‘Could be king of the castle’: Bacaro, Castle Street, reviewed

The day before I went to Bacaro, I had prepared a filling, healthy round of winnings on Sunday for my brother and I; fennel sausage ragu recipe from chef, fish enthusiast, and explosive cutlery titan Rick Stein.

It was a success, probably because Will started by chopping garlic and ended up rattling pans while I stared over the counter and mumbled approval.

However, it did mean that when I came across Bacaro’s menu barely 24 hours later and saw “nduja and fennel sausage ragu” or “pork and beef feather lasagna,” the usual temptation didn’t surprise me. It turns out that “too much of a good thing” can also apply to pasta and sausages.

This turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it ruled out items on the menu where I would normally have applied my principle – “if they do the classics well, you’re on to something”.

Besides, who wants to read about lasagna.

The interior of the place is glam without veering into the Turkish tooth territory so well researched from here to Manchester and beyond

Bacaro sits on the Derby Square side of Castle Street, that pedestrian street with so much promise that still threatens to be something special, and this interesting take on “Italian restaurant” could be an anchor alongside that newer, but older, grander everything girl. enchanting Italian, San Carlo.

Fortunately, Bacaro is different from the likes of San Carlo. To understand that Milanese luxury cut from marble is something not everyone can master or even necessarily want to try, so why bother? This small plate restaurant looks lovely inside, but the food is, at least in concept, the price of an ordinary person.

Handily, Bacaro gives a brief explanation of their name and an idea of ​​where it sits in the spectrum of the Italian imagination: “In Venice, a bacaro is a working-class pub where snacks called cicchetti are served on small plates and wine in a relatively small glass (“ombra” in the local dialect). Historically, the bàcari were simple ​​places: small, dark canteens where the Venetian’s thirst for wine could be quenched and his appetite appeased.”

Can you qualify as a “worker” if you did an English degree and are now reviewing restaurants? Some would say no, not really.

At the clock I let Bacaro go.

The place manages to strike a balance between beautifully appointed attractive lamp lighting – and an even more attractive bar – without resorting to ostentatious decoration or, worse, an entire wall collage of masks and gondolas. Wooden bistro chairs take up the floor, while red leather banquettes line the room. In hindsight, given the menu, I should have sat at the bar. Partly because I was dining alone, mostly because I liked the look of it, but also because it seems to be the best place to enjoy Bacaro at its best. With the company, I would like to spend the evening at the dimly lit bar counter with a bottle of Gavi and a Game of the generation of endless dishes. Some other time.

I started by ordering a Malfy gin con arancia or blood orange with tonic. I’m very fond of a G&T, but these days lime is far too bitter and strangely unrefreshing, leaving your mouth like a squash court floor – orange has long been the default and there’s no going back. I sipped it (big chips) and looked at the crostini menu; a small but comprehensive list of appetizer-sized bites to kick things off. I went for the dressed crab with avocado and roe (£4.50 each). While I’m definitely not in the avocado defense league, I thought it would be a good contrast to what could end up being a very smartly dressed crab. Fortunately, it was an elegant outfit, leaving the subtle and fresh tones of the crab, hints of chilli and parsley front and centre, while the avocado grounded everything. One is plentiful and just the right thing to empower you in your small plate menu decision making.

In the main event of the meal, I ate two drastically different dishes, which is that the small plates were mostly an opportunity to keep variety in mind and take the road less traveled. One dish in particular caught me off guard; octopus with marinated walnut crisp potatoes and caper shallot sauce – all astringent notes that my changed palette likes to hear playing loud and clear.

The octopus look may not be everyone’s aesthetic ideal, but I personally find it very attractive, especially when it’s not overly decorated. It was perfectly cooked, with that nice balance of spices and just the right amount of pan, and if anything it could have been a bigger portion, but I guess that’s just my gluttony for this kind of food. The crispy potatoes did a perfect job of crunch, a welcome change of texture, and the pickled walnut was beautifully tangy. More sour could have been the shallot and caper sauce, two ingredients with plenty of acidity, and if this had been any sharper I would have gone overboard. Very close. It went well with the wine, a big glass of Verduzzo that was more than a solid and serviceable Italian white, but lacking the arresting flavors you hope for outside of the usual grapes.

Another of the small plates was a significant departure not just from the sea but from Italy more generally including Stornoway black pudding, but Italy and Scotland have a long and rich relationship so I wasn’t worried. If anything, I was interested. Stornoway black pudding with fried chicken liver, caramelized onions and Marsala cream. Go then.

This was lighter than it looks, and the Marsala played through the potential density of the cream, giving it a sweet undertone that goes well with the liver and black pudding. I know I should pull a party and say Bury black pudding is the best, but I’d be lying. Stornoway’s oaty, earthy tones are peaty and full of flavor, so the sweet Marsala blended well with the chicken liver and was cooked just the right side of pink to avoid chalky disappointment.

Finally, there was plenty for dessert, but I abandoned my principle of classics done well and went for the affogato. I can’t believe I’m writing the words, but there was actually too much ice cream, more than a generous three scoops. Although you could suffer from this without encouragement, it meant that when you add espresso and a dash of Amaretto, you’re dangerously close to a table full of affogato. I dutifully scooped it out of the glass and managed all three scoops of well-ground and creamy gelato. I was on the clock after all.

Bacaro is just a few steps away from potentially being something special; the menu isn’t afraid to offer the option of versatile dishes, but it could be even bolder – is eight different small pizzas the best use of space on that menu?

The interior of the place is glam without veering into the Turkish tooth territory so well researched from here to Manchester and beyond. If the aesthetic of the bar was spread more generally in the restaurant, it would have the attractive feel of a movie set, currently it’s more television.

When the sun comes out soon and shines on this windy street, I’d love to see the place alive with all its promise. And when it comes to quenching your thirst and appeasing your appetite, if Bacaro gets a little sharper, it could be king of the castle.

Bacaro47 Castle St, L2 9UB