LA ROCHELLE - A TASTE OF THE SEA

Like any French town qui se respecte, La Rochelle has so many restaurants that you could eat lunch and dinner in a different one every day for six months and never come back to the same place twice. Half the restaurants in town seemed to be owned by one or other of the Coutanceau brothers, or their famous father Richard. Gregory owns not one but three restaurants, two of them in the Rue St Jean! Les Flots, right under the Tour de la Chaine, is his flagship restaurant. Le Comptoir des Voyages showcases dishes from all over the world, and L'Entr'acte is his bistro. His brother Christopher is content to run the beach restaurant (two Michelin stars and membership of the prestigious Relais et Chateaux group) named after himself and his father, at the Plage de la Concurrence. And apparently there's a kid sister called Jennyfer who's just qualified as a chef, so expect to see the Coutanceau marque expand even further.



La Rochelle is famous for its molluscs, which is unfortunate for me, as I can't eat them. Mouclade is a casserole of mussels cooked in white wine. The oysters are fresh from Fouras, opposite the Ile d'Oléron. But there are plenty of creperies owned by Bretons who've slipped down the coast.

La Part des Anges
Tucked into a corner of the rue de la Chaine just off the Vieux Port, the Angels' Portion offers a menu within the 22-28 euros range.

Le Rozell
46 rue St Nicolas
Agreeable little creperie in the bobo Quartier St Nicolas, where you can have a filled crepe and a bowl of cider for under 10 euros.

Les 4 Sergents on Rue St Jean du Pérot was fully booked on the Friday night I tried to get a table, but I've earmarked it for my next visit. So instead I ended up in

Le Terroir 45 rue St Jean du Pérot. The menu was around 29 euros, but it was my last night so I pushed the boat out. It was a sailing town, after all.

Apart from La Rochelle, Nanteuil-en-Vallée in the Charente deserves a mention. It's one of the Michelin Green Guide's Villages Pittoresques de France, and has two decent restaurants:

L'Auberge de l'Argentor, where I had a slap-up four-course Sunday lunch with wine for under 40 euros. The menu costs 29 euros and includes a mise-en-bouche, starter, main course, cheese and dessert. The chef is a real proper chef, and every dish is a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach. The service is excellent, and the place is very popular with the English. Don't let that put you off. The Argentor, if you were wondering, is the name of the little river that runs through the village, and along which you could take a stroll after lunch. It will lead you to an arboretum with a water garden and some excellent landscaping.

L'Auberge de l'Argentor

The Auberge de St Jean was not tried, but looks good too with a 24 euro lunch menu and tables set out in the shadow of the church.




Les Flots
1 rue de la Chaine
17000 La Rochelle
Tél. 05 46 41 32 51

Richard et Christopher Coutanceau
Plage de la Concurrence
17000 La Rochelle
Tél. 05 46 41 48 19

Les 4 Sergents
49 rue St Jean du Pérot
17000 La Rochelle
Tel: 05 46 41 35 80

L'Auberge de lArgentor
17, rue Guillaume Le Noble
16700 Nanteuil-en-vallée
Tél: 05 45 31 85 20

Auberge de St Jean 5 rue Fontaine St Jean
16700 Nanteuil-en-vallée Tel : 05.45.89.11.79

FINE FINNAN HADDIE

Scotland produces some of the best meat and fish in the UK, not to mention their biggest export, whisky. Haggis, Cullen skink, Athol Brose, Finnan haddie and Arbroath Smokies are all exclusively Scottish dishes, the last of which have even obtained PDO status. I remember seeing a roomfull of French food buyers reduced to silent admiration once at a Scottish food show in Paris. And yet what do they advertise to the rest of the UK? Deep-fried Mars bars, fish suppers, Scotch pies, Irn Bru. You'd think they didn't want the English to visit.

