Bottega Caruso, 2-4 Broad St, Margate CT9 1EW
Operation: Get Fat and Sassy — The Margate Mini Moon, Phase Three: Third time's a charm
Why does the phrase “make yourself at home” feel like a trap? On the one hand, it presumes we behave the same while on the other, it’s a total gamble. Helped yourself to the fridge, did we? Not in this house. Sitting on that chair, are we? We haven’t moved a single fibre on that throw since Grandpa died on it, so well done for ruining a 23-year stint. What do you mean there was no clear way of knowing? This is my house.
It’s such a common phrase that even my dad uses it, despite him being exactly the sort of person whose eye twitches when you put up your feet without his custom-made Bulgarian feet coasters. The whole thing is a minefield.
Creating a sense of homeliness is something that many restaurants endeavour to contrive but seldom manage to pull off, particularly where Italian restaurants are concerned.
Overwrought attempts seem determined to pull you into the fictitious bosom of some nebulous Nonna. Bristol's erstwhile Pasta Loco did exactly this, although I imagine its demise was presumably more to do with rabid over-expansion rather than discounting the public’s ability to detect bullshit.
Driven by the guttural need for pasta, the whereabouts of a quality source in Margate haven’t been researched lightly, with Bottega Caruso cropping up repeatedly. I never put meaningful stock in Google reviews because people are, broadly speaking, the worst. It also comes recommended by someone I trust completely, despite having the charisma and poise of a school shooter. Thanks again,
.The doorway arch is still embossed with ‘The Crown’, having previously been a pub which the well-worn chocolate wooded floorboards might otherwise betray, with just a handful of tables. Bottega Caruso glows inside; its walls are not so much a mustard than an aioli made with the yolks of Burford browns, all serving to amplify the Margate sunlight. A partitioned wall centered with a receptionist-grade window permits a view into a kitchen that's quietly busy; no shouts, screams or slams – just everyone doing their bit. An opening circulates the coastal breeze, carrying the high notes of daytime drinking with it.
Started by couple Harry and Simona having flipped London off years ago, Bottega Caruso is a Campanian import of Simona’s previous life. Still sourcing some ingredients from the region, the menu could easily read like a meal plan for the week, in a house that insists on starters. I’m lucky enough to have married into one that does, notably mini chorizos from M&S, microwaved for about 30 seconds. It’s a consistent highlight.
Wedges of house-cured ricotta anointed with olive oil and chilli flakes come with a healthy dollop of fermented chilli, with fermentation something taken seriously by head chef Thom Eagle. It’s a cycle of creaminess extinguishing heat that has you rinsing and repeating.
Then comes a slight sinking feeling, like seeing a coworker in the only place that helps you forget about their existence. Borlotti bean, tuna and tomato salad – I thought I’d given them the slip after Sargasso. Bracing for small talk, it begins making its way over to our table.
But, for once, someone else is doing all of the talking. I can’t get a word in edge-wise because I keep shovelling it home; from the velvet cwtch ‘pop’ of each bean, tomatoes so good they could be contraband to the vinaigrette that compels you to order a couple of slices of bread to soak it all up. Luckily, Bottega Caruso do ‘Scarpetta’; the Italian term for ‘slipper’ or ‘little shoes’, for exactly this scenario. I’ve never been so pleased to see such a thing itemised on a UK bill.
The fresh spaghetti with scallops and late-summer tomatoes is among the best dishes I’ve eaten in recent years. It’s the kind of plate you don’t want to end; just endlessly twirling taut, silky spools onto your fork, between slakes of chilled wine, thinking about nothing else but the current bite and the one to come. The pangrattato bristles with an almost Scampi Fries-level thwack, the burst tomatoes saucing it all, with the occasional tender smooch of scallop and wisp of basil.
Hessian tubes of wholemeal ziti are slicked inside and out with 'nduja ragú, drifted in gently melting Parmesan. Despite being 26°C outside, I’m wolfing this down like it’s the depths of winter. Hearty but finessed, Bottega Caruso manages to navigate a line that eludes many; doling out portions that reflect a respect for your appetite and the labour it takes to create them.
The tiramisu is mostly what you’d want; not-quite-sodden Savoiardi imbued with a rich coffee hit becoming tamed with mascarpone cream, sweetened with marsala and rounded up with bittersweet cocoa. The only thing lacking is maybe an egg yolk or two that gives the cream the body I identify with; a pleasing off-white that luxuriates in extra calories.
Evidence of Bottega Caruso’s work ethic is abundant; shelves are stacked with their sauces, pasta and other pantry-friendly jars. Their ‘cantina’ around the corner is packed to the rafters with fresh and dried pasta, pickles, cured meats and cheeses of which they’ll kit you out with a plate and a glass of something if you’re not in the mood for pasta. Meaning ‘shop’ or ‘workshop of Caruso’, Bottega Caruso clearly takes this to heart in a way in which you can’t help but respect the grind.
Even the loos are furnished with family photos and pictures of the cave of the Archangel Michael set in the walls of Mount Caruso, which galvanises the sense of trust a host has in you as a guest. It’s here – not the loo specifically, more philosophically – where something special is created. Rather than a load of gumpf or low-resolution wallpaper depicting generic associations of Italy reflective of the food served, Bottega Caruso has done what few can; a genuine exercise in ‘casa mia, casa tua’.