Pulpo: all potential, disappointing delivery

Please note that since writing this blog post, Pulpo has closed down

Around three years ago, when I lived near the Vondelpark, I took my brother out for dinner to Pulpo. I seemed to remember it being quite good, but since it was during my pre-blogging days I didn’t review it at the time.

On Saturday night, I gatecrashed the party of some lovely New Yorkers, who live in a palatial apartment in Oud Zuid. Not realising they were going to lay on an American-sized buffet, my party-going friend and I decided to return to Pulpo for pre-party dinner since it’s just down the road.

The menu was promising: so promising, in fact, that it took us about 20 minutes of in-depth discussion to decide what to order, coming to the conclusion that we would share everything for maximum tasting potential. First up was a celeriac and truffle ravioli. Despite my extensive menu perusal, I’d failed to read the bit about the mascarpone sauce. It was too creamy, overpowering the truffle, and a butter-based sauce would’ve made much more sense. The addition of something crunchy, like toasted hazelnuts, would’ve also been a winner.

Our second starter was grilled mackerel with tomato ‘jam’, beetroot and oyster sauce. The combination sounded odd, but I thought it could work. It sort of did, but then again it could’ve worked so much better. The grill for the mackerel hadn’t been hot enough, so the skin was flaccid instead of crispy. The tomato ‘jam’ needed further reduction and sweetness to make it less watery and more like a chutney. The beetroot needed less vinegar. And the oyster sauce was out on a bit of a limb.

I’ve been thinking of making a cassoulet for Hidden Kitchen sometime, so I ordered Pulpo’s cassoulet to see if it inspired me. The duck and sausages were good, but the pulses involved regular white beans (fine) and chickpeas (not fine). Cassoulet should not taste anything like falafel. Or hummus.

What I assume to be the house special was linguine with pulpo (octopus), scallops, asparagus and gremolata. The skill required to make a dish like this taste bland is almost admirable. The scallops had been griddled but not seasoned; the pasta was overcooked; the pulpo rubbery; and the sauce was exactly the buttery kind that should’ve been served with the ravioli, but not with a dish that was crying out for lemon juice. If I were Craig Revel Horwood and this were Strictly Come Dancing, I would proclaim it dee-you-double-elle: DULL.

Dessert was actually the best bit, which is odd coming from me, and says a lot about what came beforehand. The date cake was a little dry but the ice cream it came with was excellent; the nut tart looked like some kind of energy bar you’d take with you on a jog, but it tasted good.

Forty-five euros later, my dining companion summed it up by saying that her favourite thing had been the wine (a Sicilian Nero d’Avola, aptly named ‘Pulpito’): ‘the thing is, you chose it and I assume the chef didn’t make it’. Touché.