Manteca

A wooden pig's head hangs above the door of Manteca. It could be an apotropaic object to ward off vegans but better to think of it as a totem for the croquette served inside, winner of the Best Thing I Ate In 2022 award.

But for the reaction from focus groups ("too niche"), this website was nearly called Croquette Chronicles. The sentiment endures, however, and here we are, potentially reaching the apotheosis of croquette culture already. Unlike the conventional ball, gone in two needfully dainty mouthfuls, Manteca’s pig’s head croquette of soft, sticky slow-cooked meat in a crisp, savoury shell comes as a generous bar. It’s more of a starter than a snack. There’s no bechamel padding inside, just rich, umami-laden Babe bonce and a spicy, acidic Italian hot sauce called pilacca served on the side. It’s almost as good as the croquette itself, giving the dish balance by complementing all that luscious porky bass with the treble of piquant tang.

To reach this high, there had already been comforting slabs of focaccia and two of three salumi options. A trip to the lavs in the basement takes you past the curing chamber where hunks of meat hang festering. The gossamer-thin coppa and mortadella are a delight, a million miles from the sweaty supermarket charcuterie that coagulates under plastic and then slides out of its packets in sad lumps.

The wine list is extensive and excellent. Colours are subdivided into categories of 'classics' and ‘down the rabbit hole’, which is useful if trying to prevent the arrival of a wine some cheerfully refer to as ‘funky’. Vina Tondonia from 2009 is indeed classic; primary fruit now seamlessly giving way to oak influence in traditional Rioja style. It would have benefitted from a decant for an hour or two but we bravely made do. Vino Rosso di Cupano from the rabbit hole list is also a pleasure, made from sangiovese that didn’t make the cut for the label’s Brunello.

The move on to small plates brought seabass crudo, as well as the croquette. It’s as delicate and silky as you could wish but feels almost out of place in the company it keeps; all the other dishes we ordered are rich, walloping flavours. Tonnarelli - obese spaghetti - is the carrier for an unctuous crab cacio e pepe sauce, while more deeply savoury meat in the form of a duck ragu that coats fazzoletti, adorned with duck fat breadcrumbs and parmesan, is even more intense. Like the croquette, it forces you to down fork momentarily and pause in wonder.

A counter that provides extra seating forms a u-shape round the bar on one side and the open kitchen on the other. As is invariably the case with counter seats, it feels more intimate to be sat in them. Sitting adjacent to someone also engenders the feeling of sharing in an experience, as opposed to sitting opposite and slipping into the expectation that they are responsible for creating one. There’s a buzz in the restaurant and service is friendly and informal but attentive too.

Steaks, chops, fish and birds are for the grill and domed woodfired oven but it’s the small plates and pasta that are most exciting. Pasta can often feel like a dull and uninspiring choice in Italian restaurants but the velvety hand-rolled variety here is from another dimension. Eating it leaves little room for the big-ticket items but it doesn’t matter.

Puddings of moist, nutty cakes topped with buttery ice cream and affogatos drenched with herbaceous Italian liqueurs selected from a generously long list keep the sighing and moments of reverie coming. There’s no pause in the excellence here, from the minute you arrive to the time you waddle out.

Manteca is reminiscent of Zucca, a now sadly deceased modern Italian restaurant that used to exist in Bermondsey. It's actually even better, but the fear that it will change or close is the same; chefs move on, staff get complacent, restaurants lose their spark, they shut. The only thing to do in response is to go to Manteca as often as you can, while you can, and hope that the worst never happens. This is one of London’s best restaurants.