I wouldn't recommend eating on Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow. A curry house is almost a pilgrimage when you learn that chicken tikka masala was invented in this city - but The Indian Gallery was really slightly below average, despite a pleasant corner location with big windows through which I observed the young gels (barely legal some of them) going uptown for a night out in the skimpiest of outfits. If the weather hadn't been so inclement I would have ventured towards Kelvinside and the shrine of the chicken tikka masala, the Shish Mahal. Along with Andy Warhol, Ali Ahmed Aslam has used a can of soup to attain a kind of immortality.

I identified what has to be the worst Chinese restaurant in Scotland, and possibly in the UK. There was little attempt at decor, ancient or modern, and the staff barely spoke English. The waitress was a surly little thing who blew her nose loudly while waiting for a customer's order then put the snotty rag back in her waistcoat pocket where it stayed all evening. Despite the fact that only 3 of the 30-odd tables were occupied, they rushed the customers as if there were 3 coach parties coming in any minute. There was no wine by the glass, she said unapologetically. She plonked a bottle of apple juice down unopened on my table with a glass and walked away again. The poor people at the next table were trying to get her attention, but she was too busy round the corner chatting to the manageress. The crispy duck dishes were available as half or whole ducks. I asked if I could have a quarter (quite common practice in most Chinese restaurants). She shouted at me that I could have a quarter of Peking duck but not of crispy duck. If anyone would like to explain the difference, please feel free. To be fair, the quarter of duck came with a double helping of microwaved pancakes plonked on a plate which was stuck on top of a platewarmer. They had obviously never seen bamboo steamers or chopsticks. I wondered which part of China these people were from. The Chinese equivalent of Rochdale, I shouldn't wonder. I ate my meal quickly, whilst watching some young ladies smoking and drinking beer out of bottles in the doorway of a sports bar opposite. Just so that you don't make the same mistake as me, avoid the Jade Garden at 303 Sauchiehall Street, on the corner of Holland Street.

"blas" (with a small b), right opposite the Kelvingrove Art Gallery in the posh West End, is a wee gem. They serve traditional Scottish fare in a modern way. Of course I could not resist ordering the haggis. The girl didn't even burst out laughing. "Och no, we eat it too ... sometimes" she said. It was served as a timbale, with the tatties on the bottom, a layer of neeps in the middle and the haggis (from Cockburn's of Dingwall) on top, surrounded by a swirl of tasty gravy. Washed down by a glass of chilled Sauvignon, it was delicious. But the dessert was what made me nearly do a Meg Ryan. Sticky toffee pudding in caramel sauce with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. The pudding was dark and very moist, I might go so far as to say saturated, and married perfectly with the creamy luxury vanilla ice cream, made by Mackie's of Aberdeen. The sauce, moreover, was ... well, suffice it to say I told the gel to convey to Chef that he had made an old woman very happy.

The revamped East end of Glasgow has been renamed the "Merchant City", and is chock full of trendy, if not always good, restaurants and bars. It's a regeneration along the lines of London's East End, with old warehouse conversions and covered markets turned into continental style brasseries. At QUA in Ingram Street, I had one of the best pizzas I have ever eaten. The restaurant is owned by one of Glasgow's oldest Italian catering families, of which there are a fair few.

Nardini's of Largs: sky pretty accurate

Out on the Ayrshire coast in Largs, where I was staying, there is only one name. Nardini's. "Scotland's most famous ice cream parlour" has expanded into a small empire, and it is only a matter of time before the town is renamed Nardiniville. They have four outlets - the main parlour which now incorporates a cake shop and a proper pizza/pasta restaurant; The Green Shutters on the sea front by Bath Street; Nardini's at The Moorings right by the ferry, and next door to it Dolci Nardini the cakeshop. Frankly the weather was not conducive to sampling ice cream, so I did not venture into any of the Nardini establishments, but purchased a small tub of ice cream to taste. It was all right, but frankly not a patch on Berthillon of the Ile St Louis in Paris.

