Friends

Edendum

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Image: Edendum

Italian: the nation’s favourite cuisine, second only to the mighty curry. We’ve come to see it as safe, easy food; a collection of familiar, reliable dishes that can be knocked together in no time at all. It’s the “job done” meal that ticks everyone’s boxes, and it remains the average Brit’s dinner party go-to. But do we really know Italian cuisine? Are the dishes we order (often without so much as glancing at the menu, never mind the specials board) giving us the true flavour of Italy? The answer is, clearly, no.

I promise you, I cast no judgement over the types of Italian restaurants that the average town in England relies heavily on for its pasta and pizza needs (trust me, I’m as fond of a 2-4-1 steal as the next person). But if you’re someone who also seeks more than mass-produced lasagne and bland carbonara of a Friday night, then a dinner date within the welcoming walls of Edendum will be time (and money) well spent. Loosen your belts, dear reader, because it’s time to get under the skin of “the good old Italian”, one delightfully authentic course at a time.

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

I can’t help but love Edendum from the moment I step inside; it exudes a kind of shrug your-coat-off-and-relax warmth. Alluring deli produce lines the shelves, begging closer inspection, and the restaurant’s core beliefs and practices are stencilled across the walls. Any restaurateur who claims to transport a slice of real Italy straight to the mouths of Brighton gets my attention immediately, and upon talking to Diego (one half of the founding duo) it’s clear the word “authentic” isn’t bandied around without substantial backing. He and Lorenza are here to feed not only our hunger but our understanding of genuine Italian cuisine, and with a recently revamped menu this education may require a few visits.

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

Starter

There’s only one occasion when I can tolerate the texture of velvet, and that’s when it presents as the smoothest, creamiest goats’ cheese. This heavenly cheese is the first component to get my approval on the gnocco misto fritto sharing platter, melting and expanding on my tongue. The kitchen is kind enough to separate the meats from the cheeses, so my companion and I enjoy a split-down-the-middle version of this house speciality. Accompanying the goat are: a pungent gorgonzola, a subtle brie, a nutty fontina and a burrata so oozy I need a spoon. Crispy-yet-soft doughballs soak up this dairy-heavy dish, while cerignola olives, cherry tomatoes and spiced homemade chutneys provide an essential acidity which cuts through the richness of the cheese.  

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

Over on the meat side of the table there are comments along the lines of “This is the best prosciutto I’ve ever eaten. In my life. Ever” which I interpret to mean that if I wasn’t a pescetarian I still wouldn’t get a look in. The generous meat board also offers servings of coppa, cooked ham, spicy smoked spianata salami and wafer-thin mortadella.

Almost too pretty to eat, the gamberoni and Roma broccoli heads dance on their slate backdrop amongst swirls of saffron mayonnaise and edible flowers. Since I relish any opportunity to get my hands messy when eating, I don’t mind the shell-on presentation of these marinated king prawns; the delicate flavours underneath are well-complemented by a glass of Soave Classico.   

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

Main

We continue at a slow pace, and my companion switches to a glass of the Sangiovese Bigi to accompany the filetto di maiale con fichi. His first bite confirms how perfectly tender the pork fillet is, and I leave him to explore the parsnip purée and fig reduction while I gush over fact that someone in Brighton has finally nailed polenta mash. 

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

The smooth and salty base of my polenta e branzino is so addictive that it’s a shamefully long time before I pay the crispy-skinned sea bass any real attention. The delicate morsels of fish are tender, flavoursome and surrounded by capers and anchovies. While the scattered sun-dried tomatoes provide a sweet balance, some might feel this dish dances on the wrong side of salty, but I maintain that it comes down to personal preference. Just ensure the friendly and efficient waiter keeps your glass topped up with a crisp, dry white.

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

Dessert

The dessert options are presented, and a certain crème brulée con sorbetto al frutto della passione winks at me, just as it did at 10.42am when I first drooled over the brief but comprehensive list of dolci. At this stage, I’m so full I’m beginning to resemble a ball of gnocchi, but I place my order regardless, because anything with a name so beautifully lyrical is worth a little discomfort.  

It transpires that the crème brulée has not yet properly set, and I’m told it would upset the chef if I tasted anything less than perfection. Inwardly I bow down in respect. Edendum’s founders believe that the success of a dish depends just as much on the person cooking it as the quality of ingredients, and with this one swift assertion from the kitchen it becomes clear just how much heart and soul they’ve invested into pulling together their wonderful Edendum family.

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Image: Barefoot Rosie

We share the cannolo sicialano instead, but in truth we’re too full to appreciate it. Limoncello shots follow, and we roll out of the restaurant with a jar of the crema di carciofi e aglio from the deli as a souvenir of a delicious evening. That’s artichoke and garlic spread to the rest of us, and it’s bloody exquisite.   

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Image: Edendum

Verdict

Edendum is the place to take your in-laws, because the menu will impress them so much that you won’t need to. It’s the place to treat your new beau, because the cosy ambience will show that you know how to make a person feel special. It’s the place to host a business associate, because the waiting staff will meet your every need without bothering you unnecessarily. It’s the place to be when what you really want is a holiday in Tuscany but you’re a little bit skint. It’s the place to drop in when you need authentic Italian ingredients for your supper club and don’t want to support a chain deli. It’s even the place to dine alone; somewhere you can sit solo, and enjoy a sharing platter for two without anyone casting a judgemental glance your way.  

It’s also a place to return to, for the burrata with green pea purée, for the good value Pre-Theatre menu and, of course, for that crème brulée. See you again Edendum. Grazie di tutto.

