I am positively rotund today after a delectable meal out at my favourite Italian restaurant last night. This was my favourite place to eat prior to my gluten intolerance diagnosis, and I had thought its delights were lost to me forever after the news I’d have to live completely gluten free. The lovely staff however now provide gluten free bread (so I can still salivate over my favourite starter – a whole bulb of slow roasted garlic on toasted ciabatta. It’s all soft and squidgy and delightfully caramelised and just mmmm…), as well as gluten free pasta which I also dug into with gusto last night.
The one area that lets them down is still the desserts. I had the usual choice of orange sorbet or, um, orange sorbet, whilst my dining companion committed indecent acts against a chocolate torte that looked frankly scandalous. I’m thinking of experimenting with recipes to try to perfect gluten free sponge fingers so that I can recreate my insanely good tiramisu. Described as an ideal dinner date, being a rich Italian experienced through a tipple or two of high quality booze, I think it’s high time to make a dish large enough to bathe in and offer it to the local restaurants.
Warning: If the dessert then proves more mmmm-inducing than your actual date, I cannot be held responsible.