Gordo looks at the changed place along Swan Street
The first Italian restaurant I remember of all note in Manchester was Mario and Franco’s Terraza, part of a very clever group from London. It was the mid 70’s and I remember what I call calf Holstein; thinly sliced milk-fed veal, breadcrumbs, pan-fried and finished capers, anchovies and topped with a fried egg on a crispy base. The pan juices spilled over. Fried potatoes, great food. Not very Italian, but here we go.
The next Italian to make a step change was Piccolino on Clarence Street off Albert Square. It was damn good. And of course, the mighty San Carlo opened in the dead slot behind Kendall’s and ended up being the biggest cash cow just five or six years later.
When about eight new Italians had opened that year, I coined the term YAFI. Short for Yet Another Fuck Italian. And they keep coming.
The group that owns Piccolino is called IRC, Individual Restaurant Company. It has changed hands a lot. This can be a problem.
The IRC has gone through an awful lot of ownership changes in the last two decades, and the last five years have seen all kinds of scams. It is now wholly owned by Sir Malcom Walker, the owner of Iceland Frozen Foods, and his partner, the charming Tarsem Dhaliwal. Together with their managing director Andrew Garton, they started cleaning the Augean stables a couple of years ago and have invested heavily in improving the facilities of all 32 restaurants. That’s a lot of bullshit.
Well, I can say that I’ve had some great food at Piccolino in Knutsford and Albert Square over the past six months, and the Three Musketeers have shown bravery in building a brand new ‘Piccolino Grande’ in Wilmslow.
It’s in another location that’s been a bit of a dead zone for the last thirty years, on the corner of Manchester Road and Swan Street traffic lights, and parking isn’t easy.
The building itself has been completely transformed from a 90’s chain pub to a very stylish, sunny restaurant with a super bar area, an outdoor “terrace” where you can grab a table in good weather and two main restaurant areas. My favorite is the large atrium at the back, especially the tables facing the open kitchen. It has an Amalfi feel, all sky blues and lemons, and lots of cushions.
I went twice. The first happened with the thunderous Jane Dowler, head of the cult family-owned Spanish restaurant chain Evuna. A few gin and tonics and a bottle of Primotivo di Manduria, 2021. A big red wine that has had enough age to begin to whisper sweet, as only Italians can, price tag £37; pretty good value in my book. Yes, you see we ate mainly seafood, but we lived dangerously.
Too dangerous; Jane was in top form, I was too busy listening to her and forgot to take notes. So I had to come back a few Saturdays later to make sure this review is as thorough as it should be.
A constant in both was Ettore, the legendary Maître D’ whom I have known for over thirty years. He had to retire, but you can’t keep a good man down. He always shines in the sun on a rainy day. There were a few glitches in the service, mainly due to Brexit and pandemic issues common to the UK hotel industry. They train a lot of new people. It looks like Piccolino has managed to stick with a higher percentage of old hands than most, but there were a few mistakes that I’ll forgive from the new peeps. After all, I was forgiven, at 15, struggling with the silver service and dropping two chips on a bride at the Legh Arms in Prestbury.
The oysters (four for £13.75) were exemplary on the second visit, although not properly dressed; the abductor muscle, which attaches the meat to the bottom shell, had not been cut. It’s going to be a real little bastard to figure out if you don’t know what you’re doing. Yes, but it spoils the enjoyment for a lot of people. They were a bit watery, mind you. Some restaurants tend to drown them for presentation. Area. The small diced pickled red onions were perfect though.
For the first meal, Jane and I shared the garlic bread (£8.50). You needed something strong to withstand the gin and tonics. The garlic bread, well, floppy pizza really, wasn’t enough.
Meanwhile the Burrata (£18.25) was.
Sprinkled with freshly chopped black truffles, drizzled with cheeky sherry vinegar and topped with toasted walnut sourdough, it was a fresh beauty. I loved it; creamy, almost liquid inside. Only got better during a visit to one of the dairy on the slopes of Vesuvius at 6:45 am with the Tre Ciccio boys. It doesn’t get much fresher than that.
Pasta Carbonara (£16.25) is a good test; the Italians have more arguments about how it should be done, as do Lancashire housewives about hot pot. This was made with eggs, parmesan and pecorino cheese and finished with yours truly a generous sprinkling of fresh cracked black pepper. Damn gorgeous.
Jane had the cheeky Orata alla Griglia (£35), which was a whole bream seared in salt and finished at the table. Glorious; on the plate, after being split open and skillfully filleted, it was drizzled with warm “salsa per pesce,” the latter made from freshly extracted olive oil.
It was Friday, so I had a handsome, chunky grilled Sogliola (£55). That’s Dover Sole to you and me. As always, I took it whole by filleting it myself, which adds to my messy enjoyment of this fish. It deserves a knighthood as much as a sirloin of beef, which is now knighted by King James the First. It was an ace fish. SirSole?
The roast potatoes were lovely, actually buttery and slightly crispy; inside, a waxy, almost sweet interior that offers the world’s best comfort food. Char grilled broccoli and steamed greens (£5 each) were competent and fresh.
We forced ourselves to try the Tiramisu pudding. It’s good but a bit too light and creamy if you know what I mean. It needs to be firmer; work is needed.
On another visit I got a glass of Whispering Angel. Rosé from Chateau d’Esclans near Frejus in Provence. The vineyards were generally poor when I lived there in the late 1980s. Over the past 30 years Cotes de Provence has improved, but not £13.75 a glass. Whispering Angel is a wine designed by the marketing department of Moet Hennessy, who bought the farm last decade. If you want class at this price, it’s Domaine Ott. Be a Manc, not a mug.
But you’re not Muki eating at Piccolino Grande in Wilmslow. Yes, it’s YAFI, but it’s fun and I’m happy to go back for round three.
Piccolino Grande, Wilmslow, SK9 1HE
Score
All rated reviews are unannounced, unbiased and ALWAYS paid for by s.com and completely independent of commercial relationships. They are a first-person account of one visit by one expert restaurant reviewer and do not represent the company as a whole.
If you would like to see the receipt as proof that this magazine paid for the meal, a copy is available upon request. Or ask about the restaurant.
Venues are classified according to the best examples of their type. By this we mean that a restaurant that strives to be fine dining is compared to other fine dining restaurants, an average restaurant to other average restaurants, a pizzeria to other pizzerias, a tea shop to other tea shops, KFC to the contents of your trash can. You will receive a message.
Based on the above, here’s what we do: 1-5: saw your leg off and eat it, 6-9: sigh and shake your head, 10-11: if you pass, 12-13: good, 14-15: very good, 16-17: excellent, 18-19: pure class, 20: nothing so good?
15.5/20
-
Food
Burrata 8.75, garlic bread 6, oysters 7.5, spaghetti 8, sea cucumber 8.75, sea bream 9, potatoes 8, broccoli 7, steamed greens 7, tiramisu 7
-
Service
-
Atmosphere