Rothesay - the main drag

Rothesay, the main town on the Isle of Bute, does not offer a huge choice. It is very run down and many store fronts are boarded up, as holidaymakers have abandoned the isles for the guaranteed sunshine and cheap drinks of Ayia Napa and suchlike. Shame. There are two Zavaroni establishments on the front - neither of them particularly upmarket, but the name is memorable for knowing that this is the family of Lena Zavaroni, a talented singer who succumbed to anorexia nervosa. It makes you wonder if growing up in a chip shop might have anything to do with it. In view of the tragedy of Scotland's greatest belter since Lulu, we thought a bag of chips might be tasteless, in more ways than one, so opted for the so-called "award-winning" Galley Restaurant (they never name the award do they?) in the "Discovery Centre" (formerly the winter garden) on the Esplanade with its panoramic view of the bay.

The Winter Gardens, Rothesay

It was empty, but clean and the manageress was as welcoming as she could be while sorting through her laundry. We weren't too optimistic about the quality of the food, and I played it safe with a macaroni cheese, while Maroon interrogated the waitress about the origin of the fish and chips. All local, she assured him. I cast an eye out over the harbour, visibly lacking in fishing boats or paraphernalia thereof. It was not, apparently, very good. Had we done our homework we could have eaten in one of any number of good restaurants which are hidden away on the island. The Russian Tavern at Port Bannatyne will be my choice if I ever go back, which is highly unlikely.




Edinburgh was in full festival mode and I was swanning about with Old Uncle Edinburgh himself, comedian Arthur Smith. He took me for lunch at the North Bridge Brasserie in the boutique Scotsman Hotel. Very nice.



Our waiter was French - always a good sign. I followed Arthur's lead, as behoves a celeb with a busy schedule, as I had another appointment that afternoon. We had two starters each - he went for the gazpacho, and I had the terrine of pork, which was a bit like rillettes or potted meat, with pear chutney, and we both had the duck and endive salad as well. The restaurant is secluded and expensively cushioned from all the festival madness outside. Later I went for a drink at The Dome on George Street. This former Royal Bank of Scotland building is simply choc-full of gorgeous gorgeousness. As the MC in "Cabaret" might say - even ze toilets are beoooodifull. Edinburgh is full of luxurious places, I may well return.




As for that mysterious combination, the "full Scottish breakfast", there was no sign of porridge at the Novotel. The self-service buffet was mobbed by coach parties who ate fruit salad and bacon and eggs off the same plate. Only when the various McLintocks, Murrays and Campbells of Toronto, Brisbane and Hoboken respectively had gone off on their "roots" coach tours could I get near the dregs they had left in their wake. Cereal, pastries. Eggs, bacon, sausage, beans ... so far, so generic British. Black pudding on Sunday ... big deal. No porridge. No oatcakes. No finnan haddie or kippers. Whit kinda fuell Scottish ye call thish?

The Indian Gallery
450 Sauchiehall St
Glasgow
Tel: 0141 332 3355

Shish Mahal
66-68 Park Rd
Glasgow G4 9JF
Tel: 0141 334 1057

The Jade Garden (information given only as a warning)
303 Sauchiehall Street
Glasgow
(Telephone not necessary)


blas
1397 Argyle Street
Kelvingrove
Glasgow G3 8AN
Tel: 0141 357 4328

QUA
68 Ingram Street
Glasgow G1
Tel: 0845 8338869

North Bridge Brasserie
20 North Bridge
Edinburgh EH1 1YT
Tel: +44 (0)131 556 5565

The Dome
14 George Street Edinburgh EH2 2PF
Tel: 0131 624 8624

LA BECASSE: ALL FLESH AND BLOOD

The nights are drawing in, the falling leaves drift past my window, and the prospect of another long cold winter looms. Not that you would notice much difference from the summer we've just had. Christian and pagan rituals alike at this time of year are all tied up with withering, darkness and death. At the end of this month falls All Hallows with its American commercial entity Hallowe'en, when we honour the departed to appease them from coming back and haunting us. All over the world different nationalities celebrate the arrival of the "dark side" of the earth's yearly cycle in different ways, often verging on the macabre.

