallagher….

In an age of cultural appropriation, where everything including quotes and ideas is up for grabs, a visit to a restaurant can sometimes feel like a grand tour of 3 continents on a plate. That’s why there is something beautifully pure and life-affirming about Italian food cooked simply and cooked well. A glut of tomatoes simmered for hours with just a hint of basil and some seasoning, boil a bit of pasta – there’s dinner.

No wonder every town has at least one trattoria-type venue where you’re guaranteed an air of conviviality, some good chow and no worries about the horses being frightened by innovation.

The Italian Grill, in Dundee’s grand City Square, is such a place. It’s dark and glamorous enough for a date, in that 1980’s style which has now become timeless – but also an excellent venue for a party (there’s a private space) or a business lunch.

Our meal fell into the latter category; my lunch partner was Catriona MacInnes, editor of the Courier in Dundee (and incidentally the first female editor of a daily newspaper in Scotland).

As we had a finite time for lunch we skipped the starters although there were many temptations – deep fried squid, classic bruschetta and arancini with porcini mushrooms and tarragon butter (£5.95).

The descriptions of the dishes are straightforward but reveal a non-corporate, non-portion controlled person in charge of operations. Pasta is hand-made, as is the pizza dough which is made from Caputo ‘00’ flour, a detail which also stands as further evidence of an assured hand in the kitchen. It’s not generic.

Catriona, recovering from a bug, chose the cossetting simple creaminess of gnocchi with roasted winter veg, sage cream and rocket pesto (£7.50). The flavours were distinct, the gnocchi as far away from their long dead supermarket counterparts as it’s possible to be. Tasting gnocchi this good made me realise the joy of unpretentious restaurant food over the misery of pappy, cardboardy approximations with a shelf life which could possibly outlive even a cockroach.

Since the weather outside was on the dreich side of dramatic, I heeded to the call of the nursery and the ambrosial delight of the broad bean risotto with cherry tomato and burrata (£9.50). Again, the flavours were clear and distinct although I would have preferred a less dry risotto. With risotto gloopiness is really in the mouth of the beholder – too much gloop being, well, a soup, and not enough gloop being a gustatory chew-off. Two minutes less cooking and/or a bit more stock would have made this the perfect comfort food.

Next time I would order the chicken risotto with nduja, roast tomato, rosemary and mascarpone (£11.95). I think the depth of flavours from such robust ingredients would sit very well together – and also, as the last person at the nduja party, I was very happy to see it on the menu here. The fiery Italian spreadable salami might have conquered the world by the time I discovered it but it’s no less great for that.

We skipped dessert due to lack of time but, at dinner, I might have chosen the affogato or the Nutella filled mini doughnuts (both £6.95).

Service was friendly, prompt and informed. The coffee was excellent.

In summer, outside tables would be the ones to go for – to eat in the City Square, in the shadow of James Thomson’s majestic Caird Hall, would bring a spring to even the most laboured of steps. To have dinner in the Italian Grill before a concert in the Caird Hall or the baroque beauty of the Marryat Hall next door would be a joyful evening indeed.

Incidentally, in 1976 it was announced that the Sex Pistols would play the Caird Hall. I skipped off school to get tickets, sure that the queue would extend all the way round the City Square. Amazingly, I was the only person at the box office and was offered seats in the front row, a delight that my school friend Euan shied away from. Less of a punk than I was, he was scared that the naughty Pistols would spit on us so he preferred the safety of the second row.

That the only spitting near the Caird Hall 43 years later is that of the beautiful fountains, their polite putter of water adding further grace to one of the most pleasant spots in the whole of Dundee, is to be expected. That you can also now eat well while listening to them is further proof, if needed, that Dundee now dances to a different tune, and one with a profoundly international resonance.