Rustic anonymity: Terra’s dining room
(Picture: Adrian Lourie)The precise feel of a new establishment can elude you sometimes; staying just out of reach no matter how many times you attempt to hurl a descriptive lasso at it. But as I staggered towards Terra in Eataly — the flagship grill restaurant that sits within the Broadgate Circle outpost of this 43-site, Italian-themed global megachain — it almost felt as though there were too many ready-made comparisons. Was Eataly, with its multi-level labyrinth of bars and restaurants, basically a gigantic culinary theme park? Was it a big, baffling Italianate Ikea? A Las Vegas hotel casino but for pasta? The truth, inevitably, is that it is probably all three. And I would say that ultimately, your visceral response to those hypothetical spaces will decide how you feel about Eataly and this, the final and somewhat confusing piece in its glittering gastronomic jigsaw.
The sense of light bewilderment began early: our first act was to get severely lost. “This place needs more maps,” muttered my mate Joe, as we asked for directions to Terra for a second time, turned heel and walked for what felt like another kilometre, past the massed piles of BOGOF panettone, giant magnums of Prosecco, and the thick crowd of shoppers stalking the aisles. Again, this Ikea-style disorientation feels partly intentional. You could probably lose yourself for days at Eataly. But at least when you emerged wild-eyed and babbling, you’d have some discounted amaretti under your arm.
Terra occupies a big, bustling, dim-lit corner perch where the rustic anonymity of most of the decor (long wooden banquettes, multi-coloured mason jar lamps, fake plants) helps shift attention to a hulking, steampunk grill that is the focus of both the vast open kitchen and a surprisingly restrained, mostly wood-fired menu.
Though Terra apparently doesn’t fully open for a couple of weeks (this is the official line, though it already seemed a slick, fully-formed operation to me, with no mention of a soft launch in person, as there isn’t online), the fact it was appreciably rammed on Wednesday night speaks to the popularity Eataly has amassed in the nine months since it opened.
The bread selection that kicked things off was encouraging; brittle, herb-flecked scrims of crispbread and an airy mini loaf, mined with creamy little halves of chestnut. But then, all at once — via autumnal salad strewn with rubbery pickled mushrooms and lifeless potato wedges — there were some brow-furrowing decisions. “Now I quite like this,” said Joe, digging his fork into a drab plate of Delica pumpkin ravioli. “But probably only because it reminds me of something you’d get in Tesco.”
In fairness, the bone-in ribeye that we shared did the trick, packing the requisite forceful char and liberally sprinkled snowstorm of salt. What’s more, griddled roscoff onion, with its lavishly caramelised edges and zingy dribbling of salsa verde, was an unequivocal delight. But by the time the puddings rolled around — a fussy, reimagined Terra tiramisu (“Terramisu” was right there, guys) — the fate of the evening was sealed. I should caveat that the menu is reportedly being expanded soon, with various theatrical flourishes. But frankly this was not an experience that felt like it would be significantly improved by a roving wheel of gorgonzola.
You could probably lose yourself for days at Eataly. But at least when you emerged wild-eyed and babbling, you’d have some discounted amaretti under your arm
None of the food was disastrous. And yet, there was something about the meal’s accumulative impact — the drip, drip of missed beats, oomphless flavours and the attentive but distracted service — that didn’t leave an especially enjoyable afterglow. I do not doubt that there are probably simpler ways to appreciate Eataly’s charms, but Terra, to me, seems built on shaky ground; an endeavour awkwardly pitched between the low-cost efficiency of a food court restaurant and something with grander aspirations. We exited through the biggest gift shop imaginable. And saw no sane reason to ever come back.