In Poland, for example, the entire population heads for the cemeteries on All Hallows Eve to light candles and tidy up graves. The overall effect is rather jolly, the cemeteries are like Piccadilly Circus and the flickering multi-coloured candles creat the effect of a sort of nightclub for the departed. The late Late show, you might say. It's just as commercial as Hallowe'en in its own way: candlemakers and chrysanthemum growers can retire to the south of France for the winter on the strength of their October sales. Parents take their children to visit the ancestors and to pay homage to the many who gave their lives in defence of their country. This could explain the uniquely Polish absence of any fear of death, which you will have witnessed if you've ever been in the back of a Warsaw taxi.

Ixelles cemetery is a peaceful and tidy place, where the tombs are better kept than most people's front gardens. The section where many soldiers of the Great War are buried is particularly moving, the rows of tombstones laid out as if on parade in straight lines, separated by hedges which recall the trenches where so many of them met their deaths - mostly Belgian, but a large number of French, British, Russian and Italian soldiers too. The fact that the Armistice fell so close to All Hallows makes it all the more poignant.



The cemetery is close to the ULB campus and the large number of young people in the area is a cheering reminder that life goes on. After a pensive stroll among the tombs with Bert, musing on pre-paid funeral plans, we had worked up an appetite, and in the fading light we thought it prudent to leave the eternally slumbering to their everlasting peace and repair to the restaurant across the street for a fortifying apéritif. La Bécasse is a no-nonsense traditional brasserie in rustic style, with efficient waiters in long aprons. The menu is extensive with a lot of beef - particularly raw, in the form of carpaccio, filet américain and steak tartare. It's popular for Sunday lunch, and in fine weather you can eat outside with a cheery view of the cemetery gates. In winter a roaring log fire will keep the cold out.

After a very posh kir with a maraschino cherry in it (I'm easily impressed) a bowl of piping hot French onion soup warmed me up. Bert, who is something of a carnivore, had a plate of glistening carpaccio. I couldn't resist my favourite kidneys in an unctuous mustard sauce, which came with four perfectly formed potato croquettes - arranged in the form of a cross! And just as well. Bert's steak tartare consisted of a two-inch thick slab of raw prime minced beef with a raw egg, chopped onions, chives, side salad and chips. The cow (vegetarians look away now) was only just dead, and the meat was bright red ... Bert’s fangs flashed once, and then his face was in his plate, and all that could be heard were Teutonic chomping and slurping sounds. I started to feel a bit uneasy when he got very insistent that we be home before dark … there really is something of the night about Bert occasionally. Lucky I eat a lot of garlic. Happily, it transpired that he just wanted to catch Match of the Day! What a relief. Sometimes I let my imagination run wild.

Intimations of mortality make me want to eat heartily to stave off the reaper. I finished off my meal with a Dame Blanche, an appropriate ghostly dessert for the time of year, and a coffee. Count around 30-35 euros a head with wine.

La Bécasse

Chaussee de Boondael 476

1050 Ixelles / Elsene

Tel: 02 649 0641

http://www.labecasse.net

KANTJIL & DE TIJGER, Amsterdam

The Netherlands produce many comestibles of note, not all of which are ingested via the stomach. "Grow your own" in Amsterdam does NOT mean strawberries. Dutch cheese, fruit and vegetables, and chocolate are exported all over the world. However, unless you have a weakness for raw herring, you will probably find Dutch cuisine pretty bland and non-specific, and, as in Britain, the local cuisine is considered something for preparing at home and not for eating out. However, Amsterdam has a vast selection of foreign restaurants, and if you love meat, more "Argentinian" steak houses than any city this side of Buenos Aires.