 

 

Latitude vs Attitude

Legend has it, there exists in this world a curious type of person who proclaims winter to be their favourite season.  I’ve never encountered such a person and doubt that we’d share more than passing pleasantries if we did meet.  Certainly, we could never hold down a genuine friendship, on account of how I tend to leave the country once the north wind begins to blow and the agonising countdown to Christmas commences.  We could be pen pals, at most.

I blame my parents for my barefoot ways and my insatiable need for vitamin D.  My Australian father is a legitimate sufferer of S.A.D. and a genuine candidate for light therapy.  My mother was a Sagittarian sun-chaser who believed that if she did not travel physically then her mind would travel – in other words, she would go completely and irrevocably mad.  Neither parent demonstrated much tolerance for the winter months.  My father would frequently pepper conversations with the following fun fact: “The weeks between your mother’s birthday on 24th November and my birthday on 17th January are the darkest six weeks of the year”.  Their solution to winter was to escape it, whenever possible.  I never stood a chance, did I?

photo 2I accept that I am a fairweather Brit, that I love my country but only when its skies are smiling at me.  I can take the abuse thrown at me by friends when I mention a flight booked, or a foreign adventure fantasised.  I am a lizard who soaks up the sun, a seasonal escape artist who misses the X-Factor final because I’m usually ankle deep in sand.  It’s simply who I am, and it has never concerned me.  Until now.

Now, life has taken a different shape.  No longer the drifter, I am now the nine-to-five-er, the post-work-grocery-shopper.  I made a choice to be here, beside my man while he carves out a beautiful creative existence and puts his stamp on the thespian world.  Currently, he is the artist, the drifter, the dreamer, the freelancer, and I’m OK with that for a while  But here’s the crux of the matter: I am not in the least bit mentally or physically equipped to endure the impending winter.  I can’t change my latitude this year, so I need a plan.  Pronto.

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I’ve often entertained the idea of becoming one of those “man up and knuckle down” types, but could never grasp the key ingredients of turning that concept into reality.  However two events occurred, not so long ago, which confirmed that it’s time I try: I purchased my first onesie and subsequently declined an invitation to a fun social engagement in order to stay home and suffocate in the hot, fleecy heaven of said onesie.  I literally hid, and felt guilty for being a social let-down.  It was Saturday night, people, Saturday night.  But with perfect cosmic timing, a game-changing article came to my attention, outlining the practice of hygge; the Danish notion of cramming as much guilt-free, feel-good, fun-loving, family-centred, book-reading, duvet-swaddling, dog-walking, pastry-indulging, cinnamon-scented cosiness into life as is humanly possible.  I don’t believe I need guidance on how to enjoy life in general, but as I believe we have established I could do with a few pointers between the dark months of October and February, and finally I discovered something of great impact.  

These clever, inspiring Danes allow themselves – without apology – to indulge in whatever makes them feel positive.  They don’t deny themselves experiences which will increase their happiness, nor do they force upon themselves experiences which will induce stress.  Hygge has no literal translation in English, but my understanding of the sentiment goes something like this: however simple, if it feels/smells/tastes/sounds/appears lovely in any way to you personally, seize that little bit of magic and glide with it all the way to Spring.  If lighting a few candles makes you feel snug and peaceful, knock yourself out. If your idea of rock and roll is cooking quesadillas in your slippers for a bunch of friends who are also wearing their slippers, then rock on.    

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I’m now officially obsessed with hygge.  Each day I evaluate activities, emotions, invitations, ideas, items and sensory experiences by how hygge they are.  If they’re not hitting at least an 8/10, forget about it.  My wardrobe door even displays a list I’ve compiled – mostly red wine and open fires – as a daily reminder of Nice Things About Winter.  And, quite crucially, I’m curbing the guilt feelings of my inner social butterfly – the one who hates cancelling plans – because if I don’t nourish myself during this testing period, my loved ones won’t want to spend time looking at my miserable face anyway.  I’m fairly certain that somewhere over the waters, there was a Danish version of me wearing a similarly ridiculous onesie on that very same Saturday night, ignoring calls from her trendy, vodka-sipping friends, and she didn’t feel a shred of guilt for having taken the quiet, cosy option.  She is now my heroine.

So I may not love rain, or illness, or frozen windscreens, or dressing in layers, and I may never give up dreaming of warmer climes, but I do love the concept of hygge with all it can teach me –  and by conjuring all the cosy optimism I possess, I will make it out the other side.   

Two Hearts, Two Hemispheres

Sunset in the southern hemisphere

Sunset in the southern hemisphere

My heart lives in two hemispheres

Two nationalities claim to own me

Two countries try to keep me

Two cities aim to delight me

 

My heart lives in two hemispheres

I have loved ones in both

I have possessions scattered here and there

I’ve called both halves my home

 

My heart lives in two hemispheres

It longs for both, in tormenting greed

It may live and breathe in the south

But in the north it truly beats

 

My heart lives in two hemispheres

Neither right, neither wrong

But in the north another heart beats

And with that heart, my heart belongs

Sunset in the northern hemisphere

Sunset in the northern hemisphere

The Auspicious Night Bus

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Two girls board a night bus in Bangkok, expertly and competitively bagging the upper-deck front seats.  They’ve sent their men to stow the baggage.  The Norwegian girl smiles affably at the English girl, realising they have the same intent: maximum comfort for the long journey ahead.  Their bond is instant. The men get along too, but that’s immaterial.  Twelve hours seems like two.  A month of shared experiences follows, then flights between their respective countries.  Wedding vows are witnessed, babies are born, families are entwined.  Throughout it all the girls’ bond remains strong.  This is travel friendship at its best.