T

otos might sound as though it is the sort of joint

where clowns go to die, but it is, in fact, a solid
block of black and gold hewn into the rough
shape of a restaurant.
The cruel would dub this the Saudi-aesthetic,
a caricature of Vatican exuberance chopped up into
immobile Bauhaus shapes but, in fact, its a huge
improvement on the old gaff. Formerly an artists studio
and quaint in its own way, the Chelsea local was stuck
Not
clowning about
Henry Hopwood-Phillips revisits an Italian
institution, named after the countrys most famous
clown, to see if it has chucked the baby out with the
bathwater after its two-year revamp
with a sunshine yellow living room and small windows
that never exploited the courtyard to its west.
The new place does. And gone are the spherical
trees that blocked the light too. Thankfully, the imposing
16th-century Belgian replace is still there, still staring
down at the rest of the room, an odd mixture of derision
and despondency saturating its glare.
The menu remains unrepentantly Italian with
London veteran Stefano Stecca at the helm. And behind
him, one of the biggest names of the restaurant world,
Silvano Giraldin (of Le Gavroche among others) has
orchestrated the whole affair as a consultant.
Just before a tsunami of locals break across the oor,
we gobble our root vegetables with garlic butter. These are
well shaved; the pantry chef has earned his spurs. Bacon
otsam does its best to wiggle its porcine bottom all over the
viscous pea sea. And it does so very well.
I plump for one of the specials as a main. And its
not just special in the sense that its not on the menu. Of
course the language that gave us al fresco, alla caprese and
al mattone, also gave us al dente pasta, but lets be honest
none of us gets it right. Here, a small maze of rm,
slippery home-made starch cossets a bitter bundle of olive
oil, capers, anchovies, lemon juice and herbs. I would
gladly return entirely on the strength of this dish.
Fortunately, that doesnt have to be the case. Im
goaded by a cheeky waiter into basil panna cotta. I dont
like this dessert at the best of times the thought of milk,
cream and sugar simmering conjures images of a sickly
primordial gloop but basil makes it sound even worse.
Who on earth eats panna cotta and thinks I know what is
missing: leaves. Madness. But letting prejudices guide you
through menus will only conrm them.
The pale moon sprouting vegetation before me resembles
good, healthy yoghurt, but its lying. Its an oleaginous
equivocator, a sweet, fatty slodge that tastes so good you will
demand servings by the bucket, not the feeble glass pot.
The service is, admittedly, an acquired taste. You
get the impression the Italians have imbibed hard-learnt
lessons in the 60s that proper restaurants were French
and codied to within an inch of their lives. But Im also
sure that a more relaxed approach will ensure Totos is
loved as much as it is currently admired.
Walton House, off Walton Street, SW3 2JH
020 7589 2062 (totosrestaurant.com)
It might sound as though it is the
sort of joint where clowns go to die
BELGRAVIA
DINING
S
pecial