Pasta Fresca, Dublin Does what it says . . . Superb fresh pasta, and the prices aren't bad by Dublin standards either
A busy restaurant is not always a good restaurant. It seems deeply ironic that so many places about which I've been bursting with enthusiasm eventually go to the wall, while others, about which I've been scathing, continue to do a roaring trade. I can think of several places in Dublin that serve the kind of swill at which the average pig would turn up his snout, and they are straining at the seams every night. Nobody has ever lost money by underestimating the taste of the Great Irish Public.
Until now I have walked past Pasta Fresca and marvelled at how busy it always seems to be, the memory of a particularly lousy lunch there still fresh, despite the fact that it was eaten almost a decade ago. And then someone mentioned that the pasta seemed to be pretty good. And they added that the prices were okay by Dublin standards. And it struck me that a lot must have changed.
To describe Pasta Fresca's bruschetta as the most expensive toast in Ireland (€9.95), as several readers have done, is a bit unfair. Admittedly, it's pretty underwhelming, as bruschetta goes, but there is quite a lot of it, three slices to be precise, and they are well covered in chopped tomato of a not entirely flavourless sort. And there's melted mozzarella on top. The bread is poor stuff, despite being described on the menu as "Italian", thus risking a mass legal action by the people of that proud nation. Okay, it's too dear and it's not very good. But I ate it.
Thick batons of breaded and deep-fried mozzarella served with a rather commercial tomato dip were tasty, in a perversely repellent kind of way, just as a McDonald's quarter-pounder can have a kind of greasy allure. And we scoffed them all.
Pizzas at neighbouring tables lacked that kind of appeal, at least on purely visual inspection, so we hit the pasta and struck very lucky indeed. Agnolotti, crescent-shaped ravioli of a sort, were filled with a fine duxelle of wild mushrooms and tasted strongly of ceps - or porcini as we should call them here. Bathed in a creamy sauce and sprinkled with rather prepubescent Parmesan, they were deliciously intense in a distinctly fungal, sous bois kind of way. (I am hoping that somebody will oblige by submitting the previous sentence to Pseuds' Corner in Private Eye, by the way.)
Spaghetti carbonara was so good that I ate every last scrap, something that is unwise for someone with my limited gastric capacity. I was surprised not to have stretch marks next day.
The pasta was perfectly al dente, with just enough resistance to teeth, a pleasantly mild toughness rather than underdone chalkiness. And light years away from the usual overcooked pap that passes for pasta in too many restaurants. The sauce was as wicked as one could wish for, an amalgam of butter, cream, eggs, Parmesan and ham.
By this stage it was decided that something sweet would only be ordered (a) for sharing and (b) not really for pleasure but so that a reasonably adequate report could be filed.
Pasta Fresca's tiramisu, a pudding that is so often criminally traduced, is flagged as being the best this side of the Tiber. I greeted this with the sound that is spelt "pshaw!", but it was brilliant. The mascarpone was whipped to featherweight lightness, the sponge was soaked with just enough espresso (and no bloody Tia Maria, hooray) and, above all, it wasn't very sweet. We amazed ourselves by clearing the plate.
With a lovely summery rosé, a bottle of water and a proper double espresso, the bill came to €80.20, excluding charming all-Italian service. It may be very busy, some of the tables are so cramped that anyone over the age of nine will have problems, and you can hear your neighbours' conversations in detail, but the pasta is great.
Pasta Fresca, 3 Chatham Street, Dublin 2, 01-6792402
Wine Choice
Our Sardinian rosé from Sella & Mosca was very decent at €18.95. Rocca delle Macie Orvieto (¤20.95) is pleasant, clean and very neutral; the same producer's entry level Chianti (€20.95) is nice and tart. The Riserva (€29.95) is keenly priced for a serious wine. Lungarotti's Torgiano Rubesco (€24.95) is a pleasant and reasonably complex red, in a claret-like style, from Umbria. Beyond Italy, there's Yalumba's Y Shiraz (€23.50), but this really isn't the kind of food for Oz reds. Campo Vieja Rioja Reserva (€25.95) may be ubiquitous, but it's also very good and not badly priced. Pio Cesare's Nebbiolo d'Alba (€34) is serious enough without costing big bucks. All in all, a list you could have a bit of fun