Mediterraneo at The Boat House
Last issue, in a review so gratuitous with football analogies that Garth Crooks himself was said to have been impressed, I spoke of a visit to The Mediterraneo a few years back during the World Cup. In brief, it went something like: restaurant and food, good; missing the England game, bad. Imagine my delight then, to get the call to go back to the Mediterraneo with no such extra curricular pressure: just the sea view, a lovely window table and enough food to make my shirt not so much hug my figure as berate my stomach for not respecting its personal space.

This quest for button-busting satisfaction began with a Carpaccio of beef for J and Formaggio Di Capra Inpanato, or deep-fried goat’s cheese, for me. I have to say, J’s dish tasted a lot better than it looked, the Carpaccio quite unlike any I had ever seen before, while my goat’s cheese was rich, creamy and set off with a sweet chutney. Okay, basically it came in breadcrumbs, and for a man of my simple tastes, that is always a winner.

For mains, both J and I went for a seafood spectacular – the house special of Brodetto for me, and a seafood paella for J. Both dishes came with calamari, king prawns, mussels, hake, crab, lobster… it was like the chef from The Little Mermaid had gone mad – which is a good thing, I might add.

The Brodetto is basically a huge, Mediterranean seafood stew served with a hunk of bread for mopping up. It is simple and delicious, ‘a real taste of the sea’ a lazier reviewer might say, if the sea were a smokey, tomato-based sauce. J’s paella, was equally gorgeous, and, credit crunch crusaders, had just as much seafood as my more expensive Brodetto… don’t let me hear you say I’m not doing this for you, readers, all for you.
Matthew David-Scott

Toucan
Remembering your first Toucan is the Cardiff equivalent of chopping you in half and counting the rings. Some remember way back when it was on Castle Street, others the St Mary’s Street or Adamsdown versions, but all stuck to the premise of having a good space to drink, sometimes eat, and always have brilliant live music. The incarnation that has landed once again on Womanby Street seems to want to keep it just as simple.
Looking a bit tidier than the ancestral home that I used to visit (I shan’t give my age away by being specific), this Toucan is split over five levels: bars, a music venue, and somewhere near the top, a pizzeria.

Now, let it be known at this point that I am an absolute pizza monster. A certain worldwide pizza delivery chain refers to me by my first name and delivers on foot to my house. I love pizza. All kinds of pizza. From those which are basically fried bread in a pan with stuff on top, to the delicate, thin and painstakingly traditional poncy ones – I love them all – and those served at Toucan fell happily between these two extremes.
The bases (or crusts if you’re that way inclined) are great: light, bubbling in all the best places but just the right side of floury. The menu is unpretentious, sticking to giving you an idea of what the pizza is actually about, rather than sounding like a Carluccio food porn chat line – ‘Meat Loaf’ has lots of meat on it; ‘So Cheese’ does a similar thing with… cheese. And wow, are they filling. So much so that I decided to have a cocktail instead of dessert. Ironically, the White Russian turned up looking like an alcoholic Viennetta and practically finished me off.

All in all, an unfussy but totally satisfying experience. Let’s hope this time Toucan doesn’t need to migrate again quite so soon.
Matthew David-Scott

Typical of us to make a meal of it, eh?

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THE WHITE HART

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