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ITALY ROME RESTAURANT BRUNELLO
Brunello is part of the Regina Hotel Baglioni, an elegant structure erected in 1904, which occupies a prominent site on the fashionable and bustling Via Veneto, deep in the panting heart of Rome. Its Manager turned out to be yet another fine fellow I had met before (little wonder I felt nostalgic here…), Licinio Garavaglia – last seen by your correspondent in Milan. The sommleière, Barbara di Palma, presides over a cellar with around 500 offerings. I found it helpful that the wine list – overwhelmingly Italian, of course – included the names of the grapes from which each wine had been made. As I perused its pages, the following bottles caught my eye: a magnum of 2005 Sassicaia (805ε), 1996 Dom Pérignon rosé) (360ε), 2003 Gaja Barbaresco (360ε), 2002 Solaia (310ε), 2004 Luce (170ε) and 2006 Tignanello (125ε). I drank a merlot from Abruzzo named ‘Kudos’, which yielded a vegetable nose and hints of stewed rhubarb in the mouth (Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, Talamonti, 2004). You might still be perplexed about why my mind drifted back to those railway meals of former years. In the end, perhaps it was the sheer pleasure of the food and the service. That is what the Restaurant Brunello gave to me and that is what I think it will give to you: pleasure. And afterwards, what joy! I found that I had arrived in the centre of our beloved Rome.
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RESTAURANT BRUNELLO
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© Francis Bown 2003
I always used to enjoy eating on the train. I mean, of course, eating in those carriages – staffed by proud gentlemen in short white jackets with epaulettes and furnished with mahogany and uncut moquette of blue and gold – which were once the pride of British Railways. Do you remember them? With their high, fixed seats of outrageous plumpness and their crisp linen of startling whiteness, such dining cars were moving symbols of civilized living. Few were the delights more innocent and more thrilling than the consumption of a plate of roast lamb as one swayed and rattled through the English countryside, the passing scene obscured now and again by the billowing smoke from the mighty steam engine as it thundered along the iron rails. Strange to say, these nostalgic musings were prompted by my visit to the Restaurant Brunello in Rome.
I think it must have been the dim lighting, the black décor (the marble floor is black, the waiters wear black shirts and black aprons and even the hanging lanterns are black) and the arrangement of the furniture which did it. I did feel, for all the world, that I was back again in one of those beloved restaurant cars. Perhaps, though, there was something else, just as important – old-fashioned courtesy. For I was shown to my table by the perfect embodiment of that admirable quality. I first met Franco Cardinali at the Cala del Porto at Punta Ala, in Tuscany. He still spends the summer months there, but in the winter season he comes to the Eternal City, to be the Restaurant Manager of Brunello. At once he made sure that a higher chair and a cushion were brought for me, remembering – because all great maitres have wonderful memories – that I suffer with a bad back. Then, recalling my aversion to unnecessary noise, he instructed that the canned music (of the modern sort) should be turned down. 
You will understand that I was determined to bring before you a picture of myself with this paragon. Mr Cardinali is on the right of the photograph. (On the left, is another acquaintance, the charming Tiziano, who now also works at Brunello.) As I settled myself before the grey tablecloth and noted the good glassware (by Schott) I felt thoroughly comfortable and content.
Chef Luciano Sarzi Sartori (pictured) cooks resolutely Italian food, but in a modern and imaginative style which I found very appealing. He describes his food as ‘Mediterranean’, and such it is. I began with Culatello ham, cleverly accompanied by parmesan and pear strudel on a reduction of balsamic vinegar. The tastes were well-balanced and the textures interesting. Next came my pasta, which was just as I like it – lovely, soft, luscious and rich. This tagliatelle with rabbit ragout, marjoram and pecorino cheese was an intelligent construction. And the following tagliata – sliced beef entrecote – kept up the standards, with a good Brunello sauce (appropriate, given the name of the restaurant), zolfini beans and potato crisps. I finished with a tiramisu which had a little surprise – a burst of chocolate sauce hidden within. (Expect to pay around 100 euros for four courses.)