There is love here. Love and pride.
And I don't mean merely (merely?) the love that leads parents to see the burgeoning talent in their young sons Jonray and Peter, talent which will soon outstrip the confines and horizons of the family trattoria. And I don't mean the love that leads these parents to back their sons' skills to the hilt, risking everything to provide them with the theatre their talents demand, Michelin star and all, and to trust their judgement and vision and genius. And no, I don't think genius is too strong a word here.
Neither do I mean the sheer pride displayed by everyone concerned; from the boys' father greeting every guest with warmth and charm, to the explanations which accompany each course, to the fact these people actually care what you think of their food. Such enthusiasm is infectious- of which more later.
This was our second visit to the unassumingly-fronted Casamia. After a warm welcome from Mr Sanchez-Iglesias and a chat at the bar over nibbles and Prosecco, we were handed our menus. And immediately you are struck by its brevity. This is a welcome reaction to the florid prose of some fine dining establishments; you know the type of thing- 'a tumescence of broccoli bedevilled by an embarrassment of cauliflower...' and speaks to the basic principles of the restaurant- quality, finesse, warmth. A lack of pretention but a confidence in the skill of the brothers. At times the items seem almost cryptic; the meat option simply lists 'Duck, Carrot, Fennel'. On our table, such a bald statement had the effect of heightening expectation- what on earth would they do with these three ingredients?
The initial 'Quiche Lorraine' is a case in point.
I'm not ashamed (perhaps I should be?) that the next course had me chuckling at the sheer preposterousness of a soup which featured such a dense impact of temperatures and textures that it had me scarping at the bowl to salvage every last suspicion of flavour. A powder of frozen mint complimented the tiny halved broad beans in their broth, and tiny shoots and flowers made this more beautiful than my camera phone could possibly convey.
By this point we were checking the menu and trying to imagine how the next course would present itself; 'mozzarella and tomatoes' is pretty pedestrian as a title, yet it didn't take Sherlockian genius to hazard a guess it might comfortably outstrip its everyday label.
This was a celebration of the humble tomato, presented as a jelly, a confit and in dehydrated form among others, laced with fresh basil and its oil. The mozzarella was an absolute delight; it had been broken down, almost to the point of purée, then mixed with double cream and whipped together over an ice bath, before being shaped and wrapped to resemble the typical ball. Suffice to say, it was a remarkably silky experience and one not easily forgotten.
Next up was a simple 'Summer Salad'.
The 18 ingredients change daily apparently; on this occasion radish and kohl rabi accompanied purple cauliflower, candied beetroot, several varieties of sorrel, nasturtium leaf, tarragon, chervil, endive and viola flowers; slices of baby turnip and potato rubbed shoulders (not literally, that would be very strange..) with a spring onion the size of a match. We were provided with tweezers to sample each ingredient individually, and the cider vinegar dressing was a subtle background. On to the fish...
Salmon with sea herbs. Cooked in a tepid oil bath (42 degrees) and finished with a blowtorch to give that welcome char while preserving the tenderness of the fillet. Again, perfectly executed.
As a card-carrying carnivore, I had been anticipating the Creedy Carver duck since we had spotted it. It did not disappoint.
Again, it had been gently bathed in oil barely warmer than blood heat; as a result the flesh was softer than I've ever encountered, yet the skin still had that crispiness only normally obtainable through high heat. This sleight-of-hand was achieved by finishing the breasts on a plancha, after crusting with sea salt and honey. The sliced fennel bulb and puréed carrot played their part but the execution of the duck- meltingly rare yet crispy- was masterful.
In the interests of fairness, the couple on the next table found the duck far too rare for their liking. Serving that pink won't be to everyone's tastes, but for me it was a beautiful piece of cooking.
I think that got us about half-way through.
The 'Transition' dish of pea and lemon was, on the face of it, a strange marriage; but the ricotta plus lemon curd was another unexpected delight. The coldness of the peas with the tartness of the lemon and the creamy curd was a triumph. The picture does it no justice at all. (Memo to self- next time, find the decent camera...)
And so on to the sweet stuff. Not, usually, really my thing- I blame the non-traditional (for the UK, anyway) food of my upbringing for that. I never became accustomed to expect a dollop of cream, sugar, caramel, whatever , after my meal. However, it would be rude not to...
I had opted for the 'Great British Menu' apple pie with custard, a dish created for the eponymous TV programme when Peter took part last year. An accompanying card explained their inspiration for the dish- they did something similar with their tiramisu a couple of years ago- and wittily included the first recorded English recipe for apple pie ('Tartys in Applis') from 1381.
The eggshell-delicate pastry concealed cubes of vanilla ice cream nestled among the hot apples, while the addition of liquid nitrogen to a pot of oiled cloves had warm aromas billowing across our table. A feast for the senses and a bit of showmanship! Again, a technically ingenious twist on a traditional dish, marrying a sense of tradition to the boy's bag of tricks.
This doesn't come cheap, clearly; but if you have a special occasion to celebrate, or just want to eat some remarkable dishes in a highly companionable environment, you won't do much better. There will come a time when the brothers are household names- not for tacky adverts and TV appearances which package their skills tritely, but for the excellence of their food.
Go on. Treat yourself.
Casamia
38 High St
Westbury Village
Westbury-on-Trym
Bristol BS9 3DZ
Tel: 0117 959 2884
0117 959 2884 www.casamiarestaurant.co.uk/
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