My Kind of Food

The Ligurian town of Ventimiglia is situated on the coast of the Gulf of Genoa just about 4 miles before the French border.

I ate recently in a restaurant on the seafront, called, Marco Polo.  It was an alpine chalet style building  decorated with a maritime theme with a terrace overlooking the sea which would be perfect for summer eating.

The Michelin guide 2017 gives it a good rating (The Michelin Plate) and overall my impression was of good food beautifully presented.  The whole experience however wasn’t perfect by any means.

The welcome was friendly and we were given the last available table for lunch.  We weren’t offered drinks to start so we  insisted that we wanted a glass of prosecco each.  The waiter didn’t seem to understand this simple request but eventually by speaking a mixture of French, English and Italian the message was conveyed.  The prosecco failed to arrive so it was necessary to prompt another waiter.  This precipitated the start of a blame game between two members of staff.

In the meantime an amuse bouche was served.  It was a shallow drinking glass with something akin to caesar dressing in the bottom and a few fresh, crisp salad leaves and a carrot button standing in it.  It looked faintly odd but in fact was a refreshing way to start the meal – something I might copy at home.  The prosecco eventually arrived…

For my starter I had fresh anchovies that had been coated in chopped hazlenuts and then deep fried and served with crisp purple artichokes, thin slivers of lemon and orange peel and coleslaw.  It was fresh tasting with a pleasing citrus zing to it.

The main course was Lobster with pan-fried fresh foie gras.  Now these are two of my favourite things and in this instance they were very well cooked and presented, being served with crispy slivers of deep-fried  sweet potatoes and a few spinach leaves.  Delicious and colourful!

Whilst the food was lovely there is something strange about how the place is run.  In short it doesn’t seem like a happy ship and that can spoil the entire effect.  At one point an almighty argument broke out in the kitchen which could be clearly heard throughout the room we were in.  Those with better Italian than I, described the language as being very colourful indeed. None of the waiting staff looked shocked by this so I can only assume its a fairly regular occurrence. I stopped eating Gordon Ramsey’s food years ago because of his nasty temper and I don’t want it anywhere else either.