London's quickly-shifting dining scene means that neighbourhood restaurants often get lost in the melee. Hot new openings and viral bakeries supersede the steadfast spots that remain reliably great, but never quite make headlines. A moment, then, for Baccala - a smart, family-run Italian restaurant down the far end of Bermondsey Steet. It risks being overlooked for big-name destinations down the road, like Angela Hartnett’s Cafe Murano and Jose Pizarro’s eponymous tapas bars, but there's some real attention to detail here that bumps it up into the echelons of a very good restaurant. The menu is, admittedly, pricey, but if you’re into your wine and seafood, this is your best bet in the area.
Co-owner and sommelier Fabio de Nicola is front and centre on the night, greeting guests, passionately explaining the menu, and drawing on his supreme knowledge to make confident wine recommendations. This is helpful. The wine list is a work of art, both in its curation and helpful illustrations of Italy’s wine-making regions, but potentially overwhelming for laymen who just about know their Pinot Grigio from their Pinot Blanc. You could skip the hassle altogether and opt for something off the special boards, or ask Fabio for help. He suggests a light but characterful white made from Verdicchio grapes that pairs beautifully with our starters.
These include delicate chickpea panisse encased in a glass-like batter, and fresh-as-anything tuna tartare with baby artichokes. Baccala also specialises in artisan olive oil, and we recommend you order a couple to try with a round of sourdough. Most dishes are verging on excellent, save for a few hiccups. A crisp salt cod croquette didn’t really require the thick truffle puree beneath. But there are flashes of greatness too, like a pitch-perfect prawn linguine dish, twirled elegantly on the plate and dressed in a silky butter, lemon and pepper sauce.
The space is intimate, artfully lit, and teeters into special occasion territory, although if you’re visiting with a date, it’s worth noting that tables of two are squidged optimistically close. You could always grab a seat at the counter if you prefer peering in on the action, but you’ll be made to feel at home wherever you plonk yourself.