I was raised on Italian-American food. For as long as I can remember, Peppina’s, Frankie’s and Clemente’s were all part of the “out-to-eat”oeuvre of my parents and grandparents. Frankie’s in Ecorse, MI was for pizza after hockey games or when my grandfather wanted pizza. Clemente’s was for spaghetti with meat sauce or ravioli. And, my favorite of them all and the closest to my house was Peppina’s – for chicken soup with home made egg noodles, veal parmigiana, and pizza with a cornmeal crust, real mozzarella and spicy little pepperoni. Rome was my first international trip that I ever took and I fell in love with the idea of expatriate life when my sister lived in Rome for a year. So, it is a bit ironic, or serendipitous that my first friend that I made here in London is Italian.
My friend Mario knows how to eat, which is strange because he’s 5’7″of pure unadulterated muscle. He’s my age and from Southern Italy and made me homemade penne carbonara the first time I came to visit him. It was pure unadulterated food bliss. Toothy pasta, the combination of bacon, egg, cheese and a little olive oil is one of God’s chosen foods. He writes a blog, of which I follow religiously and has a wicked sense of humor, which I share and find myself laughing out loud at inopportune and inappropriate times. I’m so glad to know him.
Not the least of which is because he took me to two places that were fantastic – and both Italian. We met for pizza one night at Pulcinella in Soho. Soho is not really known for culinary genius, but there are a few places that you can find that will knock your socks off. Pulcinella is one of those. Homemade buffalo mozzarella, and hand tossed pizzas that are inexpensive, tasty and totally authentic. Mario’s first words to me in the restaurant were “Don’t order pasta in places like this, they cook it ahead of time and reheat. If you’re going to eat pasta, eat it at home.” He’s absolutely right, most kitchens in London do not have the space to cook pasta to order, even if it is homemade.
The pizza was absolutely perfect, crisp 10″crust, just brown enough around the edges to get some tooth, melted creamy cheese and spicy peppered salami, all together on my plate. I took my first bite using knife and fork, and was quickly admonished and shown how to eat a personal pizza (note to self and others – cut a triangular piece, like a pie. fold, eat). This was after Mario’s shock at a person from another table ordered the Hawaiian pizza, he said, “Fruit on pizza, my grandmother would pass out.”
We eavesdropped on the conversation at the next table, which was an awkward double date. The members of each of the couples were making general conversation about nothing of importance, while seeming completely uncomfortable with the whole evening. It made us really uncomfortable, because it seemed like each of them were talking and no one was listening to each other. It was more of a list of non-sequitirs than a conversation. We left and then Mario took me to nirvana: Princi, an Italian bakery/delicatessen/hot table restaurant.
Princi is ALWAYS packed, there are a bunch of tables, and a bar area around the restaurant. It’s huge, given Soho restaurant size standards with fresh baked breads, pastries, flat bread pizzas, salads and hot items. What absolutely sent me over the edge were the cannoli. Now, I have loved cannoli since I was a child. The old Italian ladies would make them from scratch at Peppina’s. And, what’s not to like? A baked pastry tube filled with marscapone cheese, chocolate shavings, a little flavoring and sugar with coatings on the ends to make them even better. Peppina’s used to have pistachios on the ends (which I hated and would scrape off), but Princi has something blissful: candied orange peel.
It was like heaven on a plate. If I lived closer, I would have one every day. The crisp pastry melts in your mouth, and then the creamy marscapone with the dark chocolate coats your mouth as you bite into the bracingly tart orange peel which counteracts the richness and sweetness of the filling. As Mario says, “you should definitely get one to go, but it probably won’t make it home.” He’s right. I would devour it on the sidewalk without even a blink.
Visit both of these places if you make it to Soho.
American Expat in London 