One of those weird “talents” (if you can call it a talent) that no one really knows I have is the under-appreciated art of napkin folding. My parents and I used to stay in a particular hotel in Switzerland in the 1980s where the restaurant staff would fold the napkins into a different shape every evening for dinner. Being a bit of a geek, I used to carefully deconstruct each one to figure out how it was folded, and my hotelier father subsequently gave me a very 70s-looking book on the subject. My napkin-folding abilities eventually became one of those family rituals, which means that my Dad (and now my big brother, too) still asks me to show my niece how to fold the napkins every year before Christmas dinner. As knowledge to pass down to your progeny goes, it’s bordering on completely useless, but in lieu of an aptitude for rocket science I guess it’ll have to do…
So the first thing that struck me about La Storia della Vita was its 1980s-style, heavily starched, fan-shaped napkins. I hadn’t seen them anywhere other than the Hampton family dinner table in about 20 years, and yet they weren’t the slightest bit out of place among the rest of the décor. Which says a lot. I’m not a particularly visual person, but swathes of red velvet spring to memory, as well as leather armchairs, chandeliers, and other throwbacks to a bygone era. It was kitsch, but consistent.
Fortunately, the food involved neither prawn cocktail nor black forest gateau, but fairly classic Italian fare. I went for the mixed antipasti to sample a range of different ingredients. It didn’t comprise quite what I’d been told it would, but it all tasted good: grilled vegetables, prosciutto, salami, octopus carpaccio, and very fresh seafood. I also stole some mozzarella from my friend’s plate – it wasn’t as soft as some versions I’ve tasted, but it had a good buffalo flavour.
The ravioli was a trio of ricotta, artichoke and mushroom fillings. I asked if it was possible to order the ricotta and artichoke, and to skip the mushroom version. What I got seemed only to be the artichoke variety, although given my addiction to artichokes I didn’t mind missing out on the ricotta.
For dessert, I had the panna cotta, which was satisfyingly wobbly but could have done without the over-sweet, synthetic-tasting red sauce. Far better was the chocolate soufflé with ice cream that one of my girl friends was kind enough to give me a coveted spoonful of.
Sadly, prices were rather more 2012 than 1987, with three courses plus several glasses of Sicilian red wine coming to €57 each including tip. But for the food and service we had (some of the waiters were rather more attentive to their signoras than others) plus some unobtrusive entertainment in the form of a piano player, it felt like modern-day money well spent.
