Tarantino's Glasgow

Mary Tarantino!

I’m usually in control of bookings when going out for dinner but one of my friends surprised me last Thursday and took me to Tarantino Ristorante on the Lower East Side of the town.

However, The Mary was raging and it was like a scene from Pulp Fiction when I told her because she’d suggested this place weeks ago.  Eventually, when she put down her chromed .45 Auto-Ordnance M1911A1, I explained it wasn’t opened on a Monday. So here we are, going out on a Tuesday. 

Rock ’n Roll!

It’s turned out to be a delightful evening and has taken me back to my first pasta experience; Deliceto nella Provincia di Foggia in Puglia circa 1978. That dish, about 40 years ago, was orecchiette con le cime di rappe which is a rustic dish made with wild vegetables and freshly made pasta. It's a robust, staple, regional plate and can be adapted in so many different ways; with broccoli, green beans and fave.  I like mine tossed in chillies and roasted garlic with fresh, virgin, olive oil waved over the plate just before serving!

We were greeted at Tarantino by Antonio, who was proper Italian with a hint of Greek but that’s just my opinion. I didn’t ask where he came from but as soon as he started talking to his Compadre I knew he was from Puglia.  The accent is very distinctive accent and, when I speak Italian, people tend to know exactly where I've lived.

Tarantino is run by Giovanni Giglio, who is also the Head Chef and produces dishes which reflect the heritages and traditions of Southern Italy. Both Puglia and Sicily are vividly represented in the menu, the décor has a unique and authentic feel and I loved it!

We both ordered pasta.  I had the same dish I’d had on my first visit and The Mary had Wild Boar meatballs with tomato and wild mushroom sauce and at £12.95 it was sunlight, shining in the window robbery!

Dishes are freshly prepared using the freshest and most authentic produce available from both local and Italian Suppliers. The Mary was In her element and trying not to interrupt her I said….

“Oh, sorry I don’t want to break your concentration but are you enjoying the pasta?”

She garbled through a meat ball:

“It’s OK, this is some serious Gourmet Shit! Pity they don’t have Focaccia!”

She's never happy that lassie but she does know a good quote when she hears it!

Ci Vediamo Presto!

Me and the Mary

Mx

#FATrophy!

Tackling the Blubber!

Summer is here and with it the humiliation of trying on clothes from last year but this morning I saw #FATrophy trending on Twitter so thought The Mary should go for it!

Turns out it's to do with football and not an actual trophy for getting fat.  

Do you hear that Guy?

After a lovely day in the garden I hopped into the shower before skipping to the wardrobe only to end up nearly jumping out of my expanded skin when faced with a room covered in white, bleached, cotton shirts which no longer covered my mid-life, midriff!

You see, my entire collection of apparel consists of black polos in the winter and white shirts in the summer; except for the odd occasion when I wear a dress or have a ‘formal’ then that’s about it.  Lacklustre I know, but I try to make up for it with the odd bit of sparkle and great hair. I live and hope my fondness for accessories will make up for my lack of imagination on the clothes front.

The bible states;

“The generous will themselves be blessed, for they share their food with the poor“

Proverbs 22:9

Well, I’ll tell you this, I would have been sanctified if I’d shared even half my food with the deprived and not had such an excessive desire to stuff my mug.  Had I placed my fervour and commitment towards helping others or even rocked up to the repellent gym, instead of filling my belly, I might not be in this shirty predicament.

Nevertheless, here I am, shirtless and might have to stay indoors for my fear of shopping and dislike of internet surfing!

This jam has made me realise; I’m usually eating, talking, or writing about food. It’s become an obsession and things have to change.

So, this blog is about tackling the blubber and I don’t mean all the crying I’ve done over split shirts but the actual, fat, pudgy, white, dimpled flesh I’m witnessing hanging around my ego. I have absolutely no clue what I weight though. 

I might invest in one of those high tech, torture, weighing, gestapo contraptions. I judge the shape I'm in on a short, sharp, shirt fit!  

When I went to pick up The Mary on our way to Guy's in Merchant City the first thing she said was; 

“I feel like a fat Bastard and my jeans are hurting my Baker’s cyst.”

FFS! 
We cannae even have an ailment that doesn’t involve food!

We decided, over a main course portion of pasta with meaty ragu and garlic bread that we need to do something about it. After plodding on through the main course and dessert we hadn’t decided on what route to take. 
Suggestions were; we might go for a walk, but her knee is too sore. We also considered swimming but I’m getting physio for a shoulder injury and have become more dependent on my legs for keeping lively.

I injured my shoulder when walking me wee bitch Cicca who was too speedy for me and pulled my humeral head out of its glenoid right about where my clavicle meets the acromion of the scapula.

She’s 77 in dog years and still managed to pull me off my feet.

After a pregnant pause (well two fat belly breaks) we decided to, maybe, change the way we eat. The Mary suggested we use chopsticks as she’s no very good with them and that might slow us down but I’ve got Raynaud’s and my thumbs aren’t what they used to be.

We had another wee think about it over dessert and came up with a plan!

My Guy pal was talking about a thing called ‘Walking Football’ aimed at the ‘overs’ and we got very excited.  The Mary laughed, reminding me of the fact I cannae run because I tend to pee myself with excitement, but that’s only when someone's chasing me.  
The walky ball game outlaws running so pishing myself would not be an issue and with no physical contact allowed between players, we’re hee hawing to the pitch.

One problem we have is though you need 5 or six people on each side and there’s only the two of us so, for the next couple of weeks, we’ll meet for scran, make plans and to try to find the other 10 victims to introduce to the sport.  

It sounds dead easy walking around and kicking a ball.  Bit like golf with a bigger ball and no cue!

If anyone has any suggestions for two Fat Burds with bony ailments and bladder prolapse then feel free to leave a comment!

See you next time!

Me and The Mary!

Mx

The Red Onion!

TheRed Onion

When I announce to The Mary we’re going to The Red Onion she hits out with;

“I cannae go I’ll get heartburn, you know I’m no good wi’ onions!”

Well, that was me told but the table is booked so that’s what’s happening!

The Award winning Red Onion is run by the charming and fabulously talented John Quigley who started his career in London’s West End.  John has quite a reputation up that London Toon and here in Glasgow.  His all singing, all dancing chat, patatas, tzatziki and Nuoc Chan dressing, topped off with a fabulous mood and atmosphere to ensure a grand finale at The Red Onion!

Last week I had tried his Bang Bang Chicken at the launch of the new Gideon Robinson showroom in the West End and it had such a pleasing influence on my palate I had to go and give his place on West Campbell Street.  I felt I needed to experience another banging aftershock. 

John’s work has been described as ‘casual gourmet dining’ but I’m not sure how anything hedonistic or decadent can be left to chance when business is concerned.  Once you have customers to satisfy, bills and staff to pay, planning is everything.  Maybe in his other life, when he was cooking for Guns and Roses or Tina Turner he would have licence to go rogue but a Glasgow audience like consistency.  

Even if it’s consistently bad, they expect it and love to complain!

No complaints from me or The Mary though because from the minute we walked through the beautiful, Thistle draped tabs at the front entrance it was sheer theatre.  The man himself passed by the table to said hello, having come from a television studio before exiting front stage, through his audience, to another event!

I loved the ambiance, décor and flower arrangements, especially one suspended from the ceiling which gave the Sala a feeling of grandeur. Some high ceilinged buildings in town can be cold and austere but John and Gillian have managed to create luxuriously snug atmosphere, which is both chic and traditional, with a hip edge

Our server Andrew was charming and very professional who seemed to know exactly when to approach us.  He worked the room beautifully along with the lovely Katrina.  It reminded me of a bustling bistro I’d been to recently in New York and Andrew’s accent took me back to Broadway.  Although I’m not a language expert; he could have been from Maryland or even Maryhill, but my imagination can easily be ignited on a Monday evening in my fabulous Glasgow!

The food was well presented, tasty, abundant and piping hot. 

Nothing worse than tepid food

I had Char-grilled lemon chicken with korma sauce, pilau rice and tzatziki. The Mary choose Char-grilled Spanish style pork loin with patatas bravas and tomato chorizo ragu.  As a soon as I saw it got the food envy and she was delighted.  She is cruel and so effing smug when she thinks she has one over on me.

We both opted for Seasonal fruit crumble, custard with crème Chantilly.  The dessert was so fruity and decadent The Mary started to make her embarrassingly vulgar and lusty noises and I had to apologise to a mortified Andrew who, on his approach to the table, looked as if he had been caught in an intense profile spot with a bright white bulb!

Poor lad!

So, if you want to experience dishes ranging from Classic Scottish to more the more exotic, get yourselves to The Red Onion and savour everything from Finnan Haddie and Caledonian Crown Steaks to Arran smoked cheddar with fruit chutney and crackers.  

Produce is sourced locally and cooked with fervour to be eaten with gusto!

Place is Pure Bang Banging!

Till the next time!

Me and The Mary!

Mx