Barbetta was a bright little Italo box as composed and defined as an Italo Calvino short story, although The Fairy King was ultimately more satisfying.
On a leafy street in Paddington, Barbetta waits to fill up with new Mum's who only have to park a pram instead of a Peugeot or expats who hang their hats there.
It's a cute cafe with a display case of Biscotti over looking the owner's Ducati.
There is a shelf of kitschy stuff to remind you of your cruise ship stop in Venice or that nostalgic moment before you were asked to leave the Mother Country.
4-tops purchased from a defunct Ice Cream shop dominate the dining room. Actually, the owner, Mauro, dominates the dining room with his dazzling smile and G. Q. cover good looks. Google Peacock and his head shots appear.
The Staff: My server was so warm and welcoming it's as if I showed up on his Ancestry.Com leaf. He hovered like a defective drone.
The Vibe: Who starts the day there? Locals and wannabe locals all adding to the caffeinated buzz and all styled up for Guiseppi Conte's inauguration. Like a morning in Milan everyone here is dressed like Beppi di Preppy begging the question of who in this hood had a job or needed to bother with one?
The next question is what would be the surcharge if anyone returned their clothing to the wardrobe department late?
The Bar: There was, of course, Beer and Wine available for breakfast in addition to the more traditional Cappuccino adorned with the obligatory cute little tree in the milk froth.
Barbetta is the lil Sis to Cipri, an Italian dinner destination next door. So a change of track suit and/or a child between breakie or lunchie would be required before dinner service for those hangin' here all day, as some do.
The Food: Hmmm. As a barnacle on the hull of a well considered restaurant I expected Barbetta to be way bettah.
The menu was limited to 11 items most of which were what you'd get in any Bondi Beach cafe. Avocado this and that.
The Carbonara Australiana created visions of al dente Fettuccine with Pancetta and two farm fresh Sunnies gracing the top and ready to ease away last night's booze. Alas, that was only in my last night's boozed up head.
What arrived was a piece of dry toast with a Frico (a thin fried Pecorino cheese crisp), a soup spoon of uninspired scrambled Eggs and crispy Bacon. It was Canadian Bacon which is actually closer to Ham and as limp as an ED Support Group. Noioso spiacenti!
The alternative was the Fritella Di Zucchino which was grilled Zucchini, Ricotta, Buckwheat, Corn, Parmesan, smashed Peas, Pea Sprouts, Mint and little bit of Smoked Sea Trout (which was exceptional). The lovely Trout was over matched by the two disks of filler escaped from a Crab Cake.This dish was essentially a walk-in clean out and better suited to a 10 year old's Birthday party.
I ginned it up by asking for two poached Eggs, however, the Yolks could barely crawl let alone run.
Yes, it read creative, looked like a sculpture, so Instagram worthy it could've been made of Styrofoam and sadly that's what it tasted like. Please don't ask me how I know what Styrofoam tastes like.
Life is filled with high expectations and the stark reality of disappointments. Do you want to begin your day with one?
Barbetta...be less hip and getta grip. read more