Rijsttafel is the Indonesian cuisine which has become to Holland what Indian cuisine is to Britain, and for the same reasons: The Dutch were the colonial masters in the East Indies, and adapted the local food to suit their tastes. There are more Indonesian restaurants in Amsterdam there than you can shake a shadow puppet at. On a Saturday evening we must have got the last free table at Kantjil & de Tijger, so I would recommend booking in advance. It is a smart, modern restaurant with no kitsch Indonesian decor. Not having the faintest idea what we were ordering, we picked out a selection of meat and vegetarian dishes, two kinds of rice and one bowl of noodles. The Dutch and Indonesian waiting staff speak perfect English and can advise on all the dishes. Be careful, some of them such as ajam smoor chicken make a Vindaloo look mild, and there's nothing on the menu to warn you.

The dishes that arrived were very diverse, ranging from fresh fruit to blow-your-head-off chicken, but on the whole very tasty with more diverse flavours than a curry meal. I particularly liked the gado gado, which is a dish of lightly steamed vegetables with a peanut sauce, as well as staple dishes such as nasi goreng (fried rice) and bami goreng (fried noodles). With three beers and a bottle of house white, we came out for just under 25 euros a head, bellies full. A full rijsttafel menu can be had here for 22 to 28 euros a head, without wine, and if you can run to it, I'd recommend going for the full monty and getting a wider view of what Indonesian cuisine has to offer.

Kantjil & De Tijger
Spuistraat 291-293
1012 VS Amsterdam
Tel: 020 620 0994
www.kantjil.nl

NICOLAS AND MARTIN

Denizens of the Woluwe/Montgomery areas will know one or both of these pretty restaurants, noticeable by their attractive tropical terrasses which are constantly busy in the warmer months. Vi Hornblower and I often meet for lunch at Le Jardin de Nicolas, where my favourite dish is the "salade folle", or "crazy salad". It is a bit of a unorthodox mixture, with smoked salmon, prawns, foie gras and parma ham sitting side by side on a huge plate with a delicious mixed salad involving both fruit and vegetables. If you didn't want to fanny about with starters, main course and dessert, you could just eat everything off the plate in the right order and call it a 3-course meal.

Le Jardin de Nicolas is also popular for its wide range of cocktails at a very reasonable 7.50 euros a throw, although one criticism is that the tables are a little too close together. However, this is a good excuse to chat to any nice young men who might be dining alone alongside you. Especially when you've had a couple of cocktails. The poor lad who was accosted by Violet and me has probably crossed "gigolo" off his list of career options. But if you are partial to the sophisticated older woman with a taste for fine dining, Nicolas' Garden is the place for you, young man! (The editor has my details).

Salade Folle at Le Jardin de Nicolas

I recently took guests to dinner at Le Martin-Pecheur, sister restaurant to Le Jardin de Nicolas, which has more of a brasserie style. Its attractive terrace was already full, so we were given a table inside, by an open window, which afforded us a little shelter from the noise and pollution of the Boulevard Brand Whitlock.

The menu is - as you might expect from a restaurant named after a kingfisher - largely fish-oriented. The starters, with a few exceptions, are fishy or vegetarian, and the croquettes de scampis are exceptionally generous. I had to explain to my Australian visitors that "scampi" here is not actually scampi, but shrimp, although what we call shrimp they would probably call wichety grubs. An English menu is available, on request.

Main courses offer some meat options - a 250g Belgian fillet steak was served perfectly cooked, with an attractive garnish of salad and frites, and a choice of sauces. My fillets of Dover sole in breadcrumbs were equally delicious, and portions are generous. Lamb kebabs are another meat dish, and the chicken curry, which we spotted someone wolfing down as we walked in, looked and smelled delicious. Be sure to check the blackboards for the day's specials, too. Both Martin's and Nicolas' offer a "lite" option, which is roughly the same dishes without the chips and sauce. Such flexibility is refreshing after the gastro-fascism of some French restaurants, and the busy tables bear testimony to good service.

