Potential for greatness at Water House

It’s always a bit pancake-like coming back to England after a summer spent away. This year, I had deliberately timed my telly-free holiday to coincide with the Olympics – only to miss all the glory and glittering prizes. And there’s no fun in watching reruns of races when you already know the result. Still, it serves my cynicism right. Perhaps I should go away during Wimbledon next year. In fact, for every major sporting event in the calendar.

At least my journey home was brightened on learning that Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi is recording an album of love songs for Christmas. He’s written them himself. Sometimes you’re just so grateful for the gravitas of our PM.

In the post-vacation gloom, what I miss most (apart from the sunshine, obviously) is the simple and delicious food that you tend to take for granted in Italy. The Italians don’t need government directives on how to eat properly; they value and cherish their land, and food is always sourced as locally as possible. Much the same has been said about a new eco-restaurant that has opened in Hackney, so, desperate to prolong the joys of Umbria, I thought I would put it to the test.

Water House is the second such restaurant and brainchild of Arthur Potts Dawson, a Roux-trained chef with plenty of starry associates. Potts Dawson has a social conscience, he aims to provide good green eating with a minimal carbon footprint and to plough profits from his restaurant back into the local community.

Tucked away behind blocks of flats in an anonymous-looking street, finding Water House certainly isn’t easy. But once inside, the room is bright and airy, lit by the Regent’s Canal, which flows past the vast windows. Décor is simple but pleasing, with lots of wood and wicker and attractive bowls of fruit and veg on the bar.

Unfortunately, the restaurant was empty, since the only other two sets of diners left as we arrived (was it something I said?), and the deserted air and lapping water gave the place a distinctly Mary Celeste feel.

I’d taken the actress, who was on her habitual weight battle and peeved to be told that there was no Diet Coke, so we drank sparkling water that is bottled in the kitchen in reusable containers, which she thought looked like giant specimen jars.

We nibbled on excellent bread, but the accompanying olive oil was tainted by a balsamic vinegar, which had a surprising and unwelcome kick to it. The actress started with caramelle of (sustainable) prawns with tomato and chilli. These are prawns rolled in pasta to resemble little sweets, and were very moreish. My ravioli of (sustainable) cod was even better – properly fishy and so deliciously truffley I wished I’d ordered the main-course size.

A main course of saltimbocca of pork and chorizo with Red Duke potatoes was pure peasant food, which I like, but the portion size was off-puttingly huge – it was as if everything left in the pot had been heaped on to my plate. The sea bream à la plancha with taggiasca olives and shortbread was given mixed reviews by my guest. She said the hunk of fish was perfect in every way except that it had been slapped down on the plate skin side up, hiding its parsley-peppered coating. The accompanying olive shortbread biscuits were a disaster – they were badly made and should have been substituted with a green vegetable.

We had ice cream and coffee to follow, served by a delightful waitress. But in the kitchen the rest of the staff looked lost. I’m not surprised. It’s always awkward when there’s only one set of customers.