This morning Ms. Maims gave me a bit of a shock by having a suggestion ready for lunch, thus preventing our normal Sunday-morning bicker. We had both received Facebook invites for an Aperitive promo on Wednesday night and I had already realized I would be working, so I put this venue on my mental back-burner. But Ms. reinstated it to the top of the to-do list. Setting off intrepidly on our dual ojeks with our luxurious locks wafting hither and thither, we sought eye-tie nourishment of the highest order. Actually, I didn’t much care – I was starving. Approaching the restaurant by daylight is a bit of a quandary. Is it open or closed? Nothing was there to indicate a welcoming. So used am I these days to ‘beckoning’ staff, I was a little weirded out.
Halloos? Anybody in there?
When I tried the door, a burly-looking security dude slinked out of the shadows to say ‘sing’. A waitress vaguely waved towards the smoking area and we were provided with menus. The menu is sparse, to say the least. Whereby in Trattoria, or Pepe Nero, you are overwhelmed with choice, Aperitive seems stingy by comparison. Rice with saffron for 85k seems a tad steep. I have never been tight when it comes to buying nice food, but nothing on the menu seemed adventurous enough to warrant the prices. I ordered the chicken Caesar salad with salty bread, and ended up with a salad that appeared to consist of salt, lettuce, cherry tomatoes and croutons. The saltiness rendered by mouth a dry and unwilling sphincter. The dressing was non-existent. Any expectations of tart, creamy garlickiness were replaced with a taste of Neptune’s armpit. Ms. had the tagliatelle gambrel which got a resounding ‘meh’. It looked pretty but once she had deconstructed the presentation with a swift fork-swish, three prawns were to be her only reward.
Pretty prawns in a mini-mound
When I enquired about the taste, she shrugged her shoulders in resignation. Apart from the lighting, which is quite pleasant, the place is reminiscent of a 1970′s British staffroom and evokes nothing of the character or romance of Italy.
Bland and uninspiring decor
I wanted to like this place. I really did. But I don’t. Nor did my sodium encrusted arteries.