Feeling a bit knackered from a busy week, we treated ourselves to a night out locally. A few drinks later, we arrived slightly too late at our favourite comedy club, the Bill Murray, only to find the house was full. This was no laughing matter, forcing us to drown our sorrows with a neighbourhood pub crawl. Fast forward a few hours and our bellies were groaning like Liam Neeson’s agent. Fortunately for us, we managed to score a booking at Saponara, Islington’s number one pizzeria/Italian deli. Bellisimo!
We were shown to our table, already occupied by a plate of show-pasta. Tiny laminated examples of their craft-work pinned with little flags which described the tasty dishes they’d soon become. Mr Flavour was almost well-oiled enough to eat them, but I used the wine list as a distraction. We sipped a few giant glasses of Primitivo and set about trying not to over-order from the menu or show-plate.
A cheeky little Burratina De Lusso sounded too good to pass up. It came proudly seated on a nest of rocket, with some juicy tomatoes keeping guard. The creamy cheese was dressed in a decadent artisan black truffle oil. Mr Flavour deftly sliced through it like a Samurai, exposing the gooey middle for a split second, before wolfing half of it down.
Next came our pick of the mini pasta vignette. We opted for the Wild Boar Tortellini, lovingly bathed in a meaty ragu for added Friday night indulgence. The sauce was divine, and the fresh pasta was expertly made. The boar filling however seemed a little past its prime. More of an elderly Pumbaa than a youthful piglet. Nevertheless, it was still a lovely plate of comforting deliciousness. The star of the show was one of the stunning stone-baked Pizzas that put Saponara on the N1 map. We ordered a Tartufo Pizza, mainly because it sounded the most calorific. This heavenly dish came heaped with Mozzarella, creamy Tartufata, tons of mushrooms and lashings of Tartufato oil. Oh, and some extra mature Pecorino for good measure. It’s no wonder this little Islington deli is so hard to get a table at.
Satisfied and at maximum carbohydrate capacity, we took the short walk home for some Friday night television. We weren’t intending to have such an indulgent evening, but God, Buddha, Vishnu, or whichever of them invented Pizza seemed to have a plan for us. Wonder what fate has in store for Mr and Mrs Flavour next?