The desserts are divine: my guests had a simple Dame Blanche and a fresh fruit salad, while I went the whole hog and ordered the Tarte Tatin with vanilla ice cream, drizzled in caramel and Calvados. That certainly hit the spot, and I nearly did a Meg Ryan. The serving staff were efficient, professional and elegant, especially the absolutely charming restaurant manager in a lovely crushed raspberry shirt, all spoke very good English and went out of their way to accommodate my Aussie guests' slightly unorthodox dining etiquette. The waitress didn't even bat an eyelid at being called "mate".

We had a bottle of Bandol rosé, which was kept chilled in an ice bucket (always makes the wine look more expensive, don't you think?). The total bill for one starter, two main courses and three desserts with wine came to 90 euros -- not the cheapest place in town, but good value nonetheless.

Neither Nicolas or Martin take reservations, so be sure to get there in time to bag a good table. They both offer, in addition to the main menu, a selection of snacky dishes, such as different kinds of Croque Monsieur, salads and stir-fries, which makes them ideal for a quick lunch. There is also a child's menu available at both restaurants. Parking is a bit tricky, especially at Le Martin-Pecheur, but both places are less than 5 minutes walk from Montgoméry metro.


Le Jardin de Nicolas
137 avenue de Tervuren
http://www.lejardindenicolas.be/

Le Martin Pecheur
100 boulevard Brand Whitlock
(corner of avenue Georges-Henri)
http://www.lemartinpecheur.be/

MEET MEAT

A good steak is hard to find. One hardly ever orders steak in a restaurant these days, as it's likely to be tough, stringy or chewy. And there's the lurking idea that it requires no real cooking, therefore one is more likely to order battery-farmed chicken that's been marinated in chives and Pernod and gently steamed over a charcoal brazier ... in other words, it's been treated better dead than alive. (I have not eaten chicken in a restaurant since Easter, when I saw Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's galling Channel 4 documentary about intensive chicken farming).

Argentine cows are pampa'd (see what I did there?) and consequently give meat that cuts like butter and tastes like heaven. Argentinian steak houses were all the rage in the 1980s. I remember going to one in Paris during that Falklands business, where I had a well-lubricated meal with a bunch of Brits, and on departing we sang "God Save the Queen" and annoyed the owner terribly. Oh callow youth!

"Meet Meat" on rue Stevin is in an old Bruxellois house which has been totally modernized, and the interior is all clean lines, blond wood floors, minimalist black furniture and concealed lighting, to match the simple but informative menu. It was not quite warm enough to eat outside, but when it is, there is a delightful decking terrace out back.

There are various alternatives to beef on the menu, but let's face it, you go to a steak house for a steak. And Meet Meat does steaks to die for, in a choice of weights (200g, 250g, 300g) and cuts (rump, sirloin, fillet). The young, stylish, black-clad waiting staff who take your orders are efficient and helpful. Our waiter was however unable to tell us the name of the devastatingly handsome man in the fedora hat who was the subject of a Warhol-style print on the wall. "An actor ... and singer, I think ... dead now." It was (I later discovered) Carlos Gardel, Argentine heartthrob of the 50s and dance hall singer. Anyway, our waiter looked like a young Zidane, so I forgave him.

Carlos Gardel, not the waiter

The wine list is of course South American, and we chose an Argentinian merlot with the amusing name of Tango. Which in my opinion would have been a much catchier name for the restaurant. "Meet Meat" may have non-English speakers rolling in the aisles, but sounds frankly a bit childish to Anglophones. But this is a negligible criticism of a restaurant which in all other respects gets full marks.

Our meat was cooked to perfection on the open kitchen grill, and served with a choice of fries or jacket potato, beurre Maitre-d'Hotel or chilli sauce, and salad. The meat, ladies and gentlemen, deserved a round of applause. It was divine. My five lady dining companions and myself actually stopped talking and did a fair impression of Meg Ryan in the restaurant scene of "When Harry Met Sally" for a bit, which goes to show how spectacular the meat was. Two of us had New Zealand lamb chops, and the rest of us had rump or sirloin steaks. After fifteen minutes or so there were six clean plates and six very happy tummies straining the already reinforced foundation garments. We certainly felt like we'd been Tango'ed.

We did however manage to find room for dessert, and from the list of usual suspects - Dame Blanche, Crème Brulée, etc. I chose a Speculoos ice cream, which was just the ticket to round off a delightful dinner. The bill came to about 30 euros a head, count a bit more if you have a starter.

This is no place for vegetarians or ecologists. The carbon footprint required to ship all that meat and wine in from Argentina and New Zealand would cover the entire Benelux region. But sometimes (as for example when eating foie gras) one has to suspend one's green principles in favour of one's taste buds. If you like your food simple but top quality, this is the place. To paraphrase the Rolling Stones, it's only steak and chips but I like it.

Meet Meat Rue Stevin 124 1000 Brussels Tel: 02 231 0742 www.meetmeat.be

IL VESUVIO

Whit weekend was hot and sunny and Brussels was awash with free entertainment: the Fete de l'Iris, the Etterbeek medieval market, it was all going off. Sadly I was tied up with feathering my new nest, so by the time I made it down to Etterbeek on Whit Monday it was, of course, all gone. Story of my life. Boats I have Missed, vol. 23.

Anyway, being a resilient soul who pulls victory from the jaws of defeat, I espied on my fruitless journey an agreeable Italian restaurant with a terrace that was full of happy diners basking in the sun. I decided to rest my weary Birkenstocks and Do Lunch.

Il Vesuvio is a bustling little family-run trattoria situated a stone's throw from La Chasse. That's a name that always makes me snigger, meaning "the hunt" but also "the flush", as in loo. Tirer la chasse = to pull the chain. Anyway, it's on the main drag of Avenue des Casernes but set back just enough that you don't have to breathe in exhaust fumes with your food. The generous canopy will save you from sunstroke too.

There is a fine selection of pizzas at reasonable prices, but as it was a holiday weekend I felt flush (geddit?) and ordered the grilled sole, which came served with fries and a braised endive. I washed it down with a quarter carafe of the house white and happily observed the good citizens of Etterbeek while trying to figure out where I was on the de Rouck street guide. The fish was very nicely cooked, although the fries were a tad McDonalds.

I have two criteria for judging Italian restaurants. Firstly, they must serve veal as well as pizza. And secondly, they must offer panna cotta on the dessert menu. Il Vesuvio did both. The panna cotta came with a choice of topping: I had mine with coffee liqueur. I can't tell you. It was the most sublime, creamy, heavenly thing I have had in my mouth since Christmas. (Don't ask) I would go back there just for the panna cotta.

The waiters are brisk, flirty and efficient in that way Italians are. My waiter must have been all of 17. And I think you all know how I like a young man. He had a cheeky grin, which widened still further when I told him the panna cotta was exquisite. "Home made, of course?" I added. He looked at me with arms outstretched: "Ma certamente, Signora! La mamma!"

Grilled sole doesn't come cheap, and at 19 euros it accounted for two-thirds of my total bill. But the pizzas are pretty reasonable (10-12 euros) so you could count around 25 euros for a standard pizza-wine-dessert meal.

Unfortunately Il Vesuvio is not open for weekend lunch or Sunday evening. But on a warm weekday or Saturday evening, or even a cold one (the interior looked cosy and welcoming) it is worth a visit. Or if you are lucky enough to have a day off during the week. The pizzas looked and smelled great, and the place was packed with regulars, so probably a good idea to book on a Saturday night.

But do remember to save room for the panna cotta. A little taste of heaven.





Il Vesuvio
Rue Mont-du-Chene 1
(corner of Avenue des Casernes)
1040 Etterbeek
Tel: 02 649 1640