A few weeks ago we had lunch in an Italian restaurant in Hove, ( treated by a delightful friend I met in hospital, and who was very kind to me when I was feeling low.

This restaurant has wonderful food, and a menu full of things I love.

As a starter, I generally either have melon with parma ham, or if I’m not feeling up to three courses (and it is absolutely imperative to leave room for the pudding), I share John’s Tricolora Salad, with its pale green avocado, creamy mozarella and bright green basil, all contrasting with the glistening red of the large slices of tomato.

Main course – and this is the chief guilty bit – is veal.   I know, I know I shouldn’t, but it is so very delicious.   I’m working my way through the options – I’ve had vcal with lemon juice; breaded veal; veal with marsala sauce.   They’re all utterly scrumptious.

As for the pudding, though our hostess assures us that the tiramisu is to die for, and John loves this dessert, twice he has gallantly given it up to enable me to have the ambrosial zabaglione, which has to be ordered for two people.   Hot, sweet and overflowing, and with that distinctive taste of marsala, I rather throw myself into its foaming depth, content to drown in pleasure.    I could choose wonderful ices, or shining cheese cake, or profiteroles, pannacotta – all favourites of mine, but I never voluntarily pass up the zabaglione.   The guilty part is that some poor chef has to stand for 15 minutes beating it, and I always request it with some trepidation, fully expecting an irate member of staff to come rushing out of the kitchen like a berserker, flailing his axe and demanding if I think he has nothing better to do…

So far, fortunately, this has not happened.   Along with the above pleasures, we appreciate the delightful, intelligent conversation of our hostess – but enjoying her company comes without guilt!

About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.


  1. Sheena Murphy says:

    My mother once innocently served what she thought was veal schnitzel to some Jewish friends. Of course it turned out to be pork. Talk about a guilty pleasure!

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