Go for the pasta but return again (and again and again) for the gelato! Best salted caramel gelato ever!
My dear friend and travel companion had been trying to get me to Scotland for years, but this bonafide Francophile had serious doubts about the ability to obtain non-fried sustenance while in the land of William Wallace.
No, haggis does not count! Sheep's liver and heart stewed in blood and shoved into the stomach lining of a slaughtered animal is NOT adequate sustenance - unless you're Hannibal Lecter *cue creepy inhalation and pour the Chianti* I know! I know! It's not fried, but it looks like a swollen, hairless testicle and I've never been the sort who enjoyed the sensation of sweaty, swollen, hairless testicles in my mouth. Not that there's anything wrong with that sort of predilection. No judgement here. If you're Scottish or a haggis aficionado, silence the lambs, pour the Chianti, and carry on.
Sorry, but I sometimes digress. Especially when I've forgotten to take my ADD medication - ooo, look at the pretty butterfly...
Back to my visit to Vittoria's. After multiple trips to France and one failed brief sojourn into the borders of Scotland I decided to yield to my friend's suggestion and visit Edinburgh.
Day one - both of our meals were consumed at Benny's Fish and Chips off High Street. The fish was light and flaky, the chips were... Wait! I'm supposed to be reviewing Vittorios, aren't I? Sorry, another digression. Where is my ADD medication?
By day two, I needed something more than deep fried fish and potatoes swimming in vinegar. I needed real brain food: pasta and chocolate (Not together. That would be gross. Wouldn't it? Hmmm, let me ponder that coupling).
I pulled out my iPhone an Yelped restaurants. Vittoria's came up first - higher rating, closest proximity. I scanned the reviews and...SCORE! Pasta!
The facade was sleek and modern. The hostess friendly and welcoming. The atmosphere hip and arty.
My friend ordered chicken Parmesan (chicken pounded thin, breaded, and coaxed into a bath of bubbling oil - she's more Scottish than me and likes her food fried, even her Italian food). She said it was delicious. I believe her.
I had their special - pasta tossed in a red sauce of vegetables and spices and lovely, odiferous garlic. It was divine. I washed it down with a glass of Chianti (feel free to make the creepy Hannibal Lechter inhalation noise) and then took a moment to appreciate the shaft of golden sunlight streaming in through the sparkling front windows. Sunlight in Edinburgh in the middle of Spring? I took it as a blessing from the Gods of Gastronomy. (Wahhhhhh. Cue celestial voices singing). Obviously the unseen forces of food were pleased with our decision to abandon the fried food and swollen testicles.
And like any beneficent, generous god, Gastronomy just kept giving. For, after appreciating the shaft of celestial light, my gaze fell upon an even more heavenly site: Vittoria's Gelato Stand (conveniently located beside the pasta bar).
As giddy as someone entering the pearly gates, I sauntered (Don't laugh - sauntered is a highly under-appreciated word that should be widely embraced by the English speaking populace. Think how much more you would respect Kim Kardashian if you heard her utter, "I think I shall saunter to Rodeo Drive and drop several thousand Gs at Versace.")
...I sauntered over to the gelato stand and pressed my greedy little face to the glass. Cherry. Chocolate. Coconut. Which flavor to choose? I opted for Carmelita - creamy vanilla bean flecked gelato swirled with ribbons of caramel and sprinkled with bits of melt-in-your-mouth caramel.
Random awkward confession: I was a shameless glutton. I visited Vittoria's Gelateria several times over the next few days and consumed an unsightly and embarrassing amount of caramel gelato. I even skipped breakfast and lunch in favor of a gelato brunch.
There. I said it. Judge me if you will. Call me a glutton. Call me a sugar addict. People have said worse things about me, and I'm okay with that because at least nobody can accuse me of seeking orgasmic culinary delight by mouthing hairless testicles. That's a legacy I can be proud of. read more