Inconstant Italian

Zucca, 184 Bermondsey Street, SE1 3TQ

Meal for two: £85

Living in Dalston, I tend to think most other places are quite smart. I forget that it is normal to brush your hair and wear clothes that match; consequently, I am always vaguely surprised to find that most people choose to do this. Bermondsey, sleek, chic and stylish, is a welcome break from my home borough's scruffy charms.  On a quaint London village street complete with idyllic old church, Zucca embodies the upmarket but trendy feel that permeates this part of London.

All exposed concrete, open kitchen and well-judged art, eating in Zucca is like eating in the modern house of your parents' wealthiest friend: an intimate and charming experience that displays all the attributes of a great local restaurant. However, Bermondsey is not our neighbourhood, and it takes more than sharp design to entice me across the river. If the food had been consistently good, sustaining the quality displayed in the best dishes, I would have no hesitation in returning: for the cooking here displayed moments of real excellence. However, our meal was slightly overshadowed by inconsistencies, and it failed to live up to its stellar reputation.

We shared two antipasti and a pasta dish to start. Seabream carpaccio achieved that perfect combination of wonderfully soft, almost buttery raw fish and zingy, fresh olive oil. Even better were the ravioli of veal and spinach: delicate parcels of a subtly meaty and ferrous filling. Both dishes, but particularly the pasta, were easily as good as anything I have eaten on greed-fuelled trips to Italy. However, the zucca fritti were disappointing. The just-cooked pumpkin nestled in light, crispy batter had promise but was heavily overseasoned bordering on unpleasantly salty.

Putting aside our pumpkin failure, we moved on to our mains: liver for me and octopus for Mr F. The liver was excellent, its lightly charred exterior concealing a perfectly pink middle. The faro and porcini that accompanied it were a well-judged combination of textures and earthy flavours. However, as with our starters, the cooking was still inconsistent. Whereas my liver was a nicely cooked and perfectly balanced dish; in Mr F's case, the unwelcome over-addition of rosemary dominated and overwhelmed an otherwise great plate of food. The creamy polenta and grilled octopus were both well executed but the flavour pairings in the sauce were poorly judged. He was disappointed and started looking longingly at our neighbour's grilled veal chop. To avert an illegal table invasion, I quickly ordered two affogatos. They were great - proper strong creamy coffee hot/cold treats - but did not fully remove the slightly sad, hungry look from Mr F's face. I started wishing I had fed him more of my liver.

At its best, Zucca is phenomenal and, if only Mr F had ordered a giant piece of meat to follow the amazing pasta, we probably would have left as the newest confirmed members of the burgeoning Zucca fan club. However, the low points revealed some fundamental misjudgements in the kitchen's approach on the night of our visit. Let's hope these were only passing inconsistencies and, if we do give Zucca a second chance to impress, next time we'll leave finally understanding what all the fuss is about.