Rising from Wales

This review was published in March 2002

Any foodie worth their salt will recognise the name of Franco Taruschio. This is the man whom many credit with changing the face of Italian cookery in Britain, moving it away from the spag bol and phallic pepper-pot school towards something altogether more authentic. And, astonishingly, he didn't do this from the heart of progressive London, but from a tiny outpost near Abergavenny in Wales. Throughout his 38-year career, he's had plaudits heaped upon him, none more impressive than the fact that the Walnut Tree was Elizabeth David's favourite restaurant. Franco's also something of an iconoclast: so irritated was he by the lofty and pompous manner of the man from Michelin that he threatened to sue the institution - which normally has chefs abjectly scrabbling for acknowledgment - if they put his restaurant into their influential guide.

So Franco sold the Walnut Tree last year (to two ex-Ivy people; he's comfortable that he left his baby in good hands) and 'retired'. But it seems you can't put a good man out to grass: just months later, he's back. You might imagine that someone of this calibre would have been headhunted by the big honchos; instead, he's chosen to throw in his lot with a small restaurant in Putney. The Phoenix, part of the tiny chain owned by Rebecca Mascarenhas, which includes Sonny's in Barnes and The Parade in Ealing, is now under his aegis: Taruschio is consultant, while his protégé, Simon Kealy, who worked with him at the Walnut Tree, is in the kitchen.

But enough of this cheffishness. The Phoenix was already pretty good, but this new collaboration has lifted it a sizeable notch up the scale. It's a pleasant place to sit - visit on a summer's day when the cool, pale decor and outdoor terrace come into their own. At first it appears standard-issue, all pale wood 'ant' chairs and linen, but look more closely and intriguing touches of subversion appear. There's a papiermâaché dog made out of old copies of the Beano; on a top shelf, an Action Man straddles a plastic Godzilla. The menu is equally quirky, with 18th-century Italian dishes jostling with Lady Llanover salt duck and goujonettes of cod with Thai sauce.

The 18th-century dish, Vincisgrassi Maceratesi, a sinfully rich lasagne originating from Italy's Marche region and initially made with wine and Parmesan-infused bechamel, giblets and brains, is here reinterpreted as a subtle confection of cream, chicken livers, sweetbreads, porcini and truffles. It is headily, dangerously gorgeous. Our other starter of threads of calamari, tangled with red onion in a sharp, herby dressing was perfectly pleasant but inevitably became something of a wallflower by comparison.

Roast suckling pig I love, and the Phoenix's version was pretty good - its baby flesh having the perfect, yielding consistency and a fennelly garlicky perfume giving it the taste of Italy's irresistible porchetta. Its accompanying roast potatoes were models of their kind. But I longed for some apple sauce or - more authentically, perhaps - mostarda di frutta to cut the intense meatiness. And the crackling, the oh-so-important crackling, rather than having the desirable qualities of lacquered sugar-caramel, was sadly pliable rather than crunchy. A massive whole banana, wrapped in a kind of deep-fried filo Christmas cracker and doused in butterscotch provided a rather surreal, sugar-rush finale.

Ours was mostly a very good meal. Sometimes it pays to look further afield than the city-centre if you want to unearth some assured cooking - and avoid the prices dictated by the overheads that are a part of locating at the heart of the buzz. With Enoteca Turi, Putney Bridge, Del Buongustaio and now Taruschio at the Phoenix, Putney should find itself firmly on any foodlover's map.

The Top Five... quality neighbourhood restaurants

The Phoenix Bar & Grill
Lower Richmond Road, London, SW15 1LY