Like many of the restaurants I visit these days, Noci in north London is well-meaning, pared-back – and slightly wonky. There was a point during the meal when an apparently untrained server loomed towards me with a bowl of Sicilian red prawn tagliatelle, which had fallen over on to one side of the dish on its journey from kitchen to table, so all the chef’s pretty plating arrangement was ruined. “Yes,” I thought, “this is exactly where we are now.”
Not that the clumsy misplacement of this fresh tagliatelle in a rich, vibrant, tomato sauce – not exactly brimming with plump prawns, but enough to make a meaningful mark – spoiled the taste. No, it would be very princess and the pea of me to grumble about that. Still, I do wish all the hospitality people who took a break during the pandemic would come back. I miss you guys. You were ace.
