SYDNEY REVIEW
The fun Italian cousin to Restaurant Hubert is a strong sequel for one of Sydney’s finest, writes DAVID MATTHEWS.
Meet Alberto, the fun Italian cousin to Hubert.
There’s something about having a Sgroppino on the drinks list that says this is going to be a good time. Alberto is the sort of place where you can order a flute of lemon sorbet and vodka topped up with prosecco, and before you know it you’ll be asking for a second plate of focaccia to mop up the dregs of the paccheri alla Bolognese you just finished, then backing it up with a half-bottle of red that, in their words, would make Pavarotti scream.
You might be halfway through the bowl of trippa alla Romana before you notice the Indian spices. Confronted is the word an Italian friend used when I raised it. In certain circles tomato is even considered something of a departure, so when Daniel Pepperell decides to take the dish in the direction of butter chicken – throwing in garam masala and fenugreek, enriching it with cream and going heavy on the burro – you can’t help but wonder if he’s just doing it for kicks.
And yet. Here are strips of honeycomb tripe melting into the sauce. Here are wilted mint leaves and a crumble of pecorino. Needless to say, Pepperell has a firm grip on his fundamentals.
And it’s one damn good bowl of tripe.
It’s been a little while between Italian restaurants for the former 10 William Street chef, who’s spent the past few years on the terrines and Tatins in the basement at Restaurant Hubert. With Alberto, brothers Anton and Stefan
Forte (The Baxter Inn, Shady Pines Saloon and Frankie’s Pizza) and colleague Toby Hilton have given Pepperell a new playground in which to reignite his interpretation of la vera cucina. And he’s fallen straight back in the groove.
Funny thing, though, it looks a lot like the other playground. Pocket Hubert, say. Most traces of Berta, the ristorante that once inhabited this site, have dissolved into a background of plush carpet and wood. Wine bottles and vintage posters line the walls, and the brick out the back windows (windows!) has been painted with a mural by Sydney artist Allie Webb, who does the graphics at their other venues. The cocktails flow just as easily as at Hubert, there’s often a queue to get in, and there’s that same sense of stepping back into a golden age that has long since passed. Clearly, Alberto embraces his billing as the Italian cousin with gusto: same soft-lit charm, but a little more bustle, and (just maybe) a little more fun.
Pepperell can still play it straight – take the Amatriciana: house-made bucatini in a sauce of guanciale and its rendered fat with pecorino Romano, chilli and tomato that’s both rich and slippery, in a good way. But when he does stretch a little, it’s with a clear sense of how to turn up the tastiness in ways that, though unconventional, stay consistent with the tone and flavour of the rest of the menu.
If it was fish sauce in the Bolognese at 10 William Street and XO with the escargots at Hubert, here it’s nubs of deep-fried tripe that lend texture to that bowl of trippa, the cream that lightens it, the spices that hold back the funk. It’s binding the sauce coating fat pieces of gnocchi with cream and butter in a more creamy, more buttery take on cacio e pepe.
The wine list continues in the same vein as the food, with a strong but not total allegiance to Italy. Sommelier Andy Tyson wrote the broad, beautiful list at Hubert, and he moves on the floor here like a man who had fun putting this one together. Ask for his help and he might choose a bottle of 2016 Botonero Nebbiolo grown on the slopes of Valtellina in Lombardy from a section labelled “Il Rosso Divino” that’s populated with back vintages, then choose the dishes to go with it. There’s every opportunity to order a 1958 Fontanafredda if you want to push the boat out, but there’s also plenty under $100 if you don’t. Service, meanwhile, is as smooth and charming as at Hubert, and the presence of Benjamin Brown (ex-Sepia) only strengthens things.
It’s not all plain sailing. The sight of the robata grill flaring up under a
$95 bistecca makes it seem an expensive gamble, and the swordfish can land on the dry side. But these are exceptions.
The cotoletta – pork neck fried in a herb crumb – is crisp and juicy. And the scarlet prawns, brushed with colatura d’alici, the anchovy essence, grilled, then salted, are a masterstroke. Tear off the head, dip the body in the spilt juices, lick fingers, repeat. Desserts are restrained. There’s a single cannolo filled with ricotta shot through with pistachio and candied orange peel that makes you wish they could all be like this. Order two. Or two scoops of the gelato or sorbetto they’re churning. The selection changes frequently, but it could be young coconut and chocolate or (a nod, perhaps, to the proximity of Thai Town) mango and sticky rice. It’s a clean finish.
For those who hold the tenets of Italian cuisine close or those who want a little pizzazz, they’ll find both here. What’s more, it feels like Pepperell is right back where he belongs. At once traditional, progressive, timeless and contemporary, Alberto is a place that, like Hubert, makes fun a priority, which suggests it might be here for a long